Dance

 

Tan Ru

                                                               Sterilize Imperfections

                                                                           Vision

                                                                             Lost

                                                                     Out of Control

                                                                             Lost

The Fairy Changeling

 By Dora Sigerson Shorter

Brian O'Byrne of Omah town
In his garden strode up and down;
He pulled his beard, and he beat his breast;
And this is his trouble and woe confessed
'The good-folk came in the night, and they
Have stolen my bonny wean away;
Have put in his place a changeling,
A weashy, weakly, wizen thing!
'From the speckled hen nine eggs I stole,
And lighting a fire of a glowing coal,
I fried the shells, and I spilt the yolk;
But never a word the stranger spoke.
'A bar of metal I heated red
To frighten the fairy from its bed,
To put in the place of this fretting wean
My own bright beautiful boy again.
'But my wife had hidden it in her arms,
And cried ‘For shame!’ on my fairy charms;
She sobs, with the strange child on her breast
‘I love the weak, wee babe the best!’'
To Brian O'Byrne's, the tale to hear,
The neighbours came from far and near
Outside his gate, in the long boreen,
They crossed themselves, and said between

Their muttered prayers, 'He has no luck!
For sure the woman is fairy-struck,
To leave her child a fairy guest,
And love the weak, wee wean the best!'

32

 

The Walk

 

                                                    I keep a close watch on this heart of mine

Send Me The Pillow

                                                          The one that you dream on.

Mercy

 45 Mercy Street

In my dream,
drilling into the marrow
of my entire bone,
my real dream,
I'm walking up and down Beacon Hill
searching for a street sign —
namely MERCY STREET.
Not there.

I try the Back Bay.
Not there.
Not there.
And yet I know the number.
45 Mercy Street.
I know the stained-glass window
of the foyer,
the three flights of the house
with its parquet floors.
I know the furniture and
mother, grandmother, great-grandmother,
the servants.
I know the cupboard of Spode
the boat of ice, solid silver,
where the butter sits in neat squares
like strange giant's teeth
on the big mahogany table.
I know it well.
Not there.

Where did you go?
45 Mercy Street,
with great-grandmother
kneeling in her whale-bone corset
and praying gently but fiercely
to the wash basin,
at five A.M.
at noon
dozing in her wiggy rocker,
grandfather taking a nap in the pantry,
grandmother pushing the bell for the downstairs maid,
and Nana rocking Mother with an oversized flower
on her forehead to cover the curl
of when she was good and when she was…
And where she was begat
and in a generation
the third she will beget,
me,
with the stranger's seed blooming
into the flower called Horrid.

I walk in a yellow dress
and a white pocketbook stuffed with cigarettes,
enough pills, my wallet, my keys,
and being twenty-eight, or is it forty-five?
I walk. I walk.
I hold matches at street signs
for it is dark,
as dark as the leathery dead
and I have lost my green Ford,
my house in the suburbs,
two little kids
sucked up like pollen by the bee in me
and a husband
who has wiped off his eyes
in order not to see my inside out
and I am walking and looking
and this is no dream
just my oily life
where the people are alibis
and the street is unfindable for an
entire lifetime.

Pull the shades down —
I don't care!
Bolt the door, mercy,
erase the number,
rip down the street sign,
what can it matter,
what can it matter to this cheapskate
who wants to own the past
that went out on a dead ship
and left me only with paper?

Not there.

I open my pocketbook,
as women do,
and fish swim back and forth
between the dollars and the lipstick.
I pick them out,
one by one
and throw them at the street signs,
and shoot my pocketbook
into the Charles River.
Next I pull the dream off
and slam into the cement wall
of the clumsy calendar
I live in,
my life,
and its hauled up
notebooks.

Anne Sexton

Round, Round Rhythm Of Life Goes Round

 Yesterday we finally buried my Mother. She died on Wednesday November Ninth. The burial took more than two weeks because she is interred at a Military cemetery as my Dad is a veteran. It took all that time because of bureaucracy and paperwork. 

The shock of her death has somewhat worn off but the hole in my heart and soul still aches at her loss. We just had a small family ceremony. Each of us could say something if we chose. I would rather have had that than some Priest who didn't know her preach some meaningless platitudes. I read a poem called  "A Dirge" by Percy Bysshe Shelley.

Rough wind, that moanest loud

Grief too sad for song;

Wild wind, when sullen cloud

Knells all the night long;

Sad storm whose tears are vain

Bare woods, whose branches strain,

Deep caves and dreary main, --

Wail, for the world's wrong!

My Mom was cremated, so I had no idea what to expect for her remains. I was totally surprised when I saw this little box. It was like, that's not my Mother. It's just some box full of ashes. The spirit and soul that was my Mother left as I was holding her hand on November ninth when she died. I am still haunted and troubled by that moment. The suffering my Mom had to go through because of the idiots at that Hospital. And I'm mad at God, who let one of his dearest servants go through that hell in her hour of death. If anyone on this earth's death should have been peaceful, it should have been my lovely Mother, who wouldn't hurt a fly. Life surely is a pigsty.

I put a bouquet of flowers on her grave, said my goodbyes and it was over. At this point, seeing my family so stricken with grief upset me almost as much as losing Mom. On my drive home, I kept thinking about how small her box of ashes was. You live a full life and it all comes down to this small box.

Take a deep breath and swallow

Your sorrow

Tomorrow

We Care A Lot

 I just saw the news that Morrissey cancelled his concert last night part way through the show. There is no definitive answer at this time why he decided to stop the show. It was an outdoor venue and it was a chilly evening. If it was a throat issue and Our Moz made the decision to cancel, I completely understand. His voice is his life, he must protect it at all costs. I hope it was nothing more serious than that and hope and pray for a full and quick recovery.

I can sympathize. I am under the weather also. I have some kind of sinus infection. Having just lost my Mother. I believe I got worn down from two weeks of hospital visits after work, very little sleep, stress and worry.

I'm hoping we get an update on Our Moz soon and it's good news. Sending all of my best thoughts his way.

November 22 Update:

The Salt Lake City and Denver dates have been cancelled due to an illness in the band. The tour is expected to resume this Friday in Minneapolis. Here's hoping that all who are ill, get well soon and things are good to go for Friday. As always sending our best thoughts and wishes to Our Moz and band.

We really do care a lot.

*******   12/1/22 Update

I just finished watching Our Moz at The Kings Theater in Brooklyn on YouTube. It was a marvelous show. Our Moz and band sounded fantastic. I'm glad to see they are back on the road looking healthy and happy.

Earth Is The Loneliest Planet

My lovely Mother, Leann, passed away last evening. She was truly an angel in a world full of snakes. She always cared about other people above herself. She worried about everyone else's problems above her own, many times to her own detriment. The world is a much dimmer place today because a shining light has been extinguished.

Two weeks ago she fell at night, getting out of bed at night and hit her head on a table. She was rushed to the hospital. They said she had bleeding on her brain. After several days in the ICU she seemed to get better. Then out of nowhere she got some kind of lung infection or pneumonia. This became a major concern because she was having trouble breathing. They put her on oxygen and antibiotics. She seemed to rally after a couple days and got back to her old self.  Suddenly on Sunday she took a turn for the worse and continued to go downhill.

That leads us to yesterday. I got a call from my sister that Mom was in bad shape and they were going to put her on "comfort" measures because she was no longer responding to treatments, I rushed to the Hospital and met several of my family members. The so called "comfort" measures were brutal. I wouldn't wish those on my worst enemy. They put a dog to sleep or lethally inject a murderer with more compassion than how they treated my Mother. They turned her oxygen off, gave her some morphine and some relaxent. She was partially conscious and was struggling to breath. She was basically drowning because of all the fluid in her lungs. She was groaning and in pain, my sister screamed at the nurse to help her and they finally gave her more morphine until she relaxed and then slipped into unconsciousness and finally died. Twenty minutes of living hell for this wonderful lady that didn't have to be.

I am reminded of two years ago when Morrissey's Mom died. I empathized with him about her death. Now I know how he truly felt. I've lost the one person on this earth that loved me unconditionally. Now, for me, Earth really is the loneliest planet..

Boys, you better

                                                                      Dandy

I Have Become Cumbersome

                                                              I'm a perfectionist

                                           And perfect is a skinned knee

                     

        Your youth may be gone, but you're still a good man      

So phone me, phone me.

I'm not the most graceful player to ever roam a tennis court. At 6'5", 215 pounds, I wouldn't quite call me stylish and smooth but I get around (take that Brian Wilson). Tonight really took the cake in clumsiness as I tripped over my own two feet and went down in a heap not seen since Humpty Dumpty fell off the wall. Fortunately I was able to put myself back together again with only a scraped, swollen  knee. My wounded pride after that fiasco is another matter.

                                               Go on and wring my neck
                                                Like when a rag gets wet

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                                                    October 9 update

In other more interesting news, Our Moz is returning to London this evening for a concert at The Palladium. Best Wishes to Moz and his band for another fantastic show. Here is London, giddy London......

For some reason, Morrissey's return to London, made me think of this song. In my warped mind, who knows why?

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

                                              October 10 update

Our Moz had another fantastic show at the London Palladium last night. His fans were over the moon at what a great concert Morrissey delivered for them, a gift for the ages. I also noticed Our Moz wore his fancy yellow shoes!

And in the "No one cares section" of today's update, my knee is getting better. I was able to run 4.5 miles today with very little issue.

                                                            I was detained, I was restrained
                                                        And broke my spleen and broke my knee

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                                                                         October 14 Update

Tonight was the final night of Morrissey's wildly successful Ireland/UK tour. Our Moz played another outstanding show in Brighton. There was a rumble in Brighton tonight at The Brighton Centre as Our Moz showed one and all why he rules the stage like no other. I look forward to his next set of shows in the USA.

                                                             Disappointed

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Final unimportant update that is irrelevant, I was able to play tennis this evening without any problems.

I was not disappointed that I didn't fall and make a fool of myself but that doesn't necessarily mean that I'm not a fool. I could just be fooling myself and to that I say "Let The Music Play!" but I am out of tune.

                                       The Secret Of Music

Jerusalem

 And did those feet in ancient time

Walk upon England's mountains green?
And was the holy Lamb of God
On England's pleasant pastures seen?

And did the Countenance Divine
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here
Among these dark Satanic mills?

Bring me my bow of burning gold:
Bring me my arrows of desire:
Bring me my spear: O clouds unfold!
Bring me my chariot of fire.

I will not cease from mental fight,
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand
Till we have built Jerusalem
In England's green and pleasant land.

William Blake

Many Miles Away

 

                                                                       A connecting principle,
                                                                       Linked to the invisible
                                                                       Almost imperceptible
                                                                    Something inexpressible.

Life is very long when you're lonely.

It was just to see, just to see
All the things you knew I'd written about you

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                                                           With one breath, with one flow
                                                                    You will know
                                                                     Synchronicity

                                                                   I just wanna say
                                                                   I haven't been away
                                                                   I am still right here
                                                                  Where I always was

                                                                It's so deep, it's so wide
                                                                Your inside
                                                                Synchronicity

 
                                                                Blah, Blah and possibly Blah