Quote on coffee

Photo credit: blondieb38 from morguefile.com

Caffeine is my shepherd; I shall not doze.
It maketh me to wake in green pastures:
It leadeth me beyond the sleeping masses.
It restoreth my buzz:
It leadeth me in the paths of consciousness for its name's sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of addiction,
I will fear no Equal™ :
For thou art with me; thy cream and thy sugar they comfort me.
Thou preparest a carafe before me in the presence of The Starbucks™ :
Thou anointest my day with pep; my mug runneth over.
Surely richness and taste shall follow me all the days of my life:
And I will dwell in the House of Mochas forever.

~Anonymous

Quote on coffee

Photo credit: blondieb38 from morguefile.com

Caffeine is my shepherd; I shall not doze.
It maketh me to wake in green pastures:
It leadeth me beyond the sleeping masses.
It restoreth my buzz:
It leadeth me in the paths of consciousness for its name's sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of addiction,
I will fear no Equal™ :
For thou art with me; thy cream and thy sugar they comfort me.
Thou preparest a carafe before me in the presence of The Starbucks™ :
Thou anointest my day with pep; my mug runneth over.
Surely richness and taste shall follow me all the days of my life:
And I will dwell in the House of Mochas forever.

~Anonymous

Quote on perseverance

Photo credit: rockcanyonroom from morguefile.com 

Nobody trips over mountains.  It is the small pebble that causes you to stumble.  Pass all the pebbles in your path and you will find you have crossed the mountain.  ~ Anonymous

Quote on perseverance

Photo credit: rockcanyonroom from morguefile.com 

Nobody trips over mountains.  It is the small pebble that causes you to stumble.  Pass all the pebbles in your path and you will find you have crossed the mountain.  ~ Anonymous

Cats are Wonderful Friends

Gentle eyes that see so much,

paws that have the quiet touch,

Purrs to signal "all is well"

and show more love than words could tell.

Graceful movements touched with pride,

a calming presence by our side -

A friendship that takes time to grow -

Small wonder why we love them so.

~ Author Unknown

(Srivilasica: Mini died today.)

Cats are Wonderful Friends

Gentle eyes that see so much,

paws that have the quiet touch,

Purrs to signal "all is well"

and show more love than words could tell.

Graceful movements touched with pride,

a calming presence by our side -

A friendship that takes time to grow -

Small wonder why we love them so.

~ Author Unknown

(Srivilasica: Mini died today.)

Virtuosi

Photo credit: keyseeker from morguefile.com

(In memory of my parents)

People whose lives have been shaped

by history—and it is always tragic—

do not want to talk about it,

would rather dance, give parties

on thrift-shop china. You feel

wonderful in their homes,

two leaky rooms, nests

they stowed inside their hearts

on the road into exile.

They know how to fix potato peelings

and apple cores so you smack your lips.

The words start over again

hold no terror for them.

Obediently they rise

and go with only a rucksack

or tote bag. If they weep,

it’s when you’re not looking.

To tame their nightmares, they choose

the most dazzling occupations,

swallow the flames in the sunset sky,

jump through burning hoops

in their elegant tiger suits.

Cover your eyes: there’s one

walking on a thread

thirty feet above us—

shivering points of light

leap across her body,

and she works without a net.

~ Lisel Mueller

________________________________________________

The truth is that our finest moments are most likely to occur when we are feeling deeply uncomfortable, unhappy, or unfulfilled. For it is only in such moments, propelled by our discomfort, that we are likely to step out of our ruts and start searching for different ways or truer answers. ~ Anonymous

Virtuosi

Photo credit: keyseeker from morguefile.com

(In memory of my parents)

People whose lives have been shaped

by history—and it is always tragic—

do not want to talk about it,

would rather dance, give parties

on thrift-shop china. You feel

wonderful in their homes,

two leaky rooms, nests

they stowed inside their hearts

on the road into exile.

They know how to fix potato peelings

and apple cores so you smack your lips.

The words start over again

hold no terror for them.

Obediently they rise

and go with only a rucksack

or tote bag. If they weep,

it’s when you’re not looking.

To tame their nightmares, they choose

the most dazzling occupations,

swallow the flames in the sunset sky,

jump through burning hoops

in their elegant tiger suits.

Cover your eyes: there’s one

walking on a thread

thirty feet above us—

shivering points of light

leap across her body,

and she works without a net.

~ Lisel Mueller

________________________________________________

The truth is that our finest moments are most likely to occur when we are feeling deeply uncomfortable, unhappy, or unfulfilled. For it is only in such moments, propelled by our discomfort, that we are likely to step out of our ruts and start searching for different ways or truer answers. ~ Anonymous

Self-Portrait

Photo credit: bboomerindenial from morguefile.com 

Between the computer, a pencil, and a typewriter

half my day passes. One day it will be half a century.

I live in strange cities and sometimes talk

with strangers about matters strange to me.

I listen to music a lot: Bach, Mahler, Chopin, Shostakovich.

I see three elements in music: weakness, power, and pain.

The fourth has no name.

I read poets, living and dead, who teach me

tenacity, faith, and pride. I try to understand

the great philosophers--but usually catch just

scraps of their precious thoughts.

I like to take long walks on Paris streets

and watch my fellow creatures, quickened by envy,

anger, desire; to trace a silver coin

passing from hand to hand as it slowly

loses its round shape (the emperor's profile is erased).

Beside me trees expressing nothing

but a green, indifferent perfection.

Black birds pace the fields,

waiting patiently like Spanish widows.

I'm no longer young, but someone else is always older.

I like deep sleep, when I cease to exist,

and fast bike rides on country roads when poplars and houses

dissolve like cumuli on sunny days.

Sometimes in museums the paintings speak to me

and irony suddenly vanishes.

I love gazing at my wife's face.

Every Sunday I call my father.

Every other week I meet with friends,

thus proving my fidelity.

My country freed itself from one evil. I wish

another liberation would follow.

Could I help in this? I don't know.

I'm truly not a child of the ocean,

as Antonio Machado wrote about himself,

but a child of air, mint and cello

and not all the ways of the high world

cross paths with the life that--so far--

belongs to me.

~ Adam Zagajewski

(translated by Clare Cavanagh)

__________________________________________________

A man walks through life painting a portrait, not of what he would have done, could have done, or should have done, but of what he did. ~ Anonymous

Self-Portrait

Photo credit: bboomerindenial from morguefile.com 

Between the computer, a pencil, and a typewriter

half my day passes. One day it will be half a century.

I live in strange cities and sometimes talk

with strangers about matters strange to me.

I listen to music a lot: Bach, Mahler, Chopin, Shostakovich.

I see three elements in music: weakness, power, and pain.

The fourth has no name.

I read poets, living and dead, who teach me

tenacity, faith, and pride. I try to understand

the great philosophers--but usually catch just

scraps of their precious thoughts.

I like to take long walks on Paris streets

and watch my fellow creatures, quickened by envy,

anger, desire; to trace a silver coin

passing from hand to hand as it slowly

loses its round shape (the emperor's profile is erased).

Beside me trees expressing nothing

but a green, indifferent perfection.

Black birds pace the fields,

waiting patiently like Spanish widows.

I'm no longer young, but someone else is always older.

I like deep sleep, when I cease to exist,

and fast bike rides on country roads when poplars and houses

dissolve like cumuli on sunny days.

Sometimes in museums the paintings speak to me

and irony suddenly vanishes.

I love gazing at my wife's face.

Every Sunday I call my father.

Every other week I meet with friends,

thus proving my fidelity.

My country freed itself from one evil. I wish

another liberation would follow.

Could I help in this? I don't know.

I'm truly not a child of the ocean,

as Antonio Machado wrote about himself,

but a child of air, mint and cello

and not all the ways of the high world

cross paths with the life that--so far--

belongs to me.

~ Adam Zagajewski

(translated by Clare Cavanagh)

__________________________________________________

A man walks through life painting a portrait, not of what he would have done, could have done, or should have done, but of what he did. ~ Anonymous

The Elephant is Slow to Mate

Photo credit: Ladyheart from morguefile.com

The elephant, the huge old beast,

is slow to mate;

he finds a female, they show no haste

they wait

for the sympathy in their vast shy hearts

slowly, slowly to rouse

as they loiter along the river-beds

and drink and browse

and dash in panic through the brake

of forest with the herd,

and sleep in massive silence, and wake

together, without a word.

So slowly the great hot elephant hearts

grow full of desire,

and the great beasts mate in secret at last,

hiding their fire.

Oldest they are and the wisest of beasts

so they know at last

how to wait for the loneliest of feasts

for the full repast.

They do not snatch, they do not tear;

their massive blood

moves as the moon-tides, near, more near

till they touch in flood.

~ D. H. Lawrence

___________________________________________

Sex is more than an act of pleasure, it is the ability to be able to feel so close to a person, so connected, so comfortable that it's almost breathtaking to the point you feel you can't take it. And at this moment you're a part of them. ~ Anonymous

The Elephant is Slow to Mate

Photo credit: Ladyheart from morguefile.com

The elephant, the huge old beast,

is slow to mate;

he finds a female, they show no haste

they wait

for the sympathy in their vast shy hearts

slowly, slowly to rouse

as they loiter along the river-beds

and drink and browse

and dash in panic through the brake

of forest with the herd,

and sleep in massive silence, and wake

together, without a word.

So slowly the great hot elephant hearts

grow full of desire,

and the great beasts mate in secret at last,

hiding their fire.

Oldest they are and the wisest of beasts

so they know at last

how to wait for the loneliest of feasts

for the full repast.

They do not snatch, they do not tear;

their massive blood

moves as the moon-tides, near, more near

till they touch in flood.

~ D. H. Lawrence

___________________________________________

Sex is more than an act of pleasure, it is the ability to be able to feel so close to a person, so connected, so comfortable that it's almost breathtaking to the point you feel you can't take it. And at this moment you're a part of them. ~ Anonymous

This

Photo credit: kesh from morguefile.com

Today, my love,

leaves are thrashing the wind

just as pedestrians are erecting again the buildings of this drab

forbidding city,

and our lives, as I lose track of them,

are the lives of others derailing in time and

getting things done.

Impossible to make sense of any one face

or mouth, though

each distance

is clear, and you are miles

from here.

Let your pure

space crowd my heart,

that we might stay awhile longer amid the flying

debris.

This moment,

I swear it,

isn't going anywhere.

~ Ralph Angel

_________________________________________

What you need to know about the past is that no matter what has happened, it has all worked together to bring you to this very moment. And this is the moment you can choose to make everything new. Right now.
 ~ Anonymous 

This

Photo credit: kesh from morguefile.com

Today, my love,

leaves are thrashing the wind

just as pedestrians are erecting again the buildings of this drab

forbidding city,

and our lives, as I lose track of them,

are the lives of others derailing in time and

getting things done.

Impossible to make sense of any one face

or mouth, though

each distance

is clear, and you are miles

from here.

Let your pure

space crowd my heart,

that we might stay awhile longer amid the flying

debris.

This moment,

I swear it,

isn't going anywhere.

~ Ralph Angel

_________________________________________

What you need to know about the past is that no matter what has happened, it has all worked together to bring you to this very moment. And this is the moment you can choose to make everything new. Right now.
 ~ Anonymous 

What Happens To Women

Photo credit: hotblack from morguefile.com

It’s what happens to women, no matter who you are.

Divine inside? They’ll only see the face.

It’s coming, despite your warmth, your grit, your heart –

the sudden shift from beauty, to disgrace.

A light snapped off, and you’re gone. You’re in the dark.

No-one can see you now. You are unglued,

for while you slept, the world took you softly apart.

Now man after man walks through the ghost of you.

On a morning like any other, she wakes to find

her lover moved out, and all her admirers gone

from her steps, as if with one breath, one mind,

they abandoned their roses there like skeletons.

A half-penned love note stutters towards the sea,

embarrassed, undoing its ‘love’, and ‘dear’, and ‘we’.

~ Ros Barber

_________________________________________________

It starts when you sink in his arms and ends with your arms in his sink. ~ Anonymous

What Happens To Women

Photo credit: hotblack from morguefile.com

It’s what happens to women, no matter who you are.

Divine inside? They’ll only see the face.

It’s coming, despite your warmth, your grit, your heart –

the sudden shift from beauty, to disgrace.

A light snapped off, and you’re gone. You’re in the dark.

No-one can see you now. You are unglued,

for while you slept, the world took you softly apart.

Now man after man walks through the ghost of you.

On a morning like any other, she wakes to find

her lover moved out, and all her admirers gone

from her steps, as if with one breath, one mind,

they abandoned their roses there like skeletons.

A half-penned love note stutters towards the sea,

embarrassed, undoing its ‘love’, and ‘dear’, and ‘we’.

~ Ros Barber

_________________________________________________

It starts when you sink in his arms and ends with your arms in his sink. ~ Anonymous

Do you know who is thinking of you?

If you start out every day in the same old gloomy way

it’s little wonder what other people think of you, but

the ones who matter most are the ones who hold you close

in their hearts, who’re always thinking of you;

do you know, do you know,

do you know who is thinking of you?

As if you never knew who was thinking just of you

and held it close and never shared a bit of it,

there’s no-one else to blame, you had your youthful fame,

you played it and didn’t think about it;

did you know, did you know,

did you know you didn’t think about it?

And now you are depressed even when you’re sorely blessed

with rewards of unexpected gravity, but

you’re seated on a throne and so very much alone

you cannot see the glint of tender irony;

cannot see, cannot to see,

cannot see the bitter-sweet of irony.

The ones who matter most are the ones who hold you close,

and in our hearts we’re always thinking of you,

our love is given free as love is meant to be

and we know that you will shine again because of it;

will shine again, will shine again,

you’ll shine again because of it.

~ Ivan Donn Carswell

______________________________________________

Someone remembers, someone cares;

Your name is whispered in someone’s prayers.

~ Anonymous

Do you know who is thinking of you?

If you start out every day in the same old gloomy way

it’s little wonder what other people think of you, but

the ones who matter most are the ones who hold you close

in their hearts, who’re always thinking of you;

do you know, do you know,

do you know who is thinking of you?

As if you never knew who was thinking just of you

and held it close and never shared a bit of it,

there’s no-one else to blame, you had your youthful fame,

you played it and didn’t think about it;

did you know, did you know,

did you know you didn’t think about it?

And now you are depressed even when you’re sorely blessed

with rewards of unexpected gravity, but

you’re seated on a throne and so very much alone

you cannot see the glint of tender irony;

cannot see, cannot to see,

cannot see the bitter-sweet of irony.

The ones who matter most are the ones who hold you close,

and in our hearts we’re always thinking of you,

our love is given free as love is meant to be

and we know that you will shine again because of it;

will shine again, will shine again,

you’ll shine again because of it.

~ Ivan Donn Carswell

______________________________________________

Someone remembers, someone cares;

Your name is whispered in someone’s prayers.

~ Anonymous

Be Kind

Source: Favim

we are always asked

to understand the other person's

viewpoint

no matter how

out-dated

foolish or

obnoxious.

one is asked

to view

their total error

their life-waste

with

kindliness,

especially if they are

aged.

but age is the total of

our doing.

they have aged

badly

because they have

lived

out of focus,

they have refused to

see.

not their fault?

whose fault?

mine?

I am asked to hide

my viewpoint

from them

for fear of their

fear.

age is no crime

but the shame

of a deliberately

wasted

life

among so many

deliberately

wasted

lives

is.

~ Charles Bukowski

______________________________

Treat everyone with politeness, even those who are rude to you - not because they are nice, but because you are. ~ Anonymous

Be Kind

Source: Favim

we are always asked

to understand the other person's

viewpoint

no matter how

out-dated

foolish or

obnoxious.

one is asked

to view

their total error

their life-waste

with

kindliness,

especially if they are

aged.

but age is the total of

our doing.

they have aged

badly

because they have

lived

out of focus,

they have refused to

see.

not their fault?

whose fault?

mine?

I am asked to hide

my viewpoint

from them

for fear of their

fear.

age is no crime

but the shame

of a deliberately

wasted

life

among so many

deliberately

wasted

lives

is.

~ Charles Bukowski

______________________________

Treat everyone with politeness, even those who are rude to you - not because they are nice, but because you are. ~ Anonymous