Thursday, November 24, 2011

From a Distance to Bliss

I was up in the early hours of the morning a night or two ago and came across, in my more or less random surfing on the Internet, a pair of poems that totally moved me. Here is the first one whose author I wish I knew the name of to credit it ...

I’ve loved you for too long now
Do you know what you mean to me?
Do you know that my heart bleeds for you?
I need you to know now more than before
You may never know how I feel
Never give me a second glance
But what I need
Is to tell you I’m here for you
We are far apart
Too far away from you
You should know tonight
Know right now
That I want to be there with you
                 ~Author Anonymous

Who knows but the author of course, what the situation was. But I know that there are times when enough is enough and the truth, this feeling of heartbreak and emotion, just must come out. One would hope that for whom this poem was intended received it. Who wouldn't want to have been given it! And you just never know ....
This next poem was found on an Arabic site ...

if i were the earth that envelops your form,
if i were the fire that kept you through winter warm,
if i were the cloud that gave you shade from the sun,
if i were the spring from which you washed for the One,
if i were the turban that your blessed hands had spun,
if i were the sandals that protected your feet,
my whole soul would sing and my bliss would be complete.
             ~Shaykh Muhammad

This kind of love is just beautiful isn't it!

Sunday, November 13, 2011

Eight (or is it nine) Oscar Wildes

Oscar Wilde (1854-1900), Irish dramatist, poet, and author had a whole bunch of quotable moments. Here are a few of my favorites ...

"Always forgive your enemies, nothing annoys them so much."

"Every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter."

"Genius is born--not paid."

“I am so clever that sometimes I don't understand a single word of what I am saying.”

“To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.”

“We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.”

"If you want to tell people the truth, make them laugh, otherwise they'll kill you."

And this famous one ...

“Women are made to be loved not understood.”

Friday, November 11, 2011

A Really Short Story ... Rubber Bands

I haven't been writing of late with  this being a rather tough term at school,but here goes it on a Friday morning ...

Just one of the many joys of life, as I find, is cracking open those crispy little fortune cookies,with the crumbs going everywhere and scooping out the small bit of paper inside. There are those odd times where they tell you things you weren't ever aware of before.

And so I said: "What is it that it tells you?" to my smallish friend. Her name was Charlie. I called her Charles. It sounded much more sophisticated, in my mind.

"It says: good luck and good fortune are coming your way." she said, and ate the cookie shards all in one bite.

I carefully halved mine, and used my ring finger and thumb to pull the fortune from it's hold,trying not to make to big of a mess. And so, I looked at it. And it told me.

"The rubber bands are headed in the right direction."

To which I, and my friend, so very intelligently replied:


Wednesday, November 9, 2011

The Delight

The Delight

The lady’s house sat alone, down a dirt road in the middle of a rolling field. Her lawn consisted of dazzling yellow dandelions that were blooming in full. In her garden were fruit trees and climbing Romano beans, every kind of tomato, numerous vegetables ripening in the warm summer sun. Off to the side of an octagon cedar gazebo was a particularly noticeable raspberry bush.

Behind her porch was a single stone path that ambled straight through corridors of lavender, chamomile and an assortment of mint. It met a small koi pond that had blooming lilies floating on its surface.

The dress she had on was silk, very fluid and perfectly white like fresh snow, or perhaps a swan’s wing. The skirt was full length and golden ribbons served as a belt and trim to the neckline and hem. Her mahogany hair had been curled and hung in long loopy tendrils past her shoulders to her mid back. She looked in a word stunning, and yet …

She invited the gentleman in and showed him her cottage. It was hand built of stones and bricks, with wooden rafters from which there were thousands of scented leaves and sprigs drying. There were large glass windows which let in the moonlight and stood open to let in a gentle breeze tickling the Scottish Lace Curtains. Her bookcases were filled with knowledge, adventure and mystery. A river rock fireplace took up a wall of the kitchen, a large stone basin stood next to it.

The lady had counters of polished blonde oak, and cabinets full of dishes, some brightly colored, some of simple clay, all of her hand. She smiled at him and produced an old copper pot, which was filled half full and set over the stove. She turned on the burner as she rolled fresh Moroccan mint and buds from the lavender and set them afloat in the water. After it had boiled, she strained the moss colored liquid into two simple clay mugs ….


“Where is this place?”
“You’re only dreaming”

This was a short story done for my fiction class a few  months ago. My instructor made the comment to class no one should ever end a story with "and I woke up," or something like that. Of course I had to try ...