Thursday, October 27, 2016

Art challenge- make a smilie!

Art challenge- make a smilie in a bucket!! #artchallenge
Here is mine

Sunday, October 23, 2016

Long, long ago....

Long, long ago
I proposed to Life.
The answer was Yes.
Since that day
I have always been me.
(Gerry Aldridge 2016)



Everything Is Worth It- 2nd Part

Everything Is Worth It- 2nd Part
I set her adfrift
'My True Love'
And stood still
As I watched
Her passing.
She did not set sail
In any particular direction.
But she did
Drift away from me.
My only consolation
Being,
I know that she
Is free.
(Gerry Aldridge 2016)


Friday, October 21, 2016

Everything Is Worth It.

Everything Is Worth It.
My days would be
Empty without emotion.
No story to tell,
Nor rocks in my path.
Days would be
Empty.with no intervention.
A boat does not even drift
Without some motion.
On a lifeless ocean
We do not exist.
Nothing is made that way.
Everything has something to say.
'My True Love'
Moored safely,
Or at home in her prison
In my bay?
She tells herself she is in the right place,
Watching the ripples pass her by.
Then mind gets adventurous
And her eyes are convinced....
It is I,
That move to distant shores.
Mock small waves as they return
Time and time again and more.
Hence came a dillusional boat
Stuck fast in time.
I shall slip her mooring,
And make her mine.

Tell her,
"Darling, you were not moving."
(Gerry Aldridge 2016)

Thursday, October 20, 2016

The Pen

I am priviliged to have a contribution from a poet new to me called Cathy Miller- I hope you enjoy her poem.

The Pen
She has thoughts and feelings
that flow from the tip of her pen
to the core of our soul.
Awaking thoughts
we wish to
ignore.

She cries out
feelings of
pain
onto the
stain
of her page.

The strength she shows by expression
will forever course through the beat of our hearts.
To ignore would
throw our world deeper apart.

Her knuckles white.
Tears of red
Her truth will be said.
Words that inspire the masses.

When everything fades,
words remain.
Pain
flowing into
the sea of humanity.

(Cathy Miller 10/10/2016)
Cathy J Miller (CJM) is a lover of words and a writer of prose. She spent many years teaching kids with learning disabilities how to read before shifting her focus on using her words to inspire adults to feel. She hails from Dallas, Texas where she makes words not only her full time work, but also her lifelong passion.


Thursday, October 13, 2016

Pain Worth Bearing

'E a minha alma alegra-se com seu sorriso which is the earth upon which every rock falls, batters, and coincides- it hurts, but it is the kind of pain worth bearing- the one I was born to bear.' - (Gerry Aldridge and Fernando Pessoa)

Wednesday, October 5, 2016

The Sleeper

The Sleeper

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At midnight, in the month of June, 
I stand beneath the mystic moon. 
An opiate vapor, dewy, dim, 
Exhales from out her golden rim, 
And softly dripping, drop by drop, 
Upon the quiet mountain top, 
Steals drowsily and musically 
Into the universal valley. 
The rosemary nods upon the grave; 
The lily lolls upon the wave; 
Wrapping the fog about its breast, 
The ruin moulders into rest; 
Looking like Lethe, see! the lake 
A conscious slumber seems to take, 
And would not, for the world, awake. 
All Beauty sleeps!—and lo! where lies 
Irene, with her Destinies! 

Oh, lady bright! can it be right— 
This window open to the night? 
The wanton airs, from the tree-top, 
Laughingly through the lattice drop— 
The bodiless airs, a wizard rout, 
Flit through thy chamber in and out, 
And wave the curtain canopy 
So fitfully—so fearfully— 
Above the closed and fringéd lid 
’Neath which thy slumb’ring soul lies hid, 
That, o’er the floor and down the wall, 
Like ghosts the shadows rise and fall! 
Oh, lady dear, hast thou no fear? 
Why and what art thou dreaming here? 
Sure thou art come o’er far-off seas, 
A wonder to these garden trees! 
Strange is thy pallor! strange thy dress! 
Strange, above all, thy length of tress, 
And this all solemn silentness! 

The lady sleeps! Oh, may her sleep, 
Which is enduring, so be deep! 
Heaven have her in its sacred keep! 
This chamber changed for one more holy, 
This bed for one more melancholy, 
I pray to God that she may lie 
Forever with unopened eye, 
While the pale sheeted ghosts go by! 

My love, she sleeps! Oh, may her sleep, 
As it is lasting, so be deep! 
Soft may the worms about her creep! 
Far in the forest, dim and old, 
For her may some tall vault unfold— 
Some vault that oft hath flung its black 
And wingéd pannels fluttering back, 
Triumphant, o’er the crested palls 
Of her grand family funerals— 

Some sepulchre, remote, alone, 
Against whose portals she hath thrown, 
In childhood, many an idle stone— 
Some tomb from out whose sounding door 
She ne’er shall force an echo more, 
Thrilling to think, poor child of sin! 
It was the dead who groaned within.

Sunday, October 2, 2016

Four-Leaf Clover

Four-Leaf Clover
BY ELLA HIGGINSON
I know a place where the sun is like gold,
And the cherry blooms burst with snow,
And down underneath is the loveliest nook, 
Where the four-leaf clovers grow.
One leaf is for hope, and one is for faith,
And one is for love, you know,
And God put another in for luck—
If you search, you will find where they grow.
But you must have hope, and you must have faith,
You must love and be strong – and so—
If you work, if you wait, you will find the place
Where the four-leaf clovers grow.