Friday, January 24, 2014

In My Sky At Twilight

In my sky at twilight you are like a cloud
and your form and colour are the way I love them.
You are mine, mine, woman with sweet lips
and in your life my infinite dreams live.

The lamp of my soul dyes your feet,
the sour wine is sweeter on your lips,
oh reaper of my evening song,
how solitary dreams believe you to be mine!

You are mine, mine, I go shouting it to the afternoon's
wind, and the wind hauls on my widowed voice.
Huntress of the depth of my eyes, your plunder
stills your nocturnal regard as though it were water.

You are taken in the net of my music, my love,
and my nets of music are wide as the sky.
My soul is born on the shore of your eyes of mourning.
In your eyes of mourning the land of dreams begin. 
By: Pablo Neruda
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Saturday, January 18, 2014

I dreamed of you last night

I dreamed of you last night, Kara.  I saw you walking in a red dress and looking at me…
Remember when you became angry and I laughed.  You asked:  “Are you laughing because I’m angry?”  When I said yes, you also started laughing and said “Don’t make me laugh when I’m angry”… 
Remember when we loved…
Remember when I told that I had reached the end… you told me: “Don’t I get a say in this?”  Then you said…  “Teach me how to let go.”  How could I teach you what I still don’t know… Yet I remember the poem you sent me… Love is two souls in one body…
In a mirror
There is a stranger
Who claims to be me.
“You are not me” said I.
The stranger said nothing
I cannot trust mirrors or pictures.
So I dream of you, Kara mía… I hope that you live a happy life… and that sometimes you think or perhaps dream of a very stupid and solitary man …
As I reflect of my dream of you I remember the words of Federico García Lorca’s sad poem:  “I sing of [your] elegance with words that groan, and I remember a sad breeze through the olive trees.”

By: Homeless with a Laptop, that is my Name

Friday, January 17, 2014

All Fallen Things

So I declare myself
            queen of the surf,
            queen of the rain,
of all fallen things;
            teeth and leaves.
Glory to the unknown,
to Ecclesiastes,
for in wisdom
is much grief.
Glory to tiki lamps, bikinis,
the intensity of being,
rails on which bladers
have nutted themselves,
Lahaina, all islands,
the power
with which they were formed—
violent earth,
angry soil—
the womb that will swallow
queens, rooks,
            my wooden chess set,
post it notes, refrigerators,
            alligators, coupons,
excuses and dogs.
This is my revelation;
This is my
contribution to dust.

By:  Gabriela Anaya Valdepeña
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Saturday, January 11, 2014

Chopin’s Etudes at Midnight

In the beginning understanding
Enters through the ear and eye.
Then when your soul is touched
For the first time like fire and ice
Together at the same time
You know the fullness and eternity of Spring.
In that instant, you know the old life is dull
And offers no kindling for your heat.
There is no turning back now.
An insurgency of music tumbles free
Inviting you to wonder
And to see more than you can ever know
From asking all those puzzling
Whys and hows: when the earth began
And what the future holds,
What will become of man,
His works and praises to an unseen god.
Choreographies of chords remain,
Make us aware that life is but a tattered garden
Of withered seed without your tender rain. 

By:  Barbara Millar
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Tuesday, January 7, 2014

A Comment on 'Waging Heavy Peace' by Neil Young

I’ve always loved Neil Young’s music so I eagerly awaited and picked up this book by Neil Young himself.  As former military, I loved the title of the book ‘Waging Heavy Peace.’ It reminded me of the Strategic Air Command’s motto, ‘Peace is our profession.’  Anyway, I expected some kind of philosophic revelation or some grandiose poetical insight into the universe hitherto unknown to all or at least to me anyway.  There is none… Neil is a just regular guy, a bit self-absorbed and arrogant, which he admits, and which definitely comes across in the book.

On the positive side, I cannot help but like a guy who obviously loves his family and especially his quadriplegic son, Ben Young.  He refers to his kids by their first and last names which I find likable.  I also cannot help but to smile when 65-year-old Neil refers to his father as "Daddy."  That’s really nice.

On the negative side, he does not talk about his songs other than to say he wrote a bunch of them together when he was either stoned or drunk or both… and I expected some out-of-the-world vision from a guy who wrote and sings “Heart of Gold”, “Down by the River” , etc.   Nada...

While I still like Neil Young’s music after reading ‘Waging Heavy Peace’ it now has lost some of its… mystical qualities at least for me.  Except for the positive points that I noted above, for the most part I don’t like Neil Young the person.  Sad but True…

By:  Homeless with a Laptop, That is my Name

Wednesday, January 1, 2014

For Those Who Fail ... Yet Fight On

"All honor to him who shall win the prize" 
The world has cried for a thousand years; 

But to him who tries and who fails and dies, 
I give great honor and glory and tears. 

great is the hero who wins a name, 

But greater many and many a time 
Some pale-faced fellow who dies in shame, 

And lets God finish the thought sublime. 

And great is the man with a sword undrawn, 
And good is the man who refrains from wine; 

But the man who fails and yet fights on, 
Lo, he is the twin-born brother of mine! 

By:  Joaquin Miller 

It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat. 

By:  Theodore Roosevelt

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Conquest of Paradise