The Organ Grinder and Me

Posted by Maverick ~ on April 7, 2016
Posted in: Art, Music, Photography, Poetry. Tagged: , , , .

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The Organ Grinder and Me
By Vic Zarley

Sometimes I’m just the monkey
Just the Organ Grinder’s pet
I hold my cup into the air
Then solemnly I let

The coins fall in like magic
With their resounding clink
The Law’s the coin behind my thoughts
It gives me what I think

And if I’m very careful with
The cup that I hold out
I will like the changes that
Are sure to come about

And when the change is given
I become so happy that
With a twinkle in my eyes
I quickly tip my hat

And once the show is over
And the last coin’s in my cup
The Organ Grinder will reach down
And slowly pick me up

Away we’ll walk together, then
My Partner and me
To form a brand new circle
And a brand new destiny
∞

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Nowhere ~

Posted by Maverick ~ on April 3, 2016
Posted in: Art, Photography. Tagged: , , , , .

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“For him it was a dark passage which led to nowhere, then to nowhere, then again to nowhere, once again to nowhere, always and forever to nowhere, heavy on the elbows in the earth to nowhere, dark, never any end to nowhere, hung on all time always to unknowing nowhere, this time and again for always to nowhere, now not to be borne once again always and to nowhere, now beyond all bearing up, up, up and into nowhere, suddenly, scaldingly, holdingly all nowhere gone and time absolutely still and they were both there, time having stopped and he felt the earth move out and away from under them.” ― Ernest Hemingway, For Whom the Bell Tolls

۩  ——————————– ۩

My April Lady

Posted by Maverick ~ on April 1, 2016
Posted in: Flowers, Photography, Poetry. Tagged: , , , , .

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My April Lady
by Henry Van Dyke

When down the stair at morning
The sunbeams round her float,
Sweet rivulets of laughter
Are bubbling in her throat;
The gladness of her greeting
Is gold without alloy;
And in the morning sunlight
I think her name is Joy.

When in the evening twilight
The quiet book-room lies,
We read the sad old ballads,
While from her hidden eyes
The tears are falling, falling,
That give her heart relief;
And in the evening twilight,
I think her name is Grief.

My little April lady,
Of sunshine and of showers,
She weaves the old spring magic,
And breaks my heart in flowers!
But when her moods are ended,
She nestles like a dove;
Then, by the pain and rapture,
I know her name is Love.

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♫