The Phantom Of Her Blog
Her blog appeared with the ping of my phone, I transpierced, mesmerized, engulfed, navigating my way round the phantom, lifted, carried deep into the well, emerging, prancing over catwalks, springing toward the decaying spiral of dripping eloquence, up, up to the dome overlooking all that can be seen; an ancient river of wisdom.
You may visit Her Blog at: http://salmonsaladandmozart.com/?p=3133
A CIRCLING GLOW
The wood is very quiet; still
No movement, leaf, water, quill
Early morning sky is slate
End November fateful fate
Closing yet another year
Bands of smoke surround this sphere
As the sun inaugurates glister
The reek less blister
The light presents per chance a dream
The half-perceived material stream
As I read of a tattered coat on a tattered stick
My thoughts advanced to my heart with desire sick,
And, Canadian Brass, did, Barber’s Adagio sing,
My love, the truth, my reading, my studying.
NEW HOME IN THE SUN
There is a band playing in a turret of the castle of my mind.
Thinking about what you had said; knowing it was a lie.
Playing against Mother Nature; probing, hoping for a find.
Lying crippled from all attempts; under scrutinizing eye.
An insincere queen reigns in a self proclaimed driver’s seat.
Deeming laughter and drumming as almighty sin against God.
Labored, accrued and paid for by peasants without meat.
Her, wicked guffaw, exempt, ringing loud and feigned: odd.
In a dream, I waited, while entertaining a love affair with the moon.
All in a dream, placated, waiting for the sun to shine.
Asleep, daydreaming, of a Mother Nature soon to swoon.
Awake, the sun burst through on a silver sea: mine.
A LETTER TO A WRITER
The Inquisition might be a very good example; that I feel still goes on today although in much subtler forms; as when your sister sits across a breakfast table, in a public restaurant, and discounts whatever you have said with a stern but, more so, sour look on her face. All possibly due to a narrow channel of thought that does not even begin to fulfill their guarded, greedy self involved agendas.
I feel stronger today and more rested; not positive but hopeful that I will move towards obtaining the already spent rent needed to satisfy the nasty letter: sanguine feelings I am bolstering with a nice strong cup of breakfast blend.
Our situations may be of qualitative service to us, let’s hope sooner, than at the end of the day.
Please, please… take this time to tell your stories and to share them from a confirmed and affirmative place, no matter how imaginary the round table, in that corner room below the turret, (cupola), in the castle of your mind.
Better three hours too soon than a minute too late.
– William Shakespeare
Do you not see how necessary a world of pains and troubles is to school an intelligence and make it a soul?
– John Keats
Good writing excites me, and makes life worth living.
– Harold Pinter
Art hath an enemy called ignorance.
– Ben Jonson
SOLITARY AS AN OYSTER
Solitary as an oyster
Alone in my nest
Reading the writers
None but the best
The music trumpeting
The mix from fine friend
All allegories all vetting
Keen authors depend
Beyond the turret
Bleak cold winds hove
Gelid little habitat
Two more coals in the stove
Solitary as an oyster
Writing of reading
Reading of writers
The music swooning
Authors mine mooning
Songs glorious sing
At the round table
Wordsmith for wordsmith
Round the round table with
Solitary as an oyster
Essayist’s vast roster
Mine company and hone.
A LETTER TO C.
I hope I wasn’t too overly cynical in my last e-mail. I am, in most essential respects, optimistic: though cognizant of the muddy playing fields that have been imposed – pressed upon us. Coming from a heart that prefers a forthright skyway; I am not very fond of muddying the trail. All this talk of doing the right thing, while considering what new physical limitations, let alone national, let alone global developments may deter us from achieving what is expected, leaves me unpropitiously estimating, “What next?”.
Yesterday, I was without internet and phone service for five hours, (a tornado in Newcastle County?) – and this morning the power went off while I was working on line, ( a transformer blew at Sams?) Speaking of Lame Adventures!
I hope you are accomplishing all you desire.
With the cooler nights lending themselves to more temperate mornings – it’s been a brutally hot summer – I have taken to riding the mountain bike. On the wide open country roads traversing the old railroad tracks and the creeks and streams heading up the St Jones River I was rewarded by the pleasant aroma of freshly cut grass; my path was strewn with an abundance of cobalt blue morning glories and a pair of yellow finches raced along side me, always perching, waiting for me to catch up before taking wing flying another fifty yards before lighting to repeat all over again. Butterflies flittered at lush green foliage, smal winged and large winged, orange, yellow and white. The sun shone brightly and the sky was a paler shade of the dewy and reflective morning glories. On returning to a more congested area at a stop sign – ceding to the oncoming rush hour traffic – I discovered two copper pennies, one heads, one tales; the latter perfectly canceling the former. All-pervading, the adventure leaves me with a sense of gratitude and the recognition of good fortune: and two cents richer.
– Robert Pennington Price