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On the summit of the precipice and in the deep green woods emotions as palpable and as true have agitated me as if I were surveying them with the blessing of sight. There was an intelligence in the winds of the hills and in the solemn stillness of the buried foliage that could not be misleading. It entered into my heart and I could have wept, not that I did not see, but that I could not portray all I felt.
~James Holman, "A Voyage Round the World"
Another one from Forest Park. This particular spot along the Hardesty Trail filled me with a sense of wonder, and you will certainly be seeing more photos from this area.
Two shots combined, taken with my Nikon FM.
“It's one thing to feel that you are on the right path, but it's another to think yours is the only path". Paulo Coelho - 'By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept',
# 113 Natural Framing
Seen in 115 pictures in 2015
My soul
Down on my luck,
Out of all options,
I fell to my knees and wept,
Out of all my life nothing had I kept.
A voice whispered,
Deep into my ear,
Sell me your soul this night,
In return I give you your wildest delight.
Tears rolling on my cheeks,
I had no choice by to comply,
I lifted my head without pride,
I already felt the cold emptiness now inside.
My head fell to my chest,
Long weak hands,
No longer covering a face of shame,
Without a soul my heart felt no guilt no blame.
I stood on legs not my own,
Walking the street,
Nothing left did I know,
To nothing and no one did I owe?
All things bad were gone,
Burdens lifted from shoulders,
Straight and proud now they stood,
Who knew hollow could feel so good.
Long life I have now lived,
Happiness ringing throughout,
The end of the road is now near,
But so empty I walked forward without fear.
Again the voice I once knew,
Calling me by name,
Now addicted to the life you lead,
Do you remember those soft words I said?
Looking back I was wrong,
Decision I made when down,
Stopped I looked into a window far,
There behind dirty glass it was held in a jar.
My heart cried out in remembrance,
Throat to tight to scream,
His voice silent as the final question posed,
I knew too late to get it back as the deal was closed.
Walking to the front of that pawn shop,
Stood below the dusty sign,
Behind me deaths footsteps began to toll,
The old paper sign read cheap one used soul.
Rich Bailey
October 9, 2006
~~~~~
This bottle is actually at the Bothell Landing park, in one of the old house windows that are part of the historical monument. I guess the bright blue of it seemed to jump out at me as if saying, there is more here then meets the eye.
~~~~~
I wrote this poem during a rough patch in life. It was just after James and I had moved in together. Although the rough part had little to do with James, I think it represented a time where we really grew on each other and started to understand more of what really went on in each others heads. I think most of what was going on in my head was wondering if this time I would truly be happy or if somewhere in my past, I had sold my soul for a moments happiness only to suffer a long life of failures.
Honestly, I don't think I would have made it through that time very well without James and time has answered that question, because I think I am happier with James then I have been since, well, since I moved to Seattle so many years ago; looking for freedom and escape.
*Working Towards a Better World
Let the rain kiss you. Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops. Let the rain sing you a lullaby. - Langston Hues
The best thing one can do when it's raining is to let it rain. -
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Sunshine is delicious, rain is refreshing, wind braces us up, snow is exhilarating; there is really no such thing as bad weather, only different kinds of good weather. - John Ruskin
“Love like rain, can nourish from above, drenching couples with a soaking joy. But sometimes under the angry heat of life, love dries on the surface and must nourish from below, tending to its roots keeping itself alive.” -
Paulo Coelho, By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept
Thank you for your kind visit. Have a wonderful and beautiful day! xo💜💜
Pams Art
Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray:
And, when I crossed the wild,
I chanced to see at break of day
The solitary child.
No mate, no comrade Lucy knew;
She dwelt where none abide
The sweetest thing that ever grew
Upon the mountainside!
You yet may spy the fawn at play
The hare among the green;
But the sweet face of Lucy Gray
Will never more be seen.
“To-night will be a stormy night—
You to the town must go;
And take a lantern, Child, to light
Your mother through the snow.”
“That, Father! Will I gladly do:
'Tis scarcely afternoon —
The village clock has just struck two,
And yonder is the moon!”
At this the Father turned his hook,
To kindling for the day'
He plied his work; — and Lucy took
The lantern on her way.
As carefree as a mountain doe:
A fresh, new path she broke
Her feet dispersed the powdery snow,
That rose up just like smoke.
The storm came on before its time"
She wandered up and down;
And many a hill did Lucy climb:
But never reached the town.
The wretched parents all that night
Went shouting far and wide;
But there was neither sound nor sight
To serve them as a guide.
At daybreak on a hill they stood
That overlooked the scene;
And thence they saw the bridge of wood,
That spanned a deep ravine.
They wept &mdash and, turning homeward, cried,
"In Heaven we all shall meet!";
— When in the snow the mother spied
The print of Lucy's feet.
Then downwards from the steep hill's edge
They tracked the footmarks small;
And through the broken hawthorn hedge,
And by the long stone-wall;
And then an open field they crossed:
The marks were still the same;
They tracked them on, not ever lost;
And to the bridge they came.
They followed from the snowy bank
Those footmarks, one by one,
Into the middle of the plank;
And further there were none!
— Yet some maintain that to this day
She is a living child;
That you may see sweet Lucy Gray
Upon the lonesome wild.
O'er rough and smooth she trips along,
And never looks behind;
And sings a solitary song
That whistles in the wind.
“Waiting is painful. Forgetting is painful. But not knowing which to do is the worst kind of suffering.” ― Paulo Coelho, By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept.
Thanks for the views, comments, faves ^__^
Wild water, drops that fly
Freshly wept by the sky
Joined as one, they now race
Washing the Earths , once dirty face
Leaping above, falling down
Covering stones, that surrender and drown
Shining silently in the midday sun
Twisting and turning, they do run
Freshly wept by hidden eyes
Teardrops, sent from the crying skies
Once upon a time in the quiet village of Zanahoria, nestled between carrot fields and sunlit hills, there lived a small white bunny named Benito. He was shy, with floppy ears and a voice sweeter than a spring breeze. While other bunnies thumped and nibbled, Benito would sit under a cactus and sing softly to the sky.
One day, a traveling mariachi band passed through the village. They stopped to rest, and as they tuned their instruments, they heard a voice—soft, clear, and heartbreakingly beautiful. It was Benito, singing a lullaby to the moon. The band was stunned. The trumpet player dropped his horn. The guitarist wept into his strings.
“You’ve got the soul of a thousand rancheras in that little heart,” said the lead singer. “Come with us.”
And so he did. Benito donned a tiny sombrero, a custom-tailored charro suit, and took the stage name Mariachi Bunny. His first performance at Fiesta del Sol had the crowd on their feet—laughing, crying, dancing. Videos of the singing bunny went viral. He toured Mexico, then the world. Fans threw carrots instead of roses.
But no matter how famous he became, Benito always returned to Zanahoria each spring—to sit under the cactus, and sing softly to the sky.
And that’s how the world came to know the legend of Mariachi Bunny.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=zWm5WErkffQ
Marty Robbins - El Paso
The the sun came up very nicely and wept down over the dunes, so quickly changed my lens for this shot
December rain kept on pouring
And alone outside, in the streets I wept-
dripping... dripping and falling.
Bluethroat - Luscinia Svecica
One of my fav birds from 2017.
Lincolnshire
Came across this interesting story, Glad we only "shoot" them with Cameras nowadays!
One autumn morning in the early 1880s, the little 'town' of Cley, Norfolk woke up to find itself famous. It was perhaps the tiniest, sleepiest town in England, known only to a few artists because of its old windmill and picturesque red-roofed houses, and its church, which is as big as an abbey.
What brought sudden fame to Cley? A little bird about the size of a robin, which looked like a robin, and in fact was a robin, except that whereas our familiar friend has an orange-red breast, this small gentleman was equipped with a beautiful blue bib and gorget. Of course, blue-throated robins had been arriving on the Norfolk coast for hundreds of years. But nobody had noticed them.
It so happened that two London doctors, Fred and George Power, who in addition to their professional duties were keen amateur naturalists, decided to spend their autumn holiday on the Norfolk coast. In those days there was not much known about blue-throated robins, and only one or two had been met with in this country. But the two brothers Power had been studying maps, and the idea occurred to them that the spit of North Norfolk shingle which runs out into the sea from Cley must be an ideal resting place for tired birds on the southward journey from their breeding-grounds in the far north.
It was even possible that the rarest, loveliest and most sought-after of the feathered tribe, the Arctic bluethroat might be among their number, though such a prize was hardly to be expected except with the greatest good fortune. Anyway, the doctor brothers packed their bags, tied up their top-boots and guns, and to the old-fashioned George Inn, at Cley, in the wilds of Norfolk, they came.
Next morning they started out early, gun in hand and a plentiful supply of small-shotted cartridges in their pockets, for Fred Power had dreamed that he had shot a bluethroat. It was raining and blowing hard from the north-east. They made their way down to the beach, and had hardly got as far as the first bushes near the old watch-house when a little bird darted out at the feet of Fred Power. He caught a glimpse of a bright, chestnut-coloured tail with a dark band across it, and knew it was a bird he had never seen before.
His brother heard a shot, and then a shout: 'Come here, George, what do you think I have got?' It was, of course, a bluethroat. They had been lucky enough to hit off what came to be known in after years as a 'bluethroat morning', and in the course of that stormy day the two naturalists bagged some half dozen of these birds, hitherto almost unknown in England.
Those were the days when every naturalist was a bird collector, and fame came to Cley in consequence of the exploit of the Power brothers. The following season, collectors came from all parts of the country, eager to get a blue-breasted robin. But the weather was fine that year - no east wind, no rain. Some of the visitors enjoyed themselves. Artists could sketch and boys could bathe, but the naturalists came and wept, disappointed and empty-handed.
… when we remembered Zion. There on the poplars we hung our harps, for there our captors asked us for songs
Psalm 137
Another tree on Stamford meadows caught on camera just before a chainsaw was unleashed upon it. Thankfully this beautiful old willow tree was simply being pruned at the time although rather a drastic one apparently causing distress among locals living within sight of it and probably many of those also crossing the bridge each day especially with it being the focal point of the entire meadows . It will grow back of course but I think it will be a few summers before it's worthy of capturing on camera again.
Thank you for passing by :)
* *
There is a story from the Dreamtime handed down through the generations by the Wannarua people of the Upper Hunter Valley that tells how one of the strangest natural phenomena in Australia came about. This is how it is re-told on a sign at the base of Burning Mountain, near the little town of Wingen.
“One day, the Gummaroi (or Kamilaroi) people to the north sent a raiding party to Broke to steal Wonnarua women for wives. The Wiradjuri to the west, who were friends of the Wonnarua, told them of the Gummaroi plans.
The Wonnarua gathered all of their warriors and sent them to do battle with the Gummaroi.
The wives of the Wonnarua warriors waited for their husbands to return. All came back, except one. The wife of that one started to worry. She went up high and sat on top of a rock cliff overlooking the valley to the south to wait for her husband. She waited and waited, but when he did not return she knew that he had died during the battle. She cried until she could cry no more. She could not live without her husband, so she asked Baayami, the great sky god, to kill her.
Baayami could not kill her so he turned her to stone. As she was turning to stone she wept tears of fire which rolled down the hillside and set the mountain alight.”
Later afternoon sun aided by Picasa2.
LARGE enjoy with tags on right.
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Reflect on today's Scripture: March 23, 2008, Easter Sunday: His Resurrection
Acts 10:34a, 37-43
Psalm 118:1-2, 16-17, 22-23
Colossians 3:1-4
John 20:1-9
Easter has come suddenly, with a burst of light!
Now we know that Jesus stands by his promises! In a flash, Christ has changed darkness and death into light and life. Our journey through the struggles of Lent and the pain of Holy Week is over. With malicious sacrilege, evil has done its worst to the sacred body of God's Son. With Mary and John, we saw Him die. We wept at the tomb. Then, before dawn on Sunday, Christ broke through the rock, shattered the power of sin and, according to tradition, appeared first to His Mother, then to the women and the apostles.
As we listen to today's first reading, we hear one of Peter's very first sermons. The curious bystanders were astounded at the change in this man. He comes fresh from the fiery tongues of Pentecost, still in shock at the dream he had on the way to Cornelius' house. Nothing was to be considered unclean. So he is free to preach to Gentiles the Good News of God's forgiveness and freedom for all. Peter and the others are commanded to baptize any who believe in the Christ. So the word spreads through the whole countryside and beyond. Resurrection is the hope of every living person. No wonder the apostles preached with such courage and enthusiasm!
They preached about a God who cared first for people who were poor and powerless, a God whose love governed all His relationships. And He taught us to not only believe in justice, but to act justly.
The Scripture readings during these fifty days between Easter and Pentecost are among the most exciting in the Church year. We burst into "Alleluias" over and over, and joyfully shout "Christ has Risen" this Sunday. But more than just singing, we settle into a new time of reflection on our own program for resurrection in these very troubled times. After all, it is our mission to bring new life to a troubled world. If we don't do it, who will? So let's repack for travel!
As followers of the Risen Christ, the time has come for greater efforts on our part to influence politicians and others on all the vital life issues that are integral to the teaching of Jesus Christ—from abortion and embryonic stem-cell research to corruption in government and all institutions—to proper medical care for the sick and elderly. Jesus teaches respect for every human person, whether alien or citizen. We need to study the document of the Bishops on Faithful Citizenship. Hopefully, many of us will continue our Why Catholic groups. Faith and action begin with understanding and loving the teachings and plans for action of our Church. We have so much to do as hope-filled Easter Catholics. These are critical times, and we must not fall back into laziness or complacency now that Lent has ended.
Let's hope our spiritual blood-pressure is just a bit higher as we proclaim the Good News.
Christ is Risen, Alleluia!
- Msgr. Paul Whitmore | email: pwhitmore29@yahoo.com
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Pope Urges Youth to Form Friendship With Christ, for this is Best Relationship Key for Responding to Modern World
VATICAN CITY, MARCH 19, 2008 (Zenit.org).- Benedict XVI greeted university students gathered for an annual conference sponsored by Opus Dei, and encouraged them to foster a personal relationship with Christ so as to be able to respond to the great questions of our time.
The Pope greeted in three languages the 3,000 participants of the international UNIV congress, gathered today in St. Peter's Basilica. He then gave the traditional catechesis during his weekly general audience in Paul VI Hall.
"I offer a cordial welcome to all of you who have come to Rome from various countries and universities to celebrate Holy Week together, and to take part in the International UNIV Congress," the Holy Father told the youth. "In this way, you will be able to benefit from moments of common prayer, cultural enrichment and a helpful exchange of the experiences gained from your association with the centers and activities of Christian formation sponsored by the Prelature of Opus Dei in your respective cities and nations."
The conference this year, which ends Easter Sunday, is focused on the theme "Being, Appearing, and Communicating: Entertainment and Happiness in a Multi-Medial Society."
The Pontiff reminded the youth that with a "serious personal commitment, inspired by the Gospel values, it is possible to respond adequately to the great questions of our time.'
"The Christian knows that there is an inseparable link between the truth, ethics and responsibility," he said. "Every authentic cultural expression contributes to form the conscience and encourage the person to better himself with the end of bettering society. In this way one feels responsible before the truth, at the service of which, one must put one's own personal liberty."
A commitment
Benedict XVI said this implies "a mission requiring commitment." And to fulfill this commitment, he affirmed, "the Christian is called to follow Jesus, cultivating an intense friendship with him through prayer and contemplation."
"To be friends of Christ, and to give testimony of him wherever we are, demands, furthermore, the strength to go against the grain, remembering the words of the Lord: You are in the world but not of the world," he added.
The Pope encouraged the youth: "Do not be afraid, then, to be nonconformists when it is necessary; at your university, school and in all places."
"Dear young people of UNIV, be leaven of hope in the world that desires to meet Jesus, often without knowing it," he urged. "To better the world, make an effort above all to change yourselves through an intense sacramental life, especially through approaching the sacrament of penance, and participating assiduously in the celebration of the Eucharist."
The UNIV conferences began in 1968, inspired and encouraged by Opus Dei's founder, Monsignor Josemaría Escrivá, who was canonized in 2002.
________________
EXPLORE # 382 on Monday, March 24, 2008
When they buried the children
What they didn’t know
They were lovingly embraced
By the land
Held and cradled in a mother’s heart
The trees wept for them, with the wind
they sang mourning songs their mother’s
didn’t know to sing
bending branches to touch the earth around them. The Creator cried for them
the tears falling like rain.
Mother Earth held them
until they could be found.
Now voices sing the mourning songs.
with the trees. the wind. light sacred fire ensure that they are never forgotten as we sing
JUSTICE
- abigail echo-hawk
I will remember them...
While Positano bustles with tourists in high season, it wasn't too busy in late October. The town's year-round population is less than 4,000 people.
So when young Fernanda, only 17, lost her life in an accident on the treacherous bends of the roads around the town, Positano was devastated. Everyone knew her or knew someone that knew her.
Stores and restaurants closed, some of them all day long, on the day of her remembrance. Hundreds of colorful balloons were released at the church celebrating her life. People wept openly in the streets, hugging and seeking hugs. Even tourists such as us got swept up in this deeply emotional day.
I dedicate this image to this young lady.
Ciao, Fernanda.
Going back over some earlier material...nothing new at the moment. Way, Way Back to 2007....with my original 5D. This is "Chance"...the best dog of my life...I mean I have loved all the dogs in my life...and there have been many...but Chance stood out from the rest. We bonded from when he was a pup...always being in my lap...playing soccer outside...when my ex and I decided to divorce, Chance was the only thing that I asked for. He was seven...I credit him with saving me from taking my life in the early days...and then for being the companion I needed to keep me on my toes...killing groundhogs...hunting vermin...enjoying our world. Fast forward a lifetime to this photo...Chance is almost nine months from death...he knows the end is near...I feel he is almost asking me to help end it. I had Chance put down on 03/08/08 and buried him out by the dogwood tree...put a headstone on it too. There are some other pics of Chance on Flickr...I think.
Actually, I happened upon this image while looking for something else...I wept for a bit...thinking about how sad Chance was in this photo.
Please do not use without my explicit permission
© All Rights Reserved
Walter C Snyder
The Walrus and the Carpenter
Were walking close at hand;
They wept like anything to see
Such quantities of sand:
'If this were only cleared away';
They said, 'it would be grand'!
How many grains of sand are there on the beach? Have you seen that scene in the film 'Local Hero'....Anyway, it is estimated that if you were to count all the grains of sand on every beach on planet Earth, it would be about one thousand trillion grains of sand, or a 1 followed by 21 zeros:
1000000000000000000000. Not sure how this is derived... probably not a cubic estimate which would be larger... The grains of sand here don't make a dent on that number.
Source en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1,000,000,000,000
Photo: N Beech
Thanks a lot for your visits, comments, faves, invites, etc ... Always very much appreciated !
A SONG OF ETERNITY IN TIME.
ONCE, at night, in the manor wood
My Love and I long silent stood,
Amazed that any heavens could
Decree to part us, bitterly repining.
My Love, in aimless love and grief,
Reached forth and drew aside a leaf
That just above us played the thief
And stole our starlight that for us was shining.
A star that had remarked her pain
Shone straightway down that leafy lane,
And wrought his image, mirror-plain,
Within a tear that on her lash hung gleaming.
"Thus Time," I cried, '" is but a tear
Some one hath wept 'twixt hope and fear,
Yet in his little lucent sphere
Our star of stars, Eternity, is beaming."
S Lanier
The mention of Katas Raj, located in the salt range 18 miles south of Chakwal, is found in Maha Bharat written in 300 BC. The etymology of this place as narrated in the old edition of Tarikh-i-Jhelum (History of Jhelum) is that according to Brahaman belief, Shiv Devta wept so profusely on the death of his beloved wife Satti that two holy ponds – one at Pushkar of Ajmair and other at Katak Shell – came into being with his tears. In Sanskrit, the word – Katak Shell – means chain of tears which later on was pronounced as ‘Katas’.
Arrow of light, see it run
Fired from the bow of sun
Into the tears the sky has wept
Across the lake, where waves had swept
Chased by the arrow, that did run
Fired from the bow of the red hot sun
Easter Sunday April 9, 2023 If ever the world has need of a risen Savior it's now.
Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene went to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the entrance. So she came running to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one Jesus loved, and said, “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we don’t know where they have put him!” John 20:1-2
Now Mary stood outside the tomb crying. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb and saw two angels in white, seated where Jesus’ body had been, one at the head and the other at the foot.
They asked her, “Woman, why are you crying?”
“They have taken my Lord away,” she said, “and I don’t know where they have put him.” At this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not realize that it was Jesus.
He asked her, “Woman, why are you crying? Who is it you are looking for?”
Thinking he was the gardener, she said, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will get him.”
Jesus said to her, “Mary.”
She turned toward him and cried out in Aramaic, “Rabboni!” (which means “Teacher”). John 20:11-16
A week later his disciples were in the house again, and Thomas was with them. Though the doors were locked, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you!” Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side. Stop doubting and believe.”
Thomas said to him, “My Lord and my God!”
Then Jesus told him, “Because you have seen me, you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.” John 20:26-29
“Canadian government has spent more than $16.5 million on euthanasia regime since 2016”
www.lifesitenews.com/news/canadian-government-has-spent-m...
John 11:35 “Jesus wept.”
We waited three weeks for our puppy to arrive by plane and when I finally saw the tiny, six pound puppy peeking through the crate, I wept for all the love and confirmation of acceptance she gave to us in that instant with her beautiful, expectant eyes. Philip opened up the door and gathered the weary traveller into his arms and she literally embraced him with her long legs and I watched as my husband beamed with unabashed joy. I knew right away that I was not the only love of his life anymore…
When I put Sammy, the last of the Schnauzers down, two days after Christmas, I told my husband that the ‘reign of the terriers’ was over. A few days later Philip came to me and said there was a hole in his heart - so here we are, once again, beginning a new chapter with yet another terrier!
I knew we were in trouble when we arrived at home and brought the puppy in the door. It took her only one minute to make herself at home and when she saw Ben, my Wolf Hound she wasted no time and immediately read him the riot act. She was in charge and she made no bones about it! Ben implored with his expressive eyes as if to ask me, “When is she leaving?”
I, in turn, looked back at Ben and said, “She’s staying - but I, on the other hand, might have to move out…”
S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero,
Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.
LET us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question …
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.
And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—
[They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
[They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”]
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
For I have known them all already, known them all:—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?
And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?
And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
It is perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
. . . . .
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?…
I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
. . . . .
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep … tired … or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.
And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”—
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: “That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all.”
And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
“That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.”
. . . . .
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.
I grow old … I grow old …
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
T.S. Eliot (1888–1965). Prufrock and Other Observations. 1917.
The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
Explore #483 December 5th,2008
Taken in the Immaculate Heart of Mary Parish in Windthorst, Kansas.
My entry for the Monthly Scavenger Hunt category "Holy is as Holy does".
Earl: "Years Ago I Dated This Army Sergeant Named Tina. When I Broke It Off With Her, She Wept For Days."
Me: "Please Tell Me You Said, Don't Cry For Me, Sergeant Tina."
# "... THIS WAS TEXTBOOK."
# THE TRIALS OF MRS. TRONA
# music: eponymous, GOODNIGHT OSLO -- ROBYN HITCHCOCK & THE VENUS 3
"You leave the Stray Hotel
And find a place to smoke
A house that has no walls
Or memories at all
You're listening to her
Still broadcasting inside
But you can walk out
Any time
Goodnight Oslo
Goodnight Oslo
Goodnight Oslo"
It's just Norwegian speed"
From Tromso down to Kirstiansand
They're waiting for the dark
That never comes"
And the daughter of Pharaoh came down to wash herself at the river and her maidens walked along by the river's side and when she saw the ark among the flags, she sent her maid to fetch it. And when she had opened it, she saw the child: and, behold, the babe wept. And she had compassion on him, and said, This is one of the Hebrews' children... And she called his name Moses: and she said, Because I drew him out of the water.
Exodus 2:5-6, 10b
See the whole story here at InnovaLUG!
Greetings all! This was my build for the InnovaLUG, The Story of Moses collab/flash moc. Thanks to the InnovaLUG members for the suggestions when building this!
#innovaLUG #legomoses
getting experimental again.
this photo is inspired by a poem i first read over fifteen years ago and it never left me...
The Madwoman of Cork, by Patrick Galvin
Today
Is the feast day of Saint Anne
Pray for me
I am the madwoman of Cork.
Yesterday
In Castle Street
I saw two goblins at my feet
I saw a horse without a head
Carrying the dead
To the graveyard
Near Turner's Cross
I am the madwoman of Cork
No one talks to me.
When I walk in the rain
The children throw stones at me
Old men persecute me
And women close their doors.
When I die
Believe me
They'll set me on fire.
I am the madwoman of Cork
I have no sense.
Sometimes
With an eagle in my brain
I can see a train
Crashing at the station
If I told people that
They'd choke me.
Then where would I be?
I am the madwoman of Cork
The people hate me.
When Canon Murphy died
I wept on his grave
That was twenty-five years ago.
When I saw him just now
In Dunbar Street
He had clay in his teeth
He blest me.
I am the madwoman of Cork
The clergy pity me.
I see death
In the branches of a tree
Birth in the feathers of a bird.
To see a child with one eye
Or a woman buried in ice
Is the worst thing
And cannot be imagined.
I am the madwoman of Cork
My mind fills me.
I should like to be young
To dress up in silk
And have nine children.
I'd like to have red lips
But I'm eighty years old.
I have nothing
But a small house with no windows.
I am the madwoman of Cork
Go away from me.
And if I die now
Don't touch me.
I want to sail in a long boat
From here to Roche's point
And there I will anoint
The sea
With oil of alabaster.
I am the madwoman of Cork
And today
Is the feast day of Saint Anne.
Feed me.
song of the day: she moved through the fair, original author unknown
adapted by Padraic Colum.
This weekend is the 25th Anniversary of the horrific domestic terrorist bombing of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City. At least 168 people were killed and more than 680 injured. A memorial shrine now stands behind St. Joseph Old Cathedral. There the statue of Jesus faces away from the tragic site. In sorrow, his weeps in his hands.
As always, thank you for visiting. Please be safe.
And Jesus Wept Memorial to Oklahoma City Bombing in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma
Inspired by “The Turner Diaries,” Timothy McVeigh detonated 4,800 pounds of fertilizer at the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City at 9:02 on April 19, 1995. The blast killed 168, injured 680 and damaged 324 buildings. Across the street from the Oklahoma City National Memorial and behind St. Joseph’s Old Cathedral is an Italian marble statue called, “And Jesus Wept.” While holding His face in sorrow, He is turned away from the tragedy..
Tangled branches i now see
Twisting wildly, twisting free
Across the lake, up to the sky
Upon the blue, i see you lie
Rising from the tears, once wept
Escaping from the hidden depth
Twisting, wildly, twisting free
Tangleed branches, its you i see
Pushing through the market square
So many mothers sighing (sighing)
News had just come over
We had five years left to cry in (cry in)
News guy wept and told us
Earth was really dying (dying)
Cried so much his face was wet
Then I knew he was not lying (lying)
I heard telephones, opera house, favorite melodies
I saw boys, toys, electric irons and TV's
My brain hurt like a warehouse, it had no room to spare
I had to cram so many things to store everything in there
And all the fat, skinny people
And all the tall, short people
And all the nobody people
And all the somebody people
I never thought I'd need so many people
Ballad of the Moon, Moon
The moon came to the forge
wearing a bustle of nards.
The boy is looking at her.
The boy is looking hard.
In the troubled air,
the wind moves her arms,
showing lewd and pure,
her hard, tin breasts.
'Run, moon, moon, moon.
If the gypsies came,
they would make of your heart
necklaces and white rings.'
'Child, let me dance.
When the gypsies come,
they will find you on the anvil
with your little eyes shut tight.'
'Run, moon moon moon.
I can hear their horses.
Child, let me be, don't walk
on my starchy white.'
The rider was drawing closer
playing the drum of the plain.
In the forge the child
has his eyes shut tight.
Bronze and dream, the gypsies
cross the olive grove.
Their heads held high,
their eyes half open.
Ay how the nightjar sings!
How it sings in the tree!
The moon goes through the sky
with a child in her hand.
In the forge the gypsies
wept and cried aloud.
The air is watching, watching.
The air watched all night long.
Federico García Lorca
And Jesus Wept Memorial to Oklahoma City Bombing in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma
Inspired by “The Turner Diaries,” Timothy McVeigh detonated 4,800 pounds of fertilizer at the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City at 9:02 on April 19, 1995. The blast killed 168, injured 680 and damaged 324 buildings. Across the street from the Oklahoma City National Memorial and behind St. Joseph’s Old Cathedral is an Italian marble statue called, “And Jesus Wept.” While holding His face in sorrow, He is turned away from the tragedy
I wish I could say he wept for me alone
from his willow branch, but he sang for the whole
neighborhood, as twilight rose on his Addio L' Amore
for some fickle Violetta gone nest hopping, a lament
so rending each trill seemed to shatter
his glass heart and the baritones in the pond fell silent,
and whatever jubilation normally erupts never did,
not while the jay grieved and the sky filled
with pinpricks of light. I wish I could have stroked
his chest, his twin, stuttering lungs, and consoled all
who listened on our stumps and lonely boles,
remembering our own farewells to love: dark eyes,
sleek feathers, sweet wine of those who peck us blind
and flutter off. So sing, little Rodolfo, sad
Paglacci, and let us cry with you in fellowship,
and let us cry for our mutual folly, for love which
evaporates, for passion which devours us, for
emptiness, yes, warble a note or two for the pouring
out of ourselves into others, for this dusk which
has turned the woods vermilion, for this town
lighting itself against the night. Your blue flame
flickers, then flies away toward the river and now it is
my turn to sing, then the crickets and locusts
and bats shrieking as they come through the dark.
--Miguel de O
Square Trees Series
San Quirico d'Orcia, Tuscany, Italy
“I sat within a valley green,
I sat there with my true love,
My sad heart strove the two between,
The old love and the new love, -
The old for her, the new that made
Me think of Ireland dearly,
While soft the wind blew down the glade
And shook the golden barley
'Twas hard the woeful words to frame
To break the ties that bound us
'Twas harder still to bear the shame
Of foreign chains around us
And so I said, "The mountain glen
I'll seek next morning early
And join the brave United Men!"
While soft winds shook the barley
While sad I kissed away her tears,
My fond arms 'round her flinging,
The foeman's shot burst on our ears,
From out the wildwood ringing, -
A bullet pierced my true love's side,
In life's young spring so early,
And on my breast in blood she died
While soft winds shook the barley!
I bore her to the wildwood screen,
And many a summer blossom
I placed with branches thick and green
Above her gore-stain'd bosom:-
I wept and kissed her pale, pale cheek,
Then rushed o'er vale and far lea,
My vengeance on the foe to wreak,
While soft winds shook the barley!
But blood for blood without remorse,
I've ta'en at Oulart Hollow
And placed my true love's clay-cold corpse
Where I full soon will follow;
And 'round her grave I wander drear,
Noon, night, and morning early,
With breaking heart whene'er I hear
The wind that shakes the barley!”
- Robert Dwyer Joyce (1861)
The love of your heart
The following is from Spurgeon's sermon,
"UNPURCHASABLE LOVE"
If you do not give to God your heart, you have given him nothing.
If you do not give to God your soul, if you do not love him, if
you do not serve him because you love him, if you do not come
to him, and surrender to him your inner self, you may have
been baptized, — immersed or sprinkled, — you may have come to
the communion table; you may have bowed your knees until your
knees have grown horny, you may have prayed until you are hoarse,
and wept until the fountains of your eyes are dry, you may have
given all your gold, and lacerated every member of your body with
mortifications, and starved yourself to a skeleton- but you have
truly done nothing towards obtaining love to Christ.
The substance of your house is utterly scorned if you offer
it to the Lord in the stead of the love of your heart.
Love he must have; this is his lawful demand.
His people delight to render it; and if
Special thanks to my son Daniel for his inspiration in the making of this image.
Textures used:
texture 176 by Nasos3
Textura 75# Orto by osolev
Texture 004 by SophieG
girl model by Attempte Stock
Would you like to learn more about my art and the making of this photograph? Come visit me
at my blog lauragalley.tumblr.com/
I captured this very gripping statue image of Jesus Christ just outside the entrance into the Oklahoma City National Memorial and Museum.
I was very moved when I viewed this statue, and when I walked into the memorial area.
The statue depicts how Christ must have felt after the bomb went off and took so many lives, including women and children!