Q & A

Tell me of the future, he says, his face open and his whole small body listening. Tell me how it's going to be. And he doesn't know it, and I don't know how to tell him, but all I can think of is the past.

Of a day and a night and a day filled with pain -- a hurting with a purpose, and a wetness that was and wasn't tears. A tiny, outraged cry.

Of a morning, and a tired smile, and not walking away. Of eyes of blue, and brown, and green. The grace in a touch. Meeting the night stars with screaming, and falling silent while they hung there, unmoved.

Of plans that turned into reality, but never the way we thought they would. Of new dreams, new realities we could never have dreamed. Of breathing in, and breathing out, and the triumph that just that breathing can be.

And then I know my answer, and I tell him life endures. And I know someday he'll understand.

(no subject)

rosefox was the latest, and thanks to her, I'm giving in. When you see this, post a poem in your LJ.

This one's an old favourite -- 'twas either this or Monro's "Overheard On A Saltmarsh".

The Stolen Child
W.B. Yeats

Where dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water-rats;
There we've hid our faery vats,
Full of berries
And of the reddest stolen cherries.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping
Than you can understand.



Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim grey sands with light,
Far off by furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances,
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And is anxious in its sleep.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping
Than you can understand.



Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,
In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping
Than you can understand.



Away with us he's going,
The solemn eyed:
He'll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal-chest.
For he comes, the human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
From a world more full of weeping
Than he can understand.


( for the sake of someone who demanded original words as well as quotes. )

(no subject)

Who told the weather it was allowed to change, anyhow?

Outside my window, there appears to be a bright, sunny day, but that sunshine is all light and no warmth, and the wind is whipping the tree's branches against the house. I am dressed in sweatpants, sweater, and fuzzy slippers. I am thinking longingly of warm sand.

I am a child of the Caribbean. I was not made for cold.

Am I allowed to hibernate until June?

NY Times endorses Kerry.

John Kerry for President
( We look back on the past four years with hearts nearly breaking, both for the lives unnecessarily lost and for the opportunities so casually wasted. Time and again, history invited George W. Bush to play a heroic role, and time and again he chose the wrong course. We believe that with John Kerry as president, the nation will do better. )