I love to find you in the night-time,
When your toes rest, child-like, upon my legs;
To be stirred by the warmth of your body -
Naked, smooth, slow-breathing, sleeping ...
The smell of your hair, your pillowed head
Sheltering under my arm.
So we cheat the waking, working hours.
The green-glow figures of time
Play gooseberry in the dark,
Unmasking each newborn minute
In the silence of bird-sleeping hours.
Time will not stand still for us
Nor life be more than earth;
Yet more ancient hearts than ours knew,
Like us, the intimate quiet of night.
by ~ poet unknown (but I wish someone would tell me who ...)
Yes, it is that time of year - AGAIN
with my beloved arriving in 12 hours or so !!
HIS to do list was easy !!
(no tan required)
I've washed so many loads of laundry I feel like I live in a laundromat.
I told him don't worry, there's a special place for lost people ...
(wish us good luck)
Rodney Smith, photographer:
" Two years of teaching to some 60 undergraduate students had taught me a great and important lesson. For the most part, Yale students made terrible photographers. Are you surprised? Because I was. I assumed they would excel at photography as they had at everything else. They were young and I thought unlike graduate students, not so jaded, intimidated or isolated. But I was wrong. These students were intellectually extraordinary, but emotionally empty and immature. They had sacrificed or sublimated their true feelings for thoughts. They excelled at ideas, but were rather ordinary in their emotional well-being.
Then in the second year of teaching (and I am greatly embarrassed to say I have forgotten her name) comes this one student.
She was a large African-American woman from Chicago, whose mother was a janitor, and had worked her whole life to educate her daughter. This woman never forgot who she was or where she came from. She was gentle, quiet and content. And oh, what a soul. Her pictures spoke of her life and her compositional sense reflected better than almost anyone I have seen. She had a sense of place and where she fit into it.
You know that composition is like rhythm in music. It’s how you fill the space, both with emptiness and with fullness. It’s knowing where to place something and when it’s best to leave it alone. It’s about confinement in a frame and finding enormous freedom within the confinement. It is learning how to be liberated by the edges.
There was energy love, sadness and forgiveness in her work. I know this is all so abstract and basically leaves you, the reader, confused with what I saw, I wish I could show you as well. But let me assure you, what I saw was a gentle, quiet woman with a very large soul, a woman who was not fearful of her emotions and allowed them to rise to the surface, but never without the constraint of the intellect. She was a perfect example of art giving form to feeling.
Oh where, oh where are you today? You were my pride and joy and I wish the world could know you too. Please don’t tell me you have become an investment banker."
" Passion. It lies in all of us. Sleeping, waiting, and though unwanted, unbidden, it will stir, open its jaws and howl. It speaks to us, guides us. Passion rules us all. And we obey. What other choice do we have? Passion is the source of our finest moments. The joy of love, the clarity of hatred, the ecstasy of grief. It hurts sometimes more than we can bear. If we could live without passion, maybe we'd know some kind of peace. But we would be hollow. Empty room, shuttered and dank. Without passion, we'd be truly dead."
~ Joss Whedonxxx
Put the kettle on
Put the kettle on
It is the British answer
Never mind taxes rise
Never mind trains are late
One thing you can be sure of
and that's the kettle, mate.
It's not whether you lose
It's not whether you win
It's whether or not
you've plugged the kettle in.
May the kettle hiss
May the kettle ever steam
It is the engine
that drives our nation's dream.
Long lives the kettle
that rules over us
May it be limescale free
and may it never rust.
Sing it on the beaches
Sing it from the housetops
The sun may set on empire
but the kettle never stops.
~ John Agard
ohhh one more for the To Do List: scrub the limescale out of the kettle before my beloved arrives!! oh and bottled water ..... must purchase large container of chlorine free water for a proper cuppa tea...
Finally, social networking for a cause I believe in!
Now ..... follow your gut. You've already done more than I could ever ask of you, my blogging friends, just by watching the video. The next step is yours. If you click on the banner in my sidebar, it will take you to the Kony 2012 website. Links from there can take you to the Invisible Children website and blog.
Talk about technology: the image was clipped from a Facebook page by my daughter using her iPhone. She then uploaded it to her Pinterest page and emailed me the image simultaneously. I'm posting it here for anyone else who wants to use it. Or you can simply do a google image search for Kony 2012 and select whatever image you like.
Now I'm going to go and pencil in "Cover the Night" April 20, 2012, on my calendar. I understand that there is already a local group formed here in my area. I want to see the power of one voice in action.
"The man in the green suit said a woman is for loving. If you love a woman enough she will unburden herself. That is the sweetest woman there is, a woman who has been loved well enough. This was the truest woman there was and a man could live a happy life. He looked at her directly and spoke to her alone. She looked away.
She wanted to raise her voice loud and say that it was not like that at all, it was that a woman must love herself enough. A woman like that is the sweetest woman there is. She believed this but could not say it. What kept her quiet was that she remained puzzled by one aspect of her belief, the question she could not answer was how a woman got to do that, how she got to love her own knees, and kiss her own elbows, how she got to feel she was all breeze there is and all the mornings there are and all the loving there could be.
And then seek something more which perhaps only another can provide, and love a man simply because she could, and indeed something in him made her heart beat, and yes, her knees weak with the flow of his tender caress. Finding herself, that was it."
~ by Yvonne Vera
from Butterfly Burning