open wide sand skies
sparkles two moons of feelin’
waves of molten juice
Yellow Eyes
Category: music
Melody —Senryū
seeking familiar
loneliness settles towards pitch
the strum of a string
https://youtu.be/OmKCb9LcEoM https://youtu.be/kIB7a7f_keQ https://youtu.be/Ny6QK_E5BrY
Yesterday. I once played this song continuously on the guitar I bought myself in high school. As a teen, my summer days were spent babysitting for a divorced mom who worked for The Braille School in Milwaukee WI. The family came from New Zealand and had sheep rugs scattered throughout the house and ate lots of vegemite. The kids had a cat named Erasmus and a pet goldfish, whose name eludes me. The dad was a small-engine pilot and flew planes out of Oshkosh WI. I wonder where they are now?
Cheers 🍻 mates and good day!
VDay Songs
Send your favorites. Here is one of mine…🔗❤️🥰
Do you wanna be an angel
Do you wanna be a star
Do you wanna play some magic on my guitar
Do you wanna be a poet
Do you wanna be my string
You could be anything
Do you wanna be the lover of another
Undercover you could even be the man on the moon
Do you wanna be the player
Do you wanna be the string
Let me tell you something
It just don’t mean a thing
You see it really doesn’t matter
When you’re buried in disguise
By the dark glass on your eyes
Though your flesh has crystallised
Still… you turn me on
Still… you turn me on
Mmmm… you turn me on
Do you wanna be the pillow where I lay my head
Do you wanna be the feathers lying in my bed
Do you wanna be the cover of a magazine
Create a scene
Every day a little sadder
A little madder
Someone get me a ladder
Do you wanna be the singer
Do you wanna be the song
Let me tell you something
You just couldn’t be more wrong
You see I really have to tell you
That it all gets so intense
From my experience
It just doesn’t seem to make sense
Still… you turn me on
Mmmm… you turn me on, yeah
Mmmm… you turn me on.
drum circle (seasons)
leaves
at war
with mother earth
holding tightly to birth
winter winds gusty march triumphant
spring
Classical guitar -Milo Karadaglic
I discovered a new artist. I love when that happens.
No time to write this morning… but before i head out the door, i wanted to share what i have been listening to the past few weeks.
Love, my WP friends… love j🧡
Drum Circle
A new experience presented itself within a community to celebrate positive energy. This was most of the group’s first time being together. The hour started with rhythmic drum beats mimicking the heart’s life force.
There were 15 of us, each with a drum and another percussion instrument. This video is the third of four sets, each naturally lasting between 12-13 minutes. The group leaders did little to manipulate each interval of creative expression. They flowed as swiftly and gently, or vigorously and bountifully, as the Nashua River, deep in the Valley of Oxbow.
As the hour progressed, a golden hue encompassed us. We said farewell to the sun. Then to each other. Look forward to another drum circle September 12.
drifting dragonfly
heartfully-winged escapade
soaring fantasies
Music Get me out of this Funk
Only way to survive the insanity is to turn up the volume. Dance! See you on the other side of the Moon…
“Little Red Corvette” Prince
“She’s Strange” Cameo
“She Works Hard for Her Money” Donna Summer
“Whip It” Devo
“Nasty Girl” Vanity 6
“Maniac” Michael Sembello
“Love is a Stranger” Eurythmics
“Sunglasses at Night” Corey Hart
“She Blinded Me with Science” Thomas Dolby
“Love is a Battlefield” Pat Benator
If these songs can’t dissipate the fog? What gives?
Training to walk 18 miles for American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (AFSP) on June 16, 2018 in Philadelphia PA. Brotherly love John!
Thursday Doors – January 11, 2018
Thursday Doors January-11-2018
Church is poetry. Poetry is life. A life well lived.
The house was hopping
Souls set free
The world woken
The Lord spoken to me.
These toes were tappin’
chairs set aside
no sittin’ lookin’ pretty
church is alive…
I would go to church everyday if the Lord spoke to me as He clearly had the house rocking in Orlando… The Brotherhood sung us to heaven and God’s glory shone like the lighthouse these men are. To live their lives for others a gift to humanity and they brought joyful sounds along with them to Orlando.
Enter the gates and bring a joyful sound.
Praise the creation as a soul unbound.
No earthly worries allowed here,
just lay them at the Lord’s feet.
A long time ago, 1992, I was invited to a co-worker’s church. I accepted. I brought my then two year old daughter along and I sat in the farthest pew from the front. I certainly felt unworthy to be in the crowd of rollicking, holy rollers, speaking in the Lord’s temple. I was fallen to the soil in a heap of ash, barely breathing, wanting all breath to cease. But there was an existing spark, buried, and my co-worker recognized and ignited it… well, sort of.
Toward the end of the service people were invited to the alter to be blessed by the Word and she encouraged me to go forward. I took my daughter with me. The Deacons prophesied over us Psalm 91. For those not familiar with the Bible, Psalm 91 concerns angels and their watch over His children.
At the time, I was unfamiliar with the verse and left church feeling no different. About a year later we moved to New York City, my husband obtaining a postdoctoral fellowship with Prof. Danishevsky at Sloan-Kettering Memorial Hospital as a cancer researcher. The Lord knew I needed plenty of help raising a toddler in New York City. He sent His angels to surround my daughter as I navigated the city streets with a two year old who refused to hold my hand. She had two near-death experiences, but an unseen hand saved her from perishing.
New York City was a wake up call. I am quite naive about the earth’s perils. The world is a dangerous place to exist. New York City turned me into an angelic mother. I declared there would be no more messing around. I had to become serious in the plight of motherhood.
Now, where are the angels I need for this last daughter? Send them, quickly!!!
The Letter
The Letter
No longer
do I sit at my desk
ponder
what he is thinking of me.
The coffee cold
I put away the linen paper
with gold border
just my initials
scrawled at the bottom.
He will know
who I am
yet I search
for the girl inside,
my desires for a man
I cannot have.
I am
nothing
but the stars
in his eyes
the ocean of my heart.
Does she know
my secret
as I sweep past her
in the kitchen
where we meet?
He sees me
and only I
can wish
to see him
again.
The whispered winds
scent of pine trees
the hands of the clock
draw sands of time
blur the image
left behind.
haiku
I wrote this poem, not to demean, which some may find, but rather a reality of what sells and how many won’t admit to the true reality. Others may see something else in this poem. I am curious.
I had a “friend”, if you could call her that, who lived this life. This is her poem.
sister cuts her hair
wisps of waves float in the sink
someone plugs the drain
mascara eye paint
blasted evening torched the bar
girls heavy handed
nail clippings puddled
wrinkles outline the shadows
shake my god-damn hand
garage Jazz band plays
greasy hands under the hood
Flash Mob gets lucky…
Do we see the same images? J
