by compound complex 24 Replies latest jw friends
I Feel a Sadness so deep that friends wonder
why my art and my blinds remain undrawn.
Gone is the muse who promised me solace
while guys played ball and climbed tall trees.
A blank canvas before me says,
"Here's your life, where has it gone?"
Is it too late to become what I
might have become . . .
It is never too late to be what you might have been. - George Eliot
I have that quote engraved on my book marker. It sometimes gives me hope but other times it grieves me.
Thank you, Village Idiot.
I was paraphrasing that wonderful George Eliot quotation. I relate totally to the mixed emotions engendered by those sentiments.
Interesting that a thread I started last night (but wouldn't process) is now here, as of some 40 minutes ago!
Blessings and peace . . .
Revision:
I FEEL A SADNESS so deep, yet friends wonder
why both my art and drapes remain undrawn.
Long gone the muse who promised me solace
while guys played ball and climbed tall trees.
A blank canvas before me demands:
"Here's your life! Where's it gone?"
'Tis far too late to be what I
could have been . . .
Glad to see you quoting poetry CC. I empathise with the sentiments. What could have been achieved...but in poetry there is pleasure in making words mirror the feelings.
Poetry gets very little airing here but I did manage a GM Hopkins quote the other day.
My friends and I meet at my house on each full moon to read and discuss poetry... and tonight is the full moon! We will be considering two American females; Sylvia Plath and Emily Dickinson. Deep joy...
Are you making any comparisons with Branwell Bronte btw?
CC we are all in the same boat - Both Mrs and I are trained muso's who put our careers on hold and lost .............well we will never know and will never be able to quantify . So start at this point now and give the remainder of your tenure on the planet the best you have got !
Currently our musical talents are directed toward helping people especially children living in disadvantaged drug and gangster riddled communities to find an escape via the arts - and the very act of touching lives on a daily basis is so rewarding !
Oft times we cannot even start the music activity with the children as they have suffered a trauma eg a child has been shot by stray bullets in a gang territory fight - and so you have to first heal broken spirits and then only can you get into the music part -!
Go out and touch lives !
Use your creative skill to make that difference !
https://youtu.be/3mR0ulMMw-w?t=6
Warning: The YouTube is very to the point !
What happened to old Errol flynn
concealed by some elusive jinn
some leprechaun's shenanigan
a poet's inner sanctum whim
he's drawn the curtains of his mind
who knows what mysteries he'll find
then Emily began to talk
a bird came down the walk
https://www.jehovahs-witness.com/topic/179386/post-picture-thread-nice-meet-you?page=210&size=10
A Happy Morn, Half banana, ZAPPA-ESQUE, and Nancy Drew:
What a wonderful surprise to find you here in The Poets' Corner of a sunny morning! THANK YOU!
I have written elsewhere that there's little poetry nowadays here. Your contributions and sentiments are welcome and a pleasure to my oft-parched soul and spirit.
Half banana: A British writer of note has compared me to Bronte. He discovered me -- lost in thought, as usual -- gazing into the azure. He introduced me to the diminutive redhead (PBB) and, since, the three of us have transcended time and space and become fast friends. I, however, am a stocky redhead.
ZAPPA-ESQUE: Agreed, vis-a-vis putting careers on hold and losing. Well, not totally, I hope. It's wonderful you and your wife are helping children. I relate, myself a teacher of over 50 years. Some former students are now teachers themselves. Please continue to do what you do -- you will reap if you do not tire out! Thanks for videos.
Nancy Drew: You never fail to inspire and make me laugh! THANK YOU! THANK YOU! Flynn has been replaced by Branwell because the photo of me on the link above will not process as an avatar.
Blessings and Peace . . .
I watch the black oaks of my wood.
They sway gently against an early morning expanse that is an uncharacteristic gray, a gray illumined by a softer, gentler summer sun.
Yesterday's glossy chartreuse leaves of the stately sentinels are, today, a buffed, sage foliage. Strangely, the look, the feel, the mood that prevail transport me back to the foggy coast of my youth. At that particular time of my life, I was not so taken with the unrelenting cool of a Pacific summer.
Now, in this land of perpetual sun, the uncommon wafting of damp and fresh upon my body is healing . . .
