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[ have gotten my 2 jabs months ago



Ps To Rose



Walk good,

As something to do during the Covid Lockdowns I started recording myself reciting poetry. Most of them are on facebook but I put some of them onto Youtube. Sooo. I'll drop them here now and again.

THis Is "Another September," by Thomas Kinsella



Dreams fled away, this country bedroom, raw
With the touch of the dawn, wrapped in a minor peace,
Hears through an open window the garden draw
Long pitch black breaths, lay bare its apple trees,
Ripe pear trees, brambles, windfall-sweetened soil,
Exhale rough sweetness against the starry slates.
Nearer the river sleeps St. John’s, all toil
Locked fast inside a dream with iron gates.

Domestic Autumn, like an animal
Long used to handling by those countrymen,
Rubs her kind hide against the bedroom wall
Sensing a fragrant child come back again
– Not this half-tolerated consciousness
That plants its grammar in her yielding weather
But that unspeaking daughter, growing less
Familiar where we fell asleep together.

Wakeful moth wings blunder near a chair,
Toss their light shell at the glass, and go
To inhabit the living starlight. Stranded hair
Stirs on still linen. It is as though
The black breathing that billows her sleep, her name,
Drugged under judgement, waned and – bearing daggers
And balances–down the lampless darkness they came,
Moving like women : Justice, Truth, such figures.

I'm pretty much new to blogging. I hope you enjoy it. Hmm for some reason the powers that be won't allow me o post images using the Edge browser Now I'm back to using chrome and here's a picture finally.

God! Do you have to be virtuous and so pious? Why make me feel ashamed with the concept of sin? What good is life if life on earth is a misery? I become repentant, yet you are not kind to me. Why mock at me with goodness? Why can’t you tolerate my inequities? Why can’t you grace my fortunes? I am not the nails that have crucified you. I am not the hands that have been washed in public proclaiming that you are innocent. I did not betray you with thirty pieces of silver. I have not liked the wife you adorned me with. When you say that: I am the way: truth and the life: it makes no sense. I have searched my within and found an abyss of angst. David committed adultery and yet you forgave him. Since 2013, I have been living with a b* of a wife in a rut. Lord why don’t you feel pity for me? Is there room in your heart for the fruit tender kindness? Have you forsaken me forever to live in my misery? God, I am heartbroken, weary and tired with the ways of men and with you. Solace is an existential worm.

This week the Burning Man will create a temporary temple to whatever ideals you hold true.

Then thay will burn it down...

Live Art in motion, How colorful...:

Have a good day every one,,

Awake at 3 am last night, I put some magnesium oil on to help me relax and get back to sleep, and started journalling to get the busy out of my brain onto paper. I'll bet if I read that today, it'll look like a lot of disjointed thoughts, written haphazardly.

But, as I was writing, I had the epiphany that I was good at encouraging a friend to write and illustrate a book to utilize her talents, but I wasn't so good at applying that to myself. Oh, I can give a million reasons why I haven't, but if I'm honest with myself, every single one of those 'reasons' are mere excuses. I haven't made it a priority, simple as that.

After journalling, I've realized I've needed this year to really settle in to my new home, as I've moved every year for the past four years, and my life has been in turmoil due to these unforeseen circumstances. Now that I'm settled and really enjoying my little dream home and the lovely community I'm in, it's time to get organized, focussed, and motivated.

One of my 'dreams' is to paint my way through France, Italy and Spain, and take about 3 months to do so. I have a plan on how I'm going to achieve that, and now it's time for me to start putting that plan into action. It's also time for me to get back into my art studio. I moved into this house as it has 3 bedrooms and I could make one an art room and another the office, having them separate.

Well, that was a good plan, but I haven't painted for 3 years now, partly due to the stress and turbulence in my life. But that's over now and has been for a good six months. Partly it's due to my immersion in photography which has taken up my time and energy. Again though, that's an excuse. I've wasted time in the evenings online and on the phone instead of in my studio, truth be told.

Now that the creative bug has bit me again, I know I'll be spending time in my art studio again, using all those wonderful colours that are waving at me to squeeze their little tubular bodies.

Dusk
The splendor of the sky dazzled as an ornament. The sky, a golden furnace, robes of orange, mystic flames of purple all serenaded me like a catharsis. Angels on wings danced in the pulchritude of delight. Time has become a frozen dream of music. Evening is a tranquil lullaby, a poetic sonata of love. I watch the sun go into its hive. Dark has become a mourning night.

Dream
Had a strange dream—in this dream, a black cat was hissing at me; it was only a kitten. Looked at dream interpretations and it said: ‘I am afraid of my own intuition’. I am not fully convinced by the interpretation.

Illuminati
I joined the fraternity of the Illuminati today. Feel happy as a new born flower.

My body is corpse of rotten flowers –my soul an angst ridden Sisyphus—Where’s warmth of a woman gone? When can I smell sweet Jasmine on your hair? When can I caress your hair with trembling fingers—your lips are sweet wine—When can I immerse on them—I long to plant loving kisses on you—When can I kiss the vermilion on your forehead, the sign that you have a husband. Adultery is the passion of poetry. When can I fondle your mounts of Venus, suckle your nipples like a child. I am fond of lesbian voyeuristic sex. How playful are they when they fondle their erotic breasts…How adorable are they when they sodomize themselves with their tongues…oh how I love to hear them moan in ecstasy.

The queen of jazz the Lady Ella Fitzgerald would have been 100 years old this week,

I hope you had a lovely Ester week end,
For myslef I planted a new rosé and cook for my dauther and Son inlaw
Walk good every one and have a good week where ever you are
One love..