walls, old paint.
lights without covers.
glaring, too bright.
drafts.
thinking back,
to abodes before;
comparing.
have done a lot of moving around,
and havent been anywhere.
...
lm going to attempt to explain the last line.
..
l drove a taxi for two decades,
l came across a lot of people,
from all the different countries of the world.
l learnt about the people via this job.
lve never really had the urge to physically travel,
because l feel that lve met the world, via that job.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Thoughts...
sometimes my mind goes on holidays...
and sometimes, it never comes back lol...
there are moments and feelings l cannot recall of late...
l guess thats life, l shall take it as it comes...
and sometimes, it never comes back lol...
there are moments and feelings l cannot recall of late...
l guess thats life, l shall take it as it comes...
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Friendship.
Friendship isnt about whom you have known the longest.
lts about who came, and never left your side.
lts about who came, and never left your side.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
As night falls
The sun is on my back, the evening is creeping in...
The moon is in the blue dusk sky... the air outside is lovely..
Night descends, street lights come on...
Dark sky, neighbours home and quiet.
The hum of the suburbs has slowed.
The moon is in the blue dusk sky... the air outside is lovely..
Night descends, street lights come on...
Dark sky, neighbours home and quiet.
The hum of the suburbs has slowed.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
lts true, we dont listen....- a poem.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
August 13. 2009. Spring.
l can feel it!
like a sweetness all around me.
warmth,soft air,
l know the moment spring is here.
lts unmistakable.
like a sweetness all around me.
warmth,soft air,
l know the moment spring is here.
lts unmistakable.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Melbourne Australia August 13. 2009. Spring.
The first day of spring
All the streets were lined with blossoms.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Midnight.
I just walk around at midnight...
lts so quiet out there.
You dont really know how noisy the day is
until it stops
Well, it doesnt stop.
There are ppl and vehicles around all the time at night.
l looked up at each end of the street, and imagined l was a tiny street in the middle of nowhere.
l was quite refreshing.
lts so quiet out there.
You dont really know how noisy the day is
until it stops
Well, it doesnt stop.
There are ppl and vehicles around all the time at night.
l looked up at each end of the street, and imagined l was a tiny street in the middle of nowhere.
l was quite refreshing.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Monday, July 13, 2009
I REFLECT...
I REFLECT. july 09.
As l travel through a quiet day of gentleness,
warm in front of my fire, l reflect.
l no longer mourn the past, or the people l no longer see.
l still love to hear a good blues, soothing slow guitar, hammond organ,bass,and a good drummer.
l have had a good life,
had a few falls, but not deep enough that l couldnt get out.
l wonder sometimes, how l got this far in life.
l am one step away from poverty, l hold fast.
l am very grateful for a roof over my head,
and a bed to sleep in.
l have given up complaining about the little things.
l have finally started thinking about others, and how their lives arent easy either.
l love to understand now.
l walk through life quietly...
lm half way through life, and yet l still feel young.
age seems to be but a number.
l reflect. There are no regrets.
l still have another fifty years to enjoy.
So l sit and think of what has been,
and make plans for what will be.
As l travel through a quiet day of gentleness,
warm in front of my fire, l reflect.
l no longer mourn the past, or the people l no longer see.
l still love to hear a good blues, soothing slow guitar, hammond organ,bass,and a good drummer.
l have had a good life,
had a few falls, but not deep enough that l couldnt get out.
l wonder sometimes, how l got this far in life.
l am one step away from poverty, l hold fast.
l am very grateful for a roof over my head,
and a bed to sleep in.
l have given up complaining about the little things.
l have finally started thinking about others, and how their lives arent easy either.
l love to understand now.
l walk through life quietly...
lm half way through life, and yet l still feel young.
age seems to be but a number.
l reflect. There are no regrets.
l still have another fifty years to enjoy.
So l sit and think of what has been,
and make plans for what will be.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Wednesday Morning, 12.45am...l went for a drive to someone l know, and on the way home...
Tonight;
l looked to the sky.
All so very dark.
A Full Moon; so round and white.
Shone brightly,
So clean, white on black.
As l walked out of my neighbours front door,
l looked at the trees, hovering over me.
They say you cant see colour at night,
I see all shades of green on the trees and bushes.
l love to see just trees at night,
A torch for light,
Trees, giant lungs.
Veins going in all directions.
Sound of wind through the leaves,
Makes the music so sweet.
My little walk has stopped.
l now enclosed in metal.
Heat from my body from being out in the cold,
has fogged every window.
Turn the key,
Sits ...
Finally, there is another view.
Of roads and streetlights.
Travelling smoothly, l see orange and green,
Fake light, to make it all pretty.
Almost home, with each turn of the wheel.
To arrive at my prison,
So clean and tidy.
Once again, the comfort of home,
The warmth l have built,
For my very own.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Orwell's 1984: His Sinister Vision is Almost Reality -- Signs of the Times News
Orwell's 1984: His Sinister Vision is Almost Reality -- Signs of the Times News: "http://www.sott.net/articles/show/186829-Orwell-s-1984-His-Sinister-Vision-is-Almost-Reality"
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Poems without names.
Poems without names.
lts not very often l wake feeling empty, but today l did.
l had two thoughts in my brain, and jotted them down...
these poems have no names.
..............................................
l have not found you yet
l use everything to take your place
l over indulge all things
where are you.
l have great passion
being wasted on superficial things and thoughts.
where are you.
...............................................................
can l stand alone with me...
do for myself?
while l know you are there
l need to be able to see if l can stand and be strong,
without my crutches in life.
as l turn u off and out for a moment
l sense a strength and freedom
l know you all are there
l need to be free.
l step out of the care bubble l have allowed myself to be in,
out of life security.
lts scary, and invigorating.
l dont mean to be mean
l dont feel meanness at all
l just want to be with me and my strengths
lf l find l cant
l know youre there.
lts not very often l wake feeling empty, but today l did.
l had two thoughts in my brain, and jotted them down...
these poems have no names.
..............................................
l have not found you yet
l use everything to take your place
l over indulge all things
where are you.
l have great passion
being wasted on superficial things and thoughts.
where are you.
...............................................................
can l stand alone with me...
do for myself?
while l know you are there
l need to be able to see if l can stand and be strong,
without my crutches in life.
as l turn u off and out for a moment
l sense a strength and freedom
l know you all are there
l need to be free.
l step out of the care bubble l have allowed myself to be in,
out of life security.
lts scary, and invigorating.
l dont mean to be mean
l dont feel meanness at all
l just want to be with me and my strengths
lf l find l cant
l know youre there.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Juana lnes de la Cruz
 | Juana Inés de la Cruz | for everyone |
| Category: | Other |
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sor_Juana
....
Sor Juana was born (November 12, 1658. Some biographers record her birth year as [1648,] – April 17, 1695).
She was known as Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz, and also by her full name: Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz de Asbaje (or Asuaje) y RamÃrez de Santillana
Sor Juana was a self-taught Novohispana scholar, nun, poet, and a writer of the Baroque school. Though she lived in a post-conquest era when Mexico was colonized by Spain, she is considered a Mexican writer, and a precursor to later Mexican literature.
Life and Literary Production
During a time when bloodlines strictly dictated class and status, Juana de Asbaje y Ramirez Santillana began life as the illegitimate daughter of a nobleman. Her mother came from the small village of San Miguel de Nepantla, near Amecameca (modern-day México State). Her grandfather had acquired property there, and so Juana was raised in village life.
She was a gifted child who hid in the hacienda chapel to read her grandfather's books from the adjoining library, something forbidden to girls. She taught herself Latin before she was ten years old- and would cut off a lock of hair each time she forgot something. By adolescence, she had mastered Greek logic, and at age thirteen she was teaching Latin to young children.
In 1664, at age sixteen, Juana was sent to live in Mexico City, and came under the tutelage of the Vicerreine Leonor Carreto, wife of Antonio Sebastian de Toledo, Marquis de Mancera.
In 1667, she entered the Convent of the Discalced Carmelites of St. Joseph, but only remained there briefly. In 1669, she entered the Convent of the Order of St. Jerome where she would remain until her death.[1]
There is ongoing debate by some moderns, questioning whether she had a personal romantic life, as love is often nuanced in her poems, and her language is often a sensory and sometimes seeming ecstatic one. Coming from poetic traditions in pre-conquest Mexico wherein poetry was high art --and relationship with the gods was often spoken about in terms of erotic lyricism-- and too, with the Spanish overlay of the great Catholic saints who portrayed themselves as "lovers with God" and "brides of Christ," etc., the debate continues about whether her writings are literal or allegorical.
In her time, the convent was the only refuge in which a female could properly attend to education of her mind, spirit, body and soul. In Sor Juana's era, educating girls was not only non-existent, but often considered by Spanish prelates to be the dark work of the Devil.
Nonetheless, Sor Juana wrote literature centered on freedom. In her poem "Redondillas" she defends a woman's right to be respected as a human being. In "Hombres necios" (Stubborn men), she criticizes the sexism of the society of her time, poking fun at and revealing the hypocrisy of men who publicly condemn prostitutes, yet privately pay women to perform on them what they have just said is an abomination to God.
Sor Juana's asks the sharp question in this ages old matter of the purity/whoredom split found in base male mentality: 'Who sins more, she who sins for pay? or he who pays for sin?'
Developing her themes further, she wrote a romantic comedy entitled Los empeños de una casa about a brother and a sister entangled in webs of love, elucidating the themes of love and jealousy. She did not moralize, but rather, in the spirit of her lifetime interests, inquired of how these deeply emotional matters shaped and carved a woman's pursuit of liberty, knowledge, education and freedom to live her life in self-sovereignty.
Her independent thinking alarmed and angered the oligarchy of the Roman Catholic Church, for it sawed away at the fundamental idea that women are to serve and not to think; they are to be unpaid or lowly adjuncts to princes of the Church and Spanish royalty. Her 'thinking out loud' was especially dangerous because the Counter Reformation was raging. Anyone who challenged societal values and ecclesiastical dogma could be marked by the Church as a heretic, and thereby harmed by the Church bearing false witness against the person; by the Church silencing them; forcing them into penitence, or else stripping them of property and assets, including those of one's family; they could be tortured, exiled, imprisoned or murdered.
Matters came to a head in 1690, when a letter was published attacking Sor Juana's focus on the sciences, and suggesting that she should devote her time to soft theology.
However, powerful representatives from the Spanish court were her mentors and she was widely read in Spain, being called "the Tenth Muse." She was lauded as the most prominent poet of the post-conquest American Continent. Her work was printed by the first printing press of the American Continent in Mexico City.
In response to clergy who sought to reprimand her, Sor Juana wrote a letter entitled Respuesta a Sor Filotea (Reply to Sister Filotea,) in which she defended women's right to any education they desired. The Catholic Church, via the Archbishop of Mexico joined other high-ranking officials in condemning Sor Juana's "waywardness."
By 1693, Sor Juana seemingly ceased writing rather than risk further Church censure. However, there is no undisputed evidence of her renouncing devotion to letters, though there are documents showing her agreeing to self-humiliation. Her name is affixed to such a document in 1694, but given her deep natural lyricism, the tone of these supposed hand-written penitentials is rhetorical and autocratic Church formulae- one signed, "Yo, la peor de todas" (I, the worst of all).
She is said to have sold all her books then, an extensive library of over 4,000 volumes... her musical and scientific instruments as well. According to some investigators, her books of her own works were burnt by the Inquisition as she was forced into silence by Church hierarchy.
Only a few writings remain which are known as the "Complete Works." According to Octavio Paz, Sor Juana's writings were saved by the Viceroy's wife. Some sources have speculated they were lovers. In April 1695, after ministering to the other sisters struck down by a rampant plague, she is said to have died at four in the morning on April 17.
...
l know we arent supposed to cut and paste from sites,
but l found this really intersting...
l adore reading about the first women to do things,
especially sticking it up males...lol...
so l hope u find it interesting as l did.
....
Sor Juana was born (November 12, 1658. Some biographers record her birth year as [1648,] – April 17, 1695).
She was known as Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz, and also by her full name: Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz de Asbaje (or Asuaje) y RamÃrez de Santillana
Sor Juana was a self-taught Novohispana scholar, nun, poet, and a writer of the Baroque school. Though she lived in a post-conquest era when Mexico was colonized by Spain, she is considered a Mexican writer, and a precursor to later Mexican literature.
Life and Literary Production
During a time when bloodlines strictly dictated class and status, Juana de Asbaje y Ramirez Santillana began life as the illegitimate daughter of a nobleman. Her mother came from the small village of San Miguel de Nepantla, near Amecameca (modern-day México State). Her grandfather had acquired property there, and so Juana was raised in village life.
She was a gifted child who hid in the hacienda chapel to read her grandfather's books from the adjoining library, something forbidden to girls. She taught herself Latin before she was ten years old- and would cut off a lock of hair each time she forgot something. By adolescence, she had mastered Greek logic, and at age thirteen she was teaching Latin to young children.
In 1664, at age sixteen, Juana was sent to live in Mexico City, and came under the tutelage of the Vicerreine Leonor Carreto, wife of Antonio Sebastian de Toledo, Marquis de Mancera.
In 1667, she entered the Convent of the Discalced Carmelites of St. Joseph, but only remained there briefly. In 1669, she entered the Convent of the Order of St. Jerome where she would remain until her death.[1]
There is ongoing debate by some moderns, questioning whether she had a personal romantic life, as love is often nuanced in her poems, and her language is often a sensory and sometimes seeming ecstatic one. Coming from poetic traditions in pre-conquest Mexico wherein poetry was high art --and relationship with the gods was often spoken about in terms of erotic lyricism-- and too, with the Spanish overlay of the great Catholic saints who portrayed themselves as "lovers with God" and "brides of Christ," etc., the debate continues about whether her writings are literal or allegorical.
In her time, the convent was the only refuge in which a female could properly attend to education of her mind, spirit, body and soul. In Sor Juana's era, educating girls was not only non-existent, but often considered by Spanish prelates to be the dark work of the Devil.
Nonetheless, Sor Juana wrote literature centered on freedom. In her poem "Redondillas" she defends a woman's right to be respected as a human being. In "Hombres necios" (Stubborn men), she criticizes the sexism of the society of her time, poking fun at and revealing the hypocrisy of men who publicly condemn prostitutes, yet privately pay women to perform on them what they have just said is an abomination to God.
Sor Juana's asks the sharp question in this ages old matter of the purity/whoredom split found in base male mentality: 'Who sins more, she who sins for pay? or he who pays for sin?'
Developing her themes further, she wrote a romantic comedy entitled Los empeños de una casa about a brother and a sister entangled in webs of love, elucidating the themes of love and jealousy. She did not moralize, but rather, in the spirit of her lifetime interests, inquired of how these deeply emotional matters shaped and carved a woman's pursuit of liberty, knowledge, education and freedom to live her life in self-sovereignty.
Her independent thinking alarmed and angered the oligarchy of the Roman Catholic Church, for it sawed away at the fundamental idea that women are to serve and not to think; they are to be unpaid or lowly adjuncts to princes of the Church and Spanish royalty. Her 'thinking out loud' was especially dangerous because the Counter Reformation was raging. Anyone who challenged societal values and ecclesiastical dogma could be marked by the Church as a heretic, and thereby harmed by the Church bearing false witness against the person; by the Church silencing them; forcing them into penitence, or else stripping them of property and assets, including those of one's family; they could be tortured, exiled, imprisoned or murdered.
Matters came to a head in 1690, when a letter was published attacking Sor Juana's focus on the sciences, and suggesting that she should devote her time to soft theology.
However, powerful representatives from the Spanish court were her mentors and she was widely read in Spain, being called "the Tenth Muse." She was lauded as the most prominent poet of the post-conquest American Continent. Her work was printed by the first printing press of the American Continent in Mexico City.
In response to clergy who sought to reprimand her, Sor Juana wrote a letter entitled Respuesta a Sor Filotea (Reply to Sister Filotea,) in which she defended women's right to any education they desired. The Catholic Church, via the Archbishop of Mexico joined other high-ranking officials in condemning Sor Juana's "waywardness."
By 1693, Sor Juana seemingly ceased writing rather than risk further Church censure. However, there is no undisputed evidence of her renouncing devotion to letters, though there are documents showing her agreeing to self-humiliation. Her name is affixed to such a document in 1694, but given her deep natural lyricism, the tone of these supposed hand-written penitentials is rhetorical and autocratic Church formulae- one signed, "Yo, la peor de todas" (I, the worst of all).
She is said to have sold all her books then, an extensive library of over 4,000 volumes... her musical and scientific instruments as well. According to some investigators, her books of her own works were burnt by the Inquisition as she was forced into silence by Church hierarchy.
Only a few writings remain which are known as the "Complete Works." According to Octavio Paz, Sor Juana's writings were saved by the Viceroy's wife. Some sources have speculated they were lovers. In April 1695, after ministering to the other sisters struck down by a rampant plague, she is said to have died at four in the morning on April 17.
...
l know we arent supposed to cut and paste from sites,
but l found this really intersting...
l adore reading about the first women to do things,
especially sticking it up males...lol...
so l hope u find it interesting as l did.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Monday Morning...
l was having a good unbroken sleep, until l heard a bee with a nasal problem at my window.
l knew what it was.
THE MONDAY MORNING GARDENER.
l rolled back over and went to sleep.
Next l know lm holding a damful of water l thought would overflow if l didnt get out of bed soon.
with eyes closed l did my best to get this semi elderly lady to at least sitting position, and able to hold the overflow.
my joints felt like a truck had hit them during the night, and slowly, ever so slowly talked them into working.
my face felt like grease proof paper, and had to be wiped or else my hand would have slid off it.
time to stand.
my feet cursed me.
my legs and hips ducked for verbal cover, each doing their best to stand on the complaining feet.
ln their delicate condition they made the unbalanced way to the bathroom.
eyes still closed, and feeling my way, l made it just before the flow had a mind of its own.
sat quickly, very quickly, and let the gush go free.
ahh..
now l opened my eyes...
someone had glued them shut...
l sat there until l focused.
stood up with aching truck hit back, balanced on old and tired feet,
l could feel all of my bones trying to adjust to standing position,
and made my way to the kitchen to make a brew of that black drink we call coffee.
while waiting l looked at the clock...half eleven am.
l had to be across the city before half three pm.
the coffee machine groaned and trickled and groaned some more.
my machine sounds constipated....groan,push,drips,groan....
eventually the black stuff was ready.
my hands not quite awake yet, had to concentrate on the pouring into the my cup.
made my way to the computer with cup in hand while concentrating on not dropping it with my hands that have trouble gripping now a days, and sat here and drank it...
GOOD MORNING....
l knew what it was.
THE MONDAY MORNING GARDENER.
l rolled back over and went to sleep.
Next l know lm holding a damful of water l thought would overflow if l didnt get out of bed soon.
with eyes closed l did my best to get this semi elderly lady to at least sitting position, and able to hold the overflow.
my joints felt like a truck had hit them during the night, and slowly, ever so slowly talked them into working.
my face felt like grease proof paper, and had to be wiped or else my hand would have slid off it.
time to stand.
my feet cursed me.
my legs and hips ducked for verbal cover, each doing their best to stand on the complaining feet.
ln their delicate condition they made the unbalanced way to the bathroom.
eyes still closed, and feeling my way, l made it just before the flow had a mind of its own.
sat quickly, very quickly, and let the gush go free.
ahh..
now l opened my eyes...
someone had glued them shut...
l sat there until l focused.
stood up with aching truck hit back, balanced on old and tired feet,
l could feel all of my bones trying to adjust to standing position,
and made my way to the kitchen to make a brew of that black drink we call coffee.
while waiting l looked at the clock...half eleven am.
l had to be across the city before half three pm.
the coffee machine groaned and trickled and groaned some more.
my machine sounds constipated....groan,push,drips,groan....
eventually the black stuff was ready.
my hands not quite awake yet, had to concentrate on the pouring into the my cup.
made my way to the computer with cup in hand while concentrating on not dropping it with my hands that have trouble gripping now a days, and sat here and drank it...
GOOD MORNING....
PAVED PARADISE.
Box Hill in Melbourne Australia,1957, was the year my family moved into the suburb.
We were the only house for a mile or so, and all around us was open land.
Our main road was one road. and gravel.
Our street was dirt, with pot holes.
The milkman and his horse would come past at 3am every morning, and you would hear the bottles rattling, and hooves of the horse.
There were so many gumtrees,you could hear them swaying in the wind, long grass also.
A creek not far away, we could hear the water trickling.
Horses in paddocks without a chain.
Yabbies in little natural pools.
Tadpoles, Frogs.
.......................
Now its all built up.
A concrete jungle.
We were the only house for a mile or so, and all around us was open land.
Our main road was one road. and gravel.
Our street was dirt, with pot holes.
The milkman and his horse would come past at 3am every morning, and you would hear the bottles rattling, and hooves of the horse.
There were so many gumtrees,you could hear them swaying in the wind, long grass also.
A creek not far away, we could hear the water trickling.
Horses in paddocks without a chain.
Yabbies in little natural pools.
Tadpoles, Frogs.
.......................
Now its all built up.
A concrete jungle.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
There Is A Way by Gary R. Ferris
There is a Way by Gary R. Ferris
There is a way,
Which seems right unto man;
But the end there of,
Will kill if it can.
*****
You seek and strive,
To realize your dreams;
Rising up early,
Will bring wealth it seems.
*****
The first one there,
And last to leave;
Hard work brings prosperity,
Is what you believe.
*****
You outshine them all,
As you climb to the top;
The late nights and dedication,
Never seem to stop.
*****
Cars, clothes, and goods,
And all you desire;
Keep filling your house,
As you begin to tire.
*****
All that you’ve gained,
Now controls you;
You can’t quit now,
Until you fill the shoe.
*****
People you loved,
Seem distant away;
Too blind to see,
By the game that you play.
*****
Those who helped you,
Get where you are;
You no longer notice,
The size of their scar.
*****
All in one day,
It seems to go away;
All that you loved,
When you started your way.
*****
Haven’t I done right,
By seeking my goals?
Why is all crumbling,
And my heart like coal.
*****
I sought things,
And pushed people aside;
Blind to their cares,
Of myself to abide.
*****
I feel betrayed,
By all that I’ve done;
By all the hard work,
Under the sun.
*****
How could I fail,
I thought I was right?
All of these things,
Keep me from sleep at night.
*****
There is a way,
Which seems right unto man;
But the end there of,
Will kill if it can.
*****
Written 01-17-04
There is a way,
Which seems right unto man;
But the end there of,
Will kill if it can.
*****
You seek and strive,
To realize your dreams;
Rising up early,
Will bring wealth it seems.
*****
The first one there,
And last to leave;
Hard work brings prosperity,
Is what you believe.
*****
You outshine them all,
As you climb to the top;
The late nights and dedication,
Never seem to stop.
*****
Cars, clothes, and goods,
And all you desire;
Keep filling your house,
As you begin to tire.
*****
All that you’ve gained,
Now controls you;
You can’t quit now,
Until you fill the shoe.
*****
People you loved,
Seem distant away;
Too blind to see,
By the game that you play.
*****
Those who helped you,
Get where you are;
You no longer notice,
The size of their scar.
*****
All in one day,
It seems to go away;
All that you loved,
When you started your way.
*****
Haven’t I done right,
By seeking my goals?
Why is all crumbling,
And my heart like coal.
*****
I sought things,
And pushed people aside;
Blind to their cares,
Of myself to abide.
*****
I feel betrayed,
By all that I’ve done;
By all the hard work,
Under the sun.
*****
How could I fail,
I thought I was right?
All of these things,
Keep me from sleep at night.
*****
There is a way,
Which seems right unto man;
But the end there of,
Will kill if it can.
*****
Written 01-17-04
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