The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2014 annual report for this blog.
I wish for all my WordPress friends, followers and readers the very best of health, happiness and prosperity in the New Year.
Here's an excerpt:
The Louvre Museum has 8.5 million visitors per year. This blog was viewed about 83,000 times in 2014. If it were an exhibit at the Louvre Museum, it would take about 4 days for that many people to see it.
Photo from
wikispaces.com authors are despots
every book a cruel
tyranny of words
pulling minds with
cunning persuasion
to viewpoints and
falsely built
historiographies
rendered in ripe
propagandas of prose
leaning into desire
for some better ideas
some new answers
to questions that
rise discontented in
unanswered prayers
of a desperate mind
Richard Feynman 1918-1988
Theoretical Physicist
(Another reblog of an older item)
liquid genius still flows
from a head dead for twenty-five years
hearty stock for rich stew
made with mirepoix partons
and nanobot swarms
molecular mandibles nibbling on theories
that nourish their stature
in the science of smallness
enlarging our every
tomorrow
“High Noon” Movie Poster
From ebay.com
the gunfighter’s hour
no shadows no advantage
crickets and clock ticks
(A March 2013 item reposted here)
it’s the children
who suffer
in a world of adults
who neglect them
ignore them
abuse them
forget them
it’s the children
who hurt most
unable to process
or reconcile pain
inflicted by either
the careless
or wicked
it’s the children
who grow bent
of character wanting
for values
untaught or
disparaged
it’s the children
whose future
is spoiled by excess
from showers
of hollow
esteem
it’s the children
who hold more
than we do the power
to build or
destroy
society
my parents had three
we in turn have our nine
who have twenty-four more
to think of
one child is
to think of the world
Snowshill Village, The Cotswolds
Photo by David Hughes
From art.co.uk
stone fences laid down
around acres of graves
hemmed precincts
emotional hectares
squared up and arable
open to planting new
seedlings in somber
planned orchardry
monument trees
bearing intimate fruits
fleshed with memories
bitter and sweet
pain of loss sealed in
hard pitted centers
unfit for the eating
but perfectly suited
to hold in the grief
of a desolate hand
not a place to find joy
unless one believes
“Tinkers Gathering Firewood”
Painting by Nano Reid
From discovery.dho.ie
philosopher poets
dull solitaires stranded
on islands of intellect
languish ignored and
unpolished by patronage
snubbed by academy
dons homely lonely
extravagant thoughts
raised in rhetoric
mortgaged by metaphor
bold interrogatives
verbalize verses acute
with glib secular prayers
for those insights those
clues to the keys to the
locks of creation those
cues to the questions
that even unanswered
ennoble the practice of
living a praiseworthy life
but a one handed sole
minded search for some
soothing amalgam of
penned entertaining
enlightening wisdom
wears hard on the psyche
a smart thinker author
wants partners not rivals
needs readers not muses
if ever his words are
to matter in least as
a good tinker’s damn
“Old Married Couple”
Painting by Paul Klee
From fotopedia.com
we are oddly perceived
our plural singularity
a throwback caught up
in resentment expressing
warped modern integrity
we seem implausible
here in an era of self
where the tender life
clashes with hardened
existence beset by an
ethos of serial failure
commitment now strange
as the gift of affection
as quaint as a pledge of
fidelity lasting a lifetime
(A March 2013 item reposted here)
blue indigo confuses my heart
it can slow it to lowing
like the wail of a wounded
forlorn tenor sax,
like a memory fading
from unseen disease
cool indigo confuses my heart
it can jump it to thumping
like a Dixieland horn
on a Bourbon Street float,
like a treasure discovered
among worthless things
in a world full of reasons
for cynics to gloat over
everywhere proof of mistrust
shouldn’t something as simply
straightforward as color
be something to count on
surprise is for younger men
disappointment for
sturdy dispassionate souls
I’m too old and mulish
too sure of opinion
for an uncertain heart
“Gentle Strength”
Painting by William Killen
From fineartamerica.com
did we ever live gently here upon this good earth
did we ever live gently here upon this good
did we ever live gently here upon this
did we ever live gently here upon
did we ever live gently here
did we ever live gently
did we ever live
did we ever
did we
we did not
for the rare men
who did
those saints
among sinners
would never
personify us
we were born
and remain a
most ungentle
species with
our hearts
disinclined
to perfection
Writer Lynne Sargent
Poetry Puttering by Pax & Company
Sometimes everything has to be enscribed across the heavens so you can find the one line already written inside you. Sometimes it takes a great sky to find that small, bright, and indescribable wedge of freedom in your own heart. David Whyte
"drink from the well of your self and begin again" ~charles bukowski
no dust here
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Looking ahead, without looking back (too often)
flights of fancy from New Zealand
You're never alone, if you've something to share
All you touch and all you see / is all your life will ever be
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