Thoughtful Thursday
Poetry, Prose and Pictures
Symbolic of a broken life that once held such promise. Now in Ruins. Fit only for the trash. Trainwreck on Player Piano Replay.
Surrender. Surrender to life’s tattered heaps.
Tag: Poems
Awaiting Ascension Juxtapositions
Are we living breathing time capsules waiting to be opened by future generations.
Alive. Merely existing.
Unquiet extreme desperation for something more but we don’t know what that more is. Blend in. Blend in. Like a Chameleon. Validation mode on.
Fire Salamanders emerge from still hot ashes and charcoal bits whence Paul dipped his hand yet brought back his hand unscathed by neither flames nor poisons.
Creator demands that we be broken down into our Essential Elements.Are we really primordial primates amphibian reptiles species awaiting Rebirth into the next level of Evolution? Sentient beings searching for our next form.
Next pattern. Next Dimensions, Galaxies and Multiple Universes.We 20th Century born sat at the feet of our Elders absorbing our family oral traditions. Treasured Griots sharing knowledge, wisdom and understanding.
But how will our 22nd Century descendants interpret the Throwing of our old bones.Facebook, Twitter, Instagram. Long abandoned Blogs filled with dusty forgotten posts on desiccated lives. Forever seeking release from a wireless tangled Matrix.
Will we stand the test of time?Or will Haramattan Sirocco winds blown from Pyramids and Sphinx wipe our Talking Heads from the Akashic Records.
Homage to Eden
Tears at The Oasis
Tears at The Oasis
This painting is dedicated to the Mother of a 15 year old Son who has Autism. I wrote about our laundromat encounter on my writing Blog.
May this painting bring hope, comfort and encouragement to All Caregivers for family members who are special Needs or who developmental disabilities.
Here’s the Link to the companion Post.
Trees Crying at The Oasis
For in Seeking Refuge They Find None
Tears Overflowing into Rivers of Sorrow
Abandoned….Left to fend for themselves
We Carry Our Loves, Each One Alone
While Others Cheer Far off in The Distance
Trees of Beauty and Praise
Philippians 4:8 King James Version (KJV)
8 Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.
King James Version (KJV)
Trees
BY JOYCE KILMER
I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.
from Endymion
BY JOHN KEATS
A Poetic Romance
(excerpt)
BOOK I
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o’er-darkened ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,
Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon
For simple sheep; and such are daffodils
With the green world they live in; and clear rills
That for themselves a cooling covert make
‘Gainst the hot season; the mid forest brake,
Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:
And such too is the grandeur of the dooms
We have imagined for the mighty dead;
All lovely tales that we have heard or read:
An endless fountain of immortal drink,
Pouring unto us from the heaven’s brink.
Nor do we merely feel these essences
For one short hour; no, even as the trees
That whisper round a temple become soon
Dear as the temple’s self, so does the moon,
The passion poesy, glories infinite,
Haunt us till they become a cheering light
Unto our souls, and bound to us so fast,
That, whether there be shine, or gloom o’ercast;
They always must be with us, or we die.
Therefore, ’tis with full happiness that I
Will trace the story of Endymion.
The very music of the name has gone
Into my being, and each pleasant scene
Is growing fresh before me as the green
Of our own valleys: so I will begin
Now while I cannot hear the city’s din;
Now while the early budders are just new,
And run in mazes of the youngest hue
About old forests; while the willow trails
Its delicate amber; and the dairy pails
Bring home increase of milk. And, as the year
Grows lush in juicy stalks, I’ll smoothly steer
My little boat, for many quiet hours,
With streams that deepen freshly into bowers.
Many and many a verse I hope to write,
Before the daisies, vermeil rimm’d and white,
Hide in deep herbage; and ere yet the bees
Hum about globes of clover and sweet peas,
I must be near the middle of my story.
O may no wintry season, bare and hoary,
See it half finish’d: but let Autumn bold,
With universal tinge of sober gold,
Be all about me when I make an end.
And now, at once adventuresome, I send
My herald thought into a wilderness:
There let its trumpet blow, and quickly dress
My uncertain path with green, that I may speed
Easily onward, thorough flowers and weed.
Roaming Urban Gypsy 