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Rituals and Habits, A Practice of Life. . . . .
Habits. . . The thud of the back door as it swings shut, the sound of keys clinking to their place on the stairs, tell me even in my sleep, that you are home. Small things noted, giving rise to habits observed, a sense of ritual to a life filled with them. We continue rituals,…
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What Keeps Us Awake. . . .
To stand straight need not be at the expense of an other’s fall. It can be because of one’s need to reach higher than one knows. ****** Facing one’s self in one’s declining years is a task best left to those who point to the kudos on the walls. They have something to point to…
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And Sunday Comes. . .
Sometimes there sweeps over one a feeling saying ‘that’s how I always felt’ whatever prompts a memory. It could be a scent or sunlight or something triggering a wave awakening response long dormant. Often one knows where it originates but often the ‘always’ has no beginning at least in this lifetime. This following feeling is…
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A Cosmic Hug. . .
A Cosmic Hug. . I had a dear brother in law who said he liked asking me questions because he knew I researched everything I opinioned. Unless I had either experience or knowledge, I refrained expression. I considered his a high compliment. So when I learned of gravity or weighted blankets, I began the long…
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Challenging the Ethers. . .
Challenging the Ethers. . . with today’s vernacular is a noble attempt. Hard to find an ancient mind not colored by the passing centuries.) If man is the result of the whim of the Potter, how dependable is the Potter? ***** Or is the lump of clay thrown willy nilly at the whim of the…
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The Fairyland Was Real. . . .
This time you will mentally shape the thoughts for this poem. You will remember the child you were at heart and the times when the world became a fairyland. We all have these memories and we take them out when the world becomes brittle and sharp. With these memories, few that they are, it becomes…
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Simple sums. . .Bread for the Day. . .
Simple Sums. . . Bread for the Day. . . . It seems the length of our lives is directly connected to our unresolves. ***** To find beauty in the doing, puts even the most menial task in the position of praising life. ***** Skirmishes, both large and small, are always grist for someone’s…
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Shared Silence
Shared Silence In rereading a journal entry of many years ago I wrote with little editing, ‘that my husband of more than a half century went out the door this morning with little communication. Though there was little talk, there was a communion of shared history in the house. I think that has replaced talking,…
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In Thanksgiving. . .Because it is. . .
Sometimes I look upon past work and see a new perspective, a new meaning. And sometimes I cannot remember the person I was who wrote the poem or prose. It is someone who has made up a portion of who I am and I bring her to the work I read today. And I am…
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With Knees Bent. . . .
With Knees Bent. . . . There are those who have learned the ways of the world but neglected to learn the lessons that might have led to the same conclusions with understanding. ***** In the midst of agonies, there is the absurdity. But to carry the absurdity past its point, belabors it. *****…