“In joy or sadness flowers are our constant friends.” ― Kakuzō Okakura, The Book Of Tea
Music
American Tune
by Paul Simon
Many’s the time I’ve been mistaken
And many times confused
Yes, and I’ve often felt forsaken
And certainly misused
But I’m all right, I’m all right
I’m just weary to my bones
Still, you don’t expect to be
Bright and bon vivant
So far away from home, so far away from home
And I don’t know a soul who’s not been battered
I don’t have a friend who feels at ease
I don’t know a dream that’s not been shattered
or driven to its knees
But it’s all right, it’s all right
For we’ve lived so well so long
Still, when I think of the road we’re traveling on
I wonder what’s gone wrong
I can’t help it, I wonder what’s gone wrong
And I dreamed I was dying
I dreamed that my soul rose unexpectedly
And looking back down at me
Smiled reassuringly
And I dreamed I was flying
And high up above my eyes could clearly see
The Statue of Liberty
Sailing away to sea
And I dreamed I was flying
We come on the ship they call the Mayflower
We come on the ship that sailed the moon
We come in the age’s most uncertain hour
and sing an American tune
But it’s all right, it’s all right
You can’t be forever blessed
Still, tomorrow’s going to be another working day
And I’m trying to get some rest
That’s all, I’m trying to get some rest
And many times confused
Yes, and I’ve often felt forsaken
And certainly misused
But I’m all right, I’m all right
I’m just weary to my bones
Still, you don’t expect to be
Bright and bon vivant
So far away from home, so far away from home
And I don’t know a soul who’s not been battered
I don’t have a friend who feels at ease
I don’t know a dream that’s not been shattered
or driven to its knees
But it’s all right, it’s all right
For we’ve lived so well so long
Still, when I think of the road we’re traveling on
I wonder what’s gone wrong
I can’t help it, I wonder what’s gone wrong
And I dreamed I was dying
I dreamed that my soul rose unexpectedly
And looking back down at me
Smiled reassuringly
And I dreamed I was flying
And high up above my eyes could clearly see
The Statue of Liberty
Sailing away to sea
And I dreamed I was flying
We come on the ship they call the Mayflower
We come on the ship that sailed the moon
We come in the age’s most uncertain hour
and sing an American tune
But it’s all right, it’s all right
You can’t be forever blessed
Still, tomorrow’s going to be another working day
And I’m trying to get some rest
That’s all, I’m trying to get some rest
The bride to be lost her head while waiting…
…for her Steampunk pilot’s return…
…and he was bugged…
…at the snail’s pace of time.
Hello Rooster
Be not afraid of growing slowly, be afraid only of standing still. — Chinese Proverb
What I Am Telling You
by Marina Gipps
Do you understand that moat of whiteness?
Where we said our I do’s lifted in a cloud of never.
Where blanched sheets covered our desires
of desktop plumes and smoked cigarettes.
Do you understand that moat of whiteness?
The one where I said what I would not have said.
Clouded it seems everyday as if changing.
For I am no more than a forgotten, rotten root.
Standing here beside what should have been-waiting.
Do you understand that moat of whiteness?
If I ask again tomorrow I won’t expect an answer.
Shan’t ask-yet shall continue to write until
that Oppressor stops hounding me with messages.
Do you understand that moat of whiteness?
Sometimes I see it through a window-willowing off.
Even hear its vague whisper in the tedium of darkness.
It tells me naughty might be nice-so it asks again,
Do you understand that moat of whiteness?
Why the birds kill you with their song in the early dawn.
Why the sun should never come up-so you may sleep.
Why the moon is forever a nuisance for the least serene.
Do you truly understand that moat of whiteness?
“The snowdrop and primrose our woodlands adorn, and violets bathe in the wet o’ the morn.”
Robert Burns
January Mist
By Sandra Fowler
Sometimes at night I hear small birds lament.
Dark notes that seem to second moon’s descent.
Cold is the color of a deep regret,
An etude perfected by winterset.
The world was music and it turned us round.
Stirred by the subtle atmospheric sound,
You gently sketched a snowflake on my face
Which shall be mine till light has left this place.
Such solace has the power to outlast time,
To lock a small bird’s elegy in rhyme.
Somewhere beyond the January mist,
The magic of our landscape still exists
“In one drop of water are found all the secrets of all the oceans;
in one aspect of You are found all the aspects of existence.”
― Kahlil Gibran
On the Pulse of Morning
(excerpt)
By Maya Angelou
A Rock, A River, A Tree
Hosts to species long since departed,
Marked the mastodon,
The dinosaur, who left dried tokens
Of their sojourn here
On our planet floor,
Any broad alarm of their hastening doom
Is lost in the gloom of dust and ages.
But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly, forcefully,
Come, you may stand upon my
Back and face your distant destiny,
But seek no haven in my shadow,
I will give you no hiding place down here.
You, created only a little lower than
The angels, have crouched too long in
The bruising darkness
Have lain too long
Facedown in ignorance,
Your mouths spilling words
Armed for slaughter.
The Rock cries out to us today,
You may stand upon me,
But do not hide your face.
“When they walk, they stumble. They are not what one would call graceful.
They were not designed to walk. They fly. And when they fly, oh, how they fly,
so free, so graceful. They see from the sky what we never see.” — Anonymous
Maverick Mist 