Even Now
February 22nd, 2012 § 12 Comments
Sometimes life has its own way
of spiraling out of our control
So caught up in the
stretched elastic strands
we fight to survive it
Instead of living it
we turn it into our own
prison where hard labour
is enforced
But,
looking back
perhaps we can then see
the big picture which softens
each blow and lightens our
resistance to change.
The loss of control enables
us to cancel out that hold on
the past and with subtle nuances
of introspection here and there
we can reach new depths
crossing other thresholds using
knowledge gleaned from that
humbling of ego.
Even now, as we move through
winters deathly chill we know
that spring awaits us all
with her promised gifts.
~*~
© Daydreamertoo *All rights reserved
Edit*
In light of the now very difficult to read new Blogger captcha thingie I had also removed my own, although it was a lot easier to use than the new Blogger one is but, I’ve since had quite a lot of spam left in comments that readers have left. One, was a long never-ending page scrolling list in Russian language about selling clothing, but another was to do with porn sites so because of this, I am putting my captcha thingie back on again. Sorry to those who hate them, I don’t mind them if they are easy to read, but Blogger has made a huge faux pas with that and, I think it won’t be very long before they realise what they’ve done by switching from one that is easily understood to one that is enough to try the patience of a saint.
Shared with Three Word Wednesday CCLX
Poetus United Pantry #88
Boarderlands
February 21st, 2012 § 26 Comments
Sometimes we have to be lost
so that we may find ourselves again.
I used to fear darkness and
silence for what they might reveal
(maybe, about myself)
now,
I trust that quiet and yearn for
it to settle dissonant moods.
Stop all the clocks
to find the stillness
where rat-race living ends
and real life begins as
vision clears.
Is anything more lovely
than the sights and
sounds of love?
Warm teardrops from the sun
awaken the beauty of that
which sleeps in wombs of
every kind of earthly mother
before she gives birth to
her newest star.
So,
raise your pen and write
irresistible words which
will tell of when
time itself stood still on
your borderland of worlds.
~*~
© Daydreamertoo *All rights reserved
Shared with Carry on Tuesday #145 Stop all the clocks
dVersePoets OpenLinkNight #32
Snapshots
February 19th, 2012 § 13 Comments
Image Mary Ann Potter
It needs life to see beyond
the narrow strip of black and white
and time which ages snapshots and
pages to differing shades of sepia
or,
(like memory)
it all fades into blues and greys
and on into the white of nothing
Yet,
below the surface
lays the hidden passion.
The love.
The dreams of journeys on
paths just waiting to be written
and horizons longing to be
gazed upon then, stained with
indelible ink upon the yearning
in our soul.
If trees could talk
(maybe)
they would tell us of how much
pain and suffering it took to
grow each circle and each line.
Of how they learn to bend without
breaking and how they know
(instinctively)
that to bring
about new growth something
has to die
yet, still they keep
reaching for the stars
Perhaps they know that everything
which exists is neither
black or white
but, is instead
a painter’s palette of
imperceptibly blended
colours of creation.
~*~
© Daydreamertoo *All rights reserved
Thanks for for images at Real Toads. Liked them all but this one seemed to ‘speak’ to me
Shared with With real Toads #Images by Mary Ann Potter aka Starcatcher
Rebecca
February 19th, 2012 § 15 Comments
Looking at the scorched-black, smeared and smudgy ruins of what was left of the house she heard the wind whistle in haunting whips, much as leather straps are cracked and used to scare, as if to remind the ghosts would always haunt, but there would be no more fear that seeps in through shadowy thoughts from Rebecca’s past deeds which nestled like open sores that would weep and bleed. It had all been so bizarre. In restless mood she knew she had to somehow find her inner balance once more. It was one thing to think Mrs. Danvers intended to do her harm and, another thing altogether to know it.
In 1938 Rebecca was written by novelist Daphne du Maurier
It was turned into a very famous movie in 1940 directed byAlfred Hitchcock Starring Sir Lawrence Olivier and Joan Crawford
It’s got everything a good story ought to have. Love, hatred, jealousy, suspense. One thing that always fascinated me was that the second wife (who is the heroine and narrator of the story, is never named. All the way through the story she is only ever called Mrs De Winter. His deceased first wife, is Rebecca and Mrs. Danvers is the housekeeper who hates the second wife and (secretly loved) Rebecca.
It’s a novel I have yet to read but a movie I could watch time and time again. I love that (now) very famous opening line:
“Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again”
Shared with The Sunday Whirl #44
Where it Leads
February 17th, 2012 § 21 Comments
Where do we go when feelings
run as deep as the river flows
peace becomes a stranger
night brings no reconciliation
and the journey never ends.
Another world
a different shore
where she describes infinity
and what dreams may come
with surrender.
Four walls and a roof
make a house
but,
it’s the hearts that love
inside those walls which
make the house a home.
Love is my home
What choice do we have
but to follow
where it leads.
~*~
© Daydreamertoo *All rights reserved
Love is Life…and Life is Love.
Shared with Thursday Think Tank #84
Live2write2day
Somebody’s Father
February 17th, 2012 § 5 Comments
Chat, chat chatting to one of her BFF’s on the phone. I hear: “Oh do you remember so and so? We used to say she was in the Mafia.
Silence
You know who I mean? Sure you know… the Mafia, from that movie.”
Longer silence.
There was an old movie about it called: “The Step-Father”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
At which point I burst out laughing and told her the movie was a very famous one and called ‘The Godfather’
“Oh”…she said and giggled. ”Oh well I knew it was somebody’s father”…haha
Shared with G-Man’s Friday Flash 55
Ernesto Cortazar
February 16th, 2012 § 15 Comments
I discovered Ernesto Cortazar about three or four years ago.
He was born in Mexico and died in 2004.
I have never heard anyone play a piano quite like he does. It is with such a gentle passion.
You can find his music on Youtube
Anyway, this is just one fav of his . There are so many as lovely but …..this suits the snow and winter right now.
( Tribute to Ernesto Cortazar)
He plays
and,
I float upon the waves.
Adrift in his melodic seas
my soul feeds on
those oh-so-perfect notes.
So cold
is winters cowl
I shrink from her icy reach
yet,
need the clasp of
sparkling jewels she shares to
feast these weary eyes upon.
And still,
he plays for me…
Even though his time has passed
his music lives and lures me
like a siren call
to fall in tune with all of
natures blessed harmonies.
I can cross the great divide
turn again to love
look toward days to
come as yet
and,
embrace them.
~**~
© Daydreamertoo *All rights reserved
For the way he plays and to those he has given so much joy and happiness, he is one of my everyday ‘heros’.
Shared with dVersePoets #Meeting the Bar
Bubbles
February 16th, 2012 § 15 Comments
A little bit of soap
creating magic.
You can reach out to
touch
but never capture
Sometimes
hold it in the palm
of your hand
or,
watch it floating
in the air
but,
(a bit like chasing rainbows)
it’s prismatic illusion
there one minute, gone the next
when someone bursts your bubbles.
~*~
© Daydreamertoo *All rights reserved
Shared with Theme Thursday #Bubbles
Poets United Pantry #87
Night and Day
February 15th, 2012 § 14 Comments
The day begins.
I cast off yesterday as
morning graces us with
a charming presence
(almost angelic)
as she pathes the way
to begin again
anew.
I foster no harm in
thought or deed
but time itself may
yet bring about ruin
on its own
naturally.
There’s lightness to be
had in shedding.
Letting go of wounds
too close to the heart
which see us bleed.
Even in winter’s ice-cold grip
buds on the bough are there
waiting to awaken in that
warming by the fire.
Focused on what is
even in a dance of sorrows
there is beauty in all things
Even as the day will yield
there are still shades of beauty
as tired eyes accustomise
to shimmering scenes in moonlight
and we welcome the coming of
darkness
~*~
© Daydreamertoo *All rights reserved
Shared with Three Word Wednesday #CCLlX
Poets United Pantry #87
