Is there nothing I can do . . . . . .

First 5 bars

 We are always meditating on something, but we get to choose what.

When the subject or the personal or professionally interaction occurs where there is myself and a woman involved is there nothing I can do to better or more thoroughly understand the female’s mindset?  Nearly six decades into this life and the ever changing ever evolving opposite sex still remains to this individual the enigma dwarfing the construction of the pyramids of Egypt much less the concept of the Pythagorean Theorem.  I not sure but the feeling is this blog is about women simply because you remain to this day the mysterious one of all to me it seems you the female are never alone no matter where you are and seemingly never lost or at a loss.

Just this past week I head up to Dockerys’ here in-town for the weekly treat of eating a meal out of the house and in a café. The lunch menu as well as the breakfast has always been simple and good. Omelets, eggs, grits, biscuits for breakfast or the meat and two with tea and cornbread for lunch and maybe a desert. In the past few months since receiving a free iPhone I’ve developed the habit of copying articles and book chapters to notepad and forwarding them to my hot-mail account. Wherever I am I can open up a e-mail and read too my hearts content with out surfing the net. Two different letters I’d sent to my hot-mail account have kept me busy for a while. The first is EXPOSED By Emily Gould 05/08 where a argument with Jimmy Kimmel on CNN produced something of a life changing publication and provocative insight for Emily. The other and most exciting e-mail read is with Cheryl Strayed the writer whose career is looking like a NASA mission to the ISS.

At age 22 Cheryl having lost her mother age 45 to cancer having a marriage in taters and unable to find the correct energy to keep her family together bailed out into California to hike the PCT all 1100 miles from the desert to the mountains. Having never camped in the out of doors much less backpacked she did it. She did it thru every season available and the trials and pain, mental and physical. Admittedly and rightfully Cheryl realized the journey was not the answer to her troubling life but a benchmark to follow thru to where she is today. The adventure entitled * “Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail” immediately was optioned by Reese Witherspoon and Director Lisa Cholodenko will be at the helm with Cheryl on as associate producer.

Having walked up to Dockerys seating myself as the custom without looking up I muttered ‘unsweet tea’ to the waitress while scrolling up a read on the iPhone.  Better yet below the pictures is what I wrote down when I got back to the house after lunch…..

 

Chicken Lady of Alpharetta

Beets..Okra..Chicken dumplings..cornbread

Lunch today the waitress brought me a tall glass of tea and a very short straw. When I mentioned to the waitress the fact my straw was a full couple of inches beneath the lip of the tea glass the waitress instructed me thus..

‘On the wall in the men’s-room is a roll of paper on the wall, write your complaint on the roll and we will see to it”!! The mood in the dining area changed to much better when the waitress returned with a short glass of tea and …a long straw asking me if I am happy now.  Got around to asking her name something I find difficult to do unless the ‘timing is correct’. With orders and conversations abounding during the lunch hour I waited until the cube-rats had thinned a bit.

15 minutes later she sat down at a side table rolling flatware into paper napkins with the pause in the air I simply asked ‘what’s your name?’.  Replying she said ‘just call me the Chicken Lady of Alpharetta’. I laughed or more so the chuckle mentioning if indeed I could use the name in this blog. ‘Make me famous and put in there I’m from ‘Mobile, Alabama’. Scooting back it my plate while sitting two tables apart we discussed the differences of Birmingham, Alabama from middle of the state to differences of lower and gulf coast Alabama.

Chicken Lady of Alpharetta said her grandmother’s side of the family was mostly from Louisiana and it was there she had spent half of her life.  Interestingly enough I felt she had a closer affection  ofLouisiana than Mobile. In fact she told me her grandmothers’ home on Dauphin Island, Alabama had been lost to a hurricane in the 60′s. Blown clean off the low lying island the structure floated on the ocean for three days becoming a hazard to navigation until it sank to the bottom. Her grandmother’s home was rebuilt on the tiny island. The latest word from the island Chicken Lady of Alpharetta told me of State Farm insurance company celebrating the last remaining tree on Dauphin Island being lost to a hurricane. Apparently the regular weather devastation of the homes on the island cause by falling trees had dug a hole in the company’s profit margin!!!

Found a e-mail from a special interest group I’d signed up with a few months ago over internet usage, freedom of speech, intellectual property, bandwidth, twitter and well just about all things internet. The subject at hand was the ongoing problems with Pinterest over property rights. Locally a woman with a Boudoir Photography company and Portrait Studio of the highest caliber had second thoughts from blog input. Too make a long story short after gnashing of teeth and fretting Kirsten Kowalski in her blog ‘ ddk’s blog ‘  deleted her work in Pinterest and it hurt her to do so. The viral input landed on the desk of Ben Silbermann owner and founder of Pinterest. For business purposes his site is the godsend for companies like K’s photography but and the but is large as always attorneys has spelled out the most ambiguous terms of usage and Kirsten spent a lot of time reading the ‘terms’ in order to be a good steward in using the site and had to delete her works. In the end Ben Silbermann firstly e-mailed to arrange a ‘call’ to see what the two of them could brainstorm in order to get K’s business back and to expand the business while protecting the artist work and his ‘terms of usage’.  There are some links if you care to look a bit deeper and check out ddk’s studio and blog.

With one foot in the door and one foot out something I though I’d never see and something I’d never considered. Singer, songwriter and artist Gregg Allman’s biography debuted at #2 on the New York Times best seller list.

My Cross to Bear #2

My hats off Mr. Allman and good health to you too. From the excerpts I seen of the book the cloak is removed allowing the life and times of him, his family and music to be laid out and available for viewing. I’ve not a clue as to the highs and lows but in the life of mine the highs will never equal the lows just maybe that’s what makes my life  so very real.

give a listen……..McTell

 

 

 

My Soul Has Shifted….corrected version.

My Soul Has Shifted.

  Let the truth be told, the week of Spring break this year is far and away not a break at all.  Everyone’s children are out and about, families traveling to be with families and the most beautiful weather we have seen around these parts in a year or so.  The temperatures have fallen to something close to ‘normal’, if there is such a bench–mark any more.  I’ve noticed even the most seasoned forecasters, professional media prognosticators on television here in Atlanta also the experts from Accu-Weather, State College, PA, shifted towards a ‘open the door and look outside before making a forecast’ method.  Two weeks prior to this cooler weather it has been near 20 degrees warmer then, ‘normal’. Anything ‘normal’ anymore?  With that said the trees have leafed out and the Azalea’s have bloomed beyond expectations. When spring and Easter here in Georgia, converge there is a simple beauty in nature.

Checking my e-mails this evening brought I spied the familiar group of faces.  ‘Rhonda Anderson’ sent me a 2nd notice from Facebook…”You were sent this via FB and you haven’t watched it and it’s URGENT”. My Dear Rhonda, Hotmail account has you in Spam, if you do not receive my attention after 30 attempts within thirty consecutive days please consider removing me from you’re a-list. Another favorite?  Is‘kunlunique.com’ and their 4th notice to e-mail/call some bank on the island of Hong Kong.  I wasted over a hour of my life tracking kunlunique.com and never go further than WHOIS.  Best standby in my Hotmail ‘spam folder’ would have to be GasolineCard@sicerbebat.com, no explanation needed.

  Turn you back for just a moment on the details of daily life? Something is going to fall apart.  How you can raise a family, keep a career on track and maintain a household? I am single slash no family. 7/24 is shy of making a week. In the metro Atlanta area come hell or high-water a handful of events occur.  It snows in early January, yeah everyone get a ‘free day off’. The State legislature convenes. For some unknown reason the night before the gavel drops there is a dinner in downtown Atlanta @the Depot or what remains of Terminus. “The Wild Hogs dinner”, also know as a lobbyist trough. This year, the dinner was a bit more exciting than lobbyist sponsored feasting. Vegans and Occupiers staged as cousins at the dinner. The Occupiers were treated to a rice dinner by The Vegans, across the street in The Occupiers camp..  A note to crashers, you would better suite your cause & agenda by waiting a day when the reps convene.  Following next into town is  Ringling Bros. & Barnum & Bailey Circus.  There are two traveling circuses’ one with more animals and the other with more aerial acts each year.  There was the motor cross event @The old Fulton County stadium, destroying the infield and outfield.

  Yes we are all ‘characters upon a stage’. This day begins, a player in a play, extremely satisfying and altogether un-nerving. Personal intuitive feelings the same as the first time I was in the swimming pool for lessons. Gripping the edges, chlorine taste of water in my mouth, trying as I might to lower my head beneath the surface, forcing air bubbles outward through my nose. Again and again I would sink a bit, the water at my chin, lower to my nose at the surface. The other children next to me? Oblivious. My legs beneath the water searching for the invisible balance, head slightly above and below the water line. The voice inside this small child’s head,  ‘I know I can do this’. My age held me from fear an emotion yet to be experienced. This child’s most inner-self and voice grappling for their communion. Soon enough edging below the water, a chorus is created, air from my nose escaping outward to water, resonating vibrations, synching. To me the bubbles sing, a natural and primal cadence. Satisfaction and accomplishment rising thru my head, my body, ” a conscious moment of a child?’ Feet and legs moving with purpose, little hands relaxed their grip from pools edge.  I urged my body to float freely, above or below the surface as chlorine disinfected waters embraced me, me the child.  A Jonathon Livingston Seagull moment?  Discovering me as me, a season of life begins?
How quickly my time passes, Fall then Winter, Spring into Autumn. Weeks become fleeting. Lasting a day? The months’ flying past, now a year seems as only a month. Time in my soul is feeling like currency, the dollar or euro, a bag of gold for yesterday, “pennies for your tomorrow sir??” My clock @home does not tick. The cool watch I have to match my glasses?  It seems to resist being set ‘on time’. i-phone? Embarrasses’ me with total accuracy, cannot argue with me it says, and in return I not.  What is that movement in the body of mine, what is the pull? In the fleeting of a moment I suspected and concluded. “ My soul has shifted.”

Many years ago I received a four-volume set from National Geographic. God-bless Reg Murphy, he is still on-board there. Once upon a time he was ‘Editor in Chief” of Nat Geo, having left as eic of The Atlanta Journal. Reg had been kidnapped back in the day and the FBI blew the ransom exchange, under the overpass of Georgia 400 at Holcomb Bridge road, ten minutes from where I sit today. Reg was returned but the kidnapper did escape. Reg’s kidnapper was caught many years later.  Seems he used the ransom money to finance his degree in medicine.

Anyhow the volumes covered 4 basic periods in recorded time. You know Mid-evil and Renaissance movement. Like Knights and druids, the Romans and Greeks.  Within these 4 volumes the rise, maturing and decline of governments, dogma’s set forth, conquest, inventions, artistry and mathematics. Nothing lasted forever, well maybe the math and science. One generation does rise and then another generation. Each busting their balls to be the best, the brightest, the most fair and enlighten generation or ‘civilization’.

I chance to say, as one whose life has afforded a unending time frame of solitude. From that solitude’s edge I did feel and sense ‘my soul shift’. I am stunned and wary, not enlightened. It was for a moment a perfect pitch of harmony, the whitest clouds with blue skies, the ocean’s waves and foam across the sands. I was there and I knew what it was.  No feeling fear, or wonderment, but a breathless wonderment. The clock may never tic again. Time and nature are one and the same, as a breath is exhaled and the next begins again. I witnessed my own soul as a tangible substance. Life will expire. And again ‘my soul will shift’.

McTell

My Soul has Shifted…….

My Soul has Shifted……..

Let the truth be told, the week of Spring break this year is far and away not a break at all.  Everyone’s children are out and about, families traveling to be with families and the most beautiful weather we have seen around these parts in a year or so.  The temperatures have fallen to something close to ‘normal’, if there is such a bench mark any more.  I’ve noticed even the most seasoned forecasters, professional media prognosticators on television here in Atlanta, experts from Accu Weather in State College, PA, are shifting to the best test of forecasting, ‘open the door and look outside before making a forecast’.  Two weeks prior to this bit of cooler weather it has been near 20 degrees warmer then, ‘normal’. Is anything ‘normal’ anymore?  With that said the trees have leafed out and the Azalea’s in our part of the world have bloomed beyond expectations. Here in Georgia, when spring and Easter converge there is a simple beauty in nature to not be missed.
Checking my e-mails this evening brought forth a familiar group of faces.  Rhonda Anderson sent me a 2nd notice from Facebook…”You were sent this via FB and you haven’t watched it and it’s URGENT”. I feel no compelling need Rhonda, my Hotmail account has you in spam, besides you’ve sent me the link I count 30 times in as many days. A favorite is ‘kunlunique.com and their 4th notice to call some bank.  I wasted over a hour of my life tracking kunlunique.com and never go further than WHOIS.  Best standby in my  Hotmail ‘spam folder’ would have to be GasolineCard@sicerbebat.com, no explanation needed. And like a 2nd cousin is “Tang Sue, Executive Director and Head of Personal Banking, Hang Seng Bank Limited. Tang Sue has 22million dollars, yes and change in my name because…….the investor…..” Aziz Musa Numan and his family had been killed during the war in a bomb blast that hit his home at Mukaradeeb. I, provided a picture of Aziz’s village and still I puzzled how a man with fortune here ended up in Hong Kong.

Mukaradeeb, Iraq

Reading spam e-mails typically is a habit acquired by long grueling days at work, followed by the short nights. Brought onwards by daily and weekly details trying to maintain my home in the suburbs. Turn you back for just a moment on the details? Something is going to fall apart.  I’ve always wonder how you can raise a family, keep a career on track and maintain the household? My spam is becoming seriously interesting and I’m single with not a family. Most of the e-mails I communicate with on the ‘regular list’ consistently pushes to the “Ticketmaster scroll of coming attractions”.
Having spent entire adult life here I’m fairly attuned to a regular scheduled. In Atlanta a handful of events play out each year, consistently.  It snows in early January, yeah everyone get a ‘free day off’. The State legislature convenes. For some unknown reason the night before the gavel drops there is a dinner in downtown Atlanta @the Depot or what remains of Terminus. “The Wild Hogs dinner”, also know as a lobbyist trough, we know who pays for dinner. This year, the dinner was a bit more exciting than lobbyist. Vegans and Occupiers provided the entertainment with their agendas at the front gate, occupiers were treated to a rice dinner by the vegans, across the street in the occupiers camp..  A note to crashers, you would better suite your cause & agenda by waiting a day when the reps convene. BTW, the dinner is hosted by a group that even the impressive investigative arm of the Atlanta Journal could ‘not’ pin down. Although tickets my be purchased by anyone to attend, the closest the ATL journal could come to ‘who sponsor the dinner’, was two years back, and the man had resigned as the treasurer then, and offered up a tobacco lobbyist as a contact.
The next big event would be the Ringling Bros. & Barnum & Bailey Circus.  If memory servers me right, there were two Circuses, one with more animals and the other with more aerial acts each year.  Following the circus was the ‘motor-cross event’.  This always held near and dear to in-town chatter. The old Fulton County stadium became a mountain course for the motorcycles for a week, and left a razor thin margin of weeks to completely restore the ‘turf’, for a round of over 80 @home Atlanta Braves baseball games.
In my memories on this day I feel the full force of Spring and the rhythms of the seasons. My enlightenment of this morning, and the pondering of all day. Yes we are all ‘characters upon a stage’. This day begins, a player in a play, extremely satisfying and yet altogether un-nerving. Feelings as the first time I was in the swimming pool, gripping the edges, chlorine taste of water in my mouth, trying as I might to lower my head beneath the surface, forcing air bubbles from my nose to rise. Again and again I would sink a bit, the water at my chin, lower to my nose at the surface. The other children next to me? Oblivious. My legs beneath the water searching for the invisible balance,  head slightly above and below the water line. The voice inside this small child’s head,  ‘I know I can do this” My age held me from fear an emotion yet to be experienced. This child’s most inner-self and voice grappling for their communion . Soon enough edging below the water, a chorus’ is created Air from my nose escaping outward to water, resonating vibrations, synching. To me the bubbles sing, natural and primal cadence. Satisfaction and accomplishment  rising thru my head, my body, ” a conscious moment of a child?’. Feet and legs moving with purpose, little hands relaxed their grip from pools edge.  I urged my body to float freely, above or below the waters surface and chlorine disinfected waters embraced me, me the child.  A Jonathon Livingston Seagull moment?  Discovering me as me, a season of life begins?
How quickly my time passes, Fall then winter, Spring melding into Autumn. Weeks become fleeting. lasting a day.  The months flying past, now a year seems as only last month. Time in my soul is feeling like currency, the dollar or euro, a bag of gold for yesterday, “pennies for your tomorrow sir??” My clock @home does not tick. The cool watch I have to match my glasses?  It, the watch, seems to resist being set ‘on time’. i-phone? Embarrasses’ me with ‘its’ total accuracy, cannot argue with me it says, and in return I not.  But, and yeah but. What is that movement in the body of mine, what is that pull, a balance of not eyes, the balance of synching within myself.  I pondered this day and must profess, my soul has shifted.
Years and years ago Nat Geo sent to me, after a lifetime of enjoyment a special four book edition. Oh and god-bless Reg Murphy, he is still on-board there. @one time he was ‘Editor in Chief”, after leaving the Atlanta Journal, and after being kidnapped back in the day and the FBI blew the ransom exchange…..btw they did catch the guy after he spent the money.  Unbelievably he spent the ransom money on a college degree.  When the FBI did find him decades later? He was a Doctor practicing medicine in Alaska… Anyhow the 4 set volumes covered 4 basic periods in recorded time.  You know Mid-evil, and Renaissance  movement if your not familiar with them don’t worry, like Knights and druids and such. Romans and Greeks.
Within these 4 volumes the rise, maturing and decline of governments, dogma’s set forth, conquest, inventions, artistry and mathematics. Nothing lasted forever, well maybe the math and science. Just one generation and then another, each busting their balls to be the best, the brightest, the most fair and enlighten generation or ‘civilization’. In the end as we all will by the commands of life and nature melding to the next season, the next generation. I say this and write, as one whose life has afford a unique time frame of solitude. From that solitude, today I felt my soul shift. I am stunned and wary, not enlightened. It was for a moment a perfect pitch in life of all harmony, clouds with blue skies, ocean waves and foam on the sand, I was there and me knew what it was.  There is or was no fear, or wonderment, no Angles singing. The clock may never tic again, but time by natures very substance of renewal, moving  forward as a breath is exhaled and the next begins again, indeed I witnessed my  soul as a tangible substance. Yes as real as the scent of a ‘Queen Elizabeth rose”. Life will frighten me, life will beat me down, lift me up and in the end of me, life will expire.  Again my soul will shift.

A bit early Spring……

A bit early Spring…….

Just another day in the week of a month where Spring arrived several full fortnights in advance of Mother Nature’s typical cycle. Sitting down @the desktop I’m wondering what will follow months from today.  Will August arrive as a September and so forth. A second observation of question is will this summer in North America be warmer than the previous?  Summer of 2011 was warm and hot in a long and abundant sense rather than something to spike the thermometer daily and nightly. Previous to March the tornado sirens have already show they work when needed, and the season will last for months to come.

Hit the stand-by of WMP for a load of Allman Brothers to spur the imagination. Vintage and still relevant their first album entitled, “The Allman Brothers Band”. The opening cover of Spencer Davis’s Don’t Want You No More, is still as fresh and sonic as it was the day my sister brought me home a copy, it stayed on my record player for years. It was 1969.  On the subject, Gregg Allman has a book coming out just about now.  Having survived the decades as an artist, a “Rock-Star’, and the liver transplant this may be a worthy read……..available May Day 2012. “ My Cross to Bear”.

On the moving forward side, a company named C. W. Matthews began clearing the woods in front of the house here as construction begins on removing my street and replacing it with a different one. I’ve spent most of my life in this area and still this is a first. The city purchased all the homes on 27 acres in town, removed the structures. My home is at the east side of the development. My street is being removed, ok?  Quarter of a mile south of me a roundabout will be installed and the road will angle north in front of my home, end with a traffic signal a hundred yards away with a left or right turn.  The old road way will be taken up leaving a contiguous parcel of 28 acres of land. Upon which will be a park, a library and a city courthouse. All this is done with approval of the citizens of Alpharetta, 29million dollar bond, voted and affirmed. I have no clue what is going on, except I am the host to triple the number of squirrels I had a few weeks past.  New squirrel condos in abundance now..Lastly the parcel of land to be a public park was named March 26^th . Brooke Street Park. When the road is finished and the park completed, Brooke Street will no long exist. I do like the name but it makes me sad to loose my street.

Looking south, new road approaching, will Over-lay Brooke Street in picture and continue about another 100 yards north @best to end at traffic light.

Thus a rather large chapter in my life is ending. Could it be akin to a relationship that has concluded and if so how is the end written?  The thought of the chapter being linked to a death of a partner is repulsive, saying the least. Attempting to name the change a formal separation will not work. Separation is not final and this is and it is written in stone. The street Brooke will no longer exist, the name will. A divorce may be the ultimate descriptive word, or best names the chapter. Yet the ‘D’ word has a weakness to simply name the chapter thus.

In Malaysia are a tribe, few in numbers still alive and well living up rivers in a communal fashion, as they have for thousands of years. Living with some modern convinces of necessity, sparse radios for communication and motors on the boats and canned beer.  The tribe still maintains a tradition of life. Many of the men of the community have left never to return, others have served proudly in Malaysian military. Mostly know for their brutal yet skilful removal of the communist from the country in the 1950’s.  Their tradition is called ‘Journeyman”. And it is a lifestyle.

A young man is encouraged to leave the village. Gather experience in life; bring something back to the village and repeat. Rather open-ended as the cycle may be repeated for their entire life.  Just maybe the loss of my street and its name, left only to the park, is a Journeyman. No shingle will be hung now of a life-time craft. Just Journeyman.

Got a few more thoughts there and about. The most nagging one is,” Go outside and wash the car”, it is covered in a very thick layer of yellow pollen. If your not born and raised in this area of the country, the pollen has the tendency to cause ones head to swell, the eyes to water, the nose to spew and a unceasing pressure in the forehead. Resulting in misery of the highest order.  Turning 57 on the 27^th of March and repeat to myself the mantra I have for 35 years.  “ Where will I be in a year?”    McTell…

 

 

Debate will continue…..

I’ve never imagined myself a writer, nor a idealist. I’ve founds on the creative side mostly visual and physical success. Business in the craft of acting, motions, juggling the simplest forms of scene stealing short of just chewing gum. But alas no actor am I, but in the long run of life, and I lay claim here, with a chuckle. Myself finds the craft of directing thru line, texture or form, includes everyday life, indeed. The entrance of my home directs one towards a sitting area of entertainment or a ‘den’, of comfort and view of the out of doors. Hence I claim on the form of life, indeed follows the function and necessity.

Looking forward, if you will?? I’ve had a great blog idea or two and find no, absolutely no  compelling reason or inspiration to proceed. I feel not a lazy streak yet I do feel the need to be compelled, compelled by that great big mysterious force of nature or unature if there is such a word. A reason to ‘bevel’ in a justification beyond filling up the page with written word, not a cause nor justification. Me? I look for some universal need within me life to apply the ‘pen to paper’.

A city of east Georgia in the USA, has been the center of a notable writer from this state. If my memory serves me correctly he was originally from south of Atlanta, Georgia near Moreland, where more than one author of note was born and raised. The writer in my thoughts wrote of the last vestiges of indentured servitude in this state, of the sharecropper who could not give up his and his family’s life and the times and attitudes which bound these men and there families to the same cycle of life their fathers and fathers before them were bounds as chattel.

Oh how spring has risen here in me hometown a month early and no real winter upon us here, I would bear to say the weather has been cool, and cold, and even to chance we have been frozen at times of early mornings, but and but again there has been no seasonal waves of deep freeze and the timely percipient to aggravate transportation in the metro area. The most gorgeous of flowering plants, of Asian origin her in Georgia, the Azalea have bloomed in a most spastic way and continue to do so me thinks until April, while this is the seasonal time for the Japanese Magnolia, the arid blooming blossoms floating above the ground imitating pale lanterns of the foreground.

Rain on the way and the heavens have been generous this year around, with all the homes across the street from me finally removed, my view in the neighborhood has changed to being the front door of in-town Alpharetta, Georgia. Till later I’ll adjust and in-town will do the same. Guess I could always put up a sign and open a hotdog stand.

Camellia on the dinner table

A Georgia Song, A Georgia Poet

SONG OF SENLIN (from “Senlin, A Biography“)

by: Conrad Aiken (1889-1973) Poet Laureate of/from Georgia

—————————————————————————

IT is morning, Senlin says, and in the morning

When the light drips through the shutters like the dew,

I arise, I face the sunrise,

And do the things my fathers learned to do.

Stars in the purple dusk above the rooftops

Pale in a saffron mist and seem to die,

And I myself on a swiftly tilting planet

Stand before a glass and tie my tie.

*

Vine leaves tap my window,

Dew-drops sing to the garden stones,

The robin chirps in the chinaberry tree

Repeating three clear tones.

*

It is morning. I stand by the mirror

And tie my tie once more.

While waves far off in a pale rose twilight

Crash on a white sand shore.

I stand by a mirror and comb my hair:

How small and white my face!–

The green earth tilts through a sphere of air

And bathes in a flame of space.

There are houses hanging above the stars

And stars hung under a sea. . .

And a sun far off in a shell of silence

Dapples my walls for me. . .

*

It is morning, Senlin says, and in the morning

Should I not pause in the light to remember God?

Upright and firm I stand on a star unstable,

He is immense and lonely as a cloud.

I will dedicate this moment before my mirror

To him alone, and for him I will comb my hair.

Accept these humble offerings, cloud of silence!

I will think of you as I descend the stair.

*

Vine leaves tap my window,

The snail-track shines on the stones,

Dew-drops flash from the chinaberry tree

Repeating two clear tones.

*

It is morning, I awake from a bed of silence,

Shining I rise from the starless waters of sleep.

The walls are about me still as in the evening,

I am the same, and the same name still I keep.

The earth revolves with me, yet makes no motion,

The stars pale silently in a coral sky.

In a whistling void I stand before my mirror,

Unconcerned, I tie my tie.

*

There are horses neighing on far-off hills

Tossing their long white manes,

And mountains flash in the rose-white dusk,

Their shoulders black with rains. . .

*

It is morning. I stand by the mirror

And surprise my soul once more;

The blue air rushes above my ceiling,

There are suns beneath my floor. . .

*

. . . It is morning, Senlin says, I ascend from darkness

And depart on the winds of space for I know not where,

My watch is wound, a key is in my pocket,

And the sky is darkened as I descend the stair.

There are shadows across the windows, clouds in heaven,

And a god among the stars; and I will go

Thinking of him as I might think of daybreak

And humming a tune I know. . .

*

Vine-leaves tap at the window,

Dew-drops sing to the garden stones,

The robin chirps in the chinaberry tree

Repeating three clear tones.

*   *   *

Short Walk on the long Beach….

A most impressive acoustic song. Written by John D. Loudermilk and performed with soul by Chet Atkins. Released in 1969 .

by Christina G. Rossetti

Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann’d;
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should forget and smile

Couple of regular guys……

Daryle Hall host a show of music and friends…Besides the ‘Blue Eyed Soul and Todds Way’, these guys are having some fun. Needless to say, sometimes you just gotta wait till the end.

There are three rules for writing a novel. Unfortunately, no one knows what they are. — W. Somerset Maugham

Shedding the Baggage…

Pretty Little Adrianna……….

Posting this for myself and a friend I knew. Here is the video, chords and lyrics follow.  Vince made music indeed with Duane s Les Paul. Simply beautiful in all regards……

Verse 1
——-
E
You sure have a pretty smile
It sure has been a while
A            E
Since I’ve felt your touch
E
You’ve got the sweetest way
I think about you every day
A        E
I miss you so much

Chorus
——
A        E
Oh my pretty little Adriana
A        E
Are you lonesome tonight
A        E
Oh my pretty little Adriana
C#m        B    E
I’ll find you when it all feels right

Verse2
——
E
You’re so soft and innocent
The sweetest night I ever spent
A            E
Was being held in your embrace
E
You’re such a gentle soul
It’s killing me to know
A        E
When will I see your face

Chorus
——
A        E
Oh my pretty little Adriana
A        E
Are you lonesome tonight
A        E
Oh my pretty little Adriana
C#m        B    E
I’ll find you when it all feels right

Oh my pretty little Adriana
Are you lonesome tonight
Oh my pretty little Adriana
I’ll find you when it all feels right

Oh my pretty little Adriana
Are you lonesome tonight
Oh my pretty little Adriana
I’ll find you when it all feels right

E
Adriana
E
Adriana