This is What Happened When I Planted my Book Dream in the Garden #Writer #Author — BlondeWriteMore

Two things have happened this week. An old plastic bag unearthed itself at the bottom of my garden. At the time I was inspecting a hole in the fence which my dog had made. Po, my dog, was busying explaining in dog language, a complicated series of barks, woofs and whines, how he was using […]

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via This is What Happened When I Planted my Book Dream in the Garden #Writer #Author — BlondeWriteMore

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You Think Climate Change Is Not Real? Watch This And Think Again! — Art Expedition

I’m working hard to keep my blog a place where you can find happiness and maybe some distraction from your hectic everyday life by sharing my art which is mostly inspired by my love for nature and animals. I don’t often talk politics or religion – both of which can present a lot […]

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via You Think Climate Change Is Not Real? Watch This And Think Again! — Art Expedition

Contempt

“The only cure for contempt is counter-contempt.” – H.L. Mencken

“Only the contemptible fear contempt.” – François de La Rochefoucauld

 “I will love the light for it shows me the way, yet I will endure the darkness because it shows me the stars.” – Og Mandino

 

Contempt

 

Swaddled at birth

In that shroud of contempt

I could not escape

With time and healing

It has become

A badge of honor

Acceptance had a high price

Selling out my mind and soul

Was never on the table

What was lost

Never belonged to me

I walk alone, never lonely

With self-acceptance there is

Always a trusted companion

At my side till the end

Contempt has no place in my life

Only pity for those who chose its path

 

Bisous,

Léa

 

Tenuous

“The skein of human continuity must often become this tenuous across the centuries (hanging by a thread, in the old cliche’), but the circle remains unbroken if I can touch the ink of Lavoisier’s own name, written by his own hand. A candle of light, nurtured by the oxygen of his greatest discovery, never burns out if we cherish the intellectual heritage of such unfractured filiation across the ages. We may also wish to contemplate the genuine physical thread of nucleic acid that ties each of us to the common bacterial ancestor of all living creatures, born on Lavoisier’s ancienne terre more than 3.5 billion years ago- and never since disrupted, not for one moment, not for one generation. Such a legacy must be worth preserving from all the guillotines of our folly.”                    – Stephen Jay Gold

 

 

Tenuous

 

The web

Insects flail

Before succumbing

Strands sticky, death grip

 

Weavers of the traps

United in the carnage

Delight in the suffering

Of those they capture

Terrorists wear a masque

 

Desperate old white men

Cling to their delusions

Obsessed with a future

They won’t see, lifting their legs

Territorial marking on the land

 

Robbing the future of the young

Stealing tomorrows of each species

Land disappearing – glaciers melt

The planet will go on – what replaces

Current species – permutation possibilities

Limitless

 

Bisous,

Léa

 

 

Cego debruçado em via-estreita

If you do not understand Portuguese, this is well worth clicking the translation button for. 

Namastibet

Há palavras de vulgar despojo,
Pois porque o normal é dar, logo
Eu me dou, de mim próprio, tal
Como choro ou respiro e me redimo, 

Mortal despojo, nome de guerra, nojo,
Guerreiro de latão, charlatão, só de incerteza
Tenho pose chaves e certidão; desejo é
Bom-porto, Porto-bom tem Zenão,

O silêncio é absurdo e o meu espírito
Paira longe ao longo, pois já não é só o pensar
Que me foge, eu que fujo de me pensar
Morto e mudo, cego debruçado em via-estreita,

Consciente da derrota, fama é lama e o facto
De ser dissemelhante a algum outro
Espécime de peixe-monge, faringe desfeita
E traqueia, difíceis de engolir, de pesar,

Há palavras de vulgar despojo, nojo
Porém me dá a fala sem emoção, “fio-prumo”, 
Por isso choro, quando respiro
De fora para dentro…e me dou,

Cego debruçado em via-estreita e oblonga,
Vivo metaforicamente falando pra fora 
E me…

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The Ukrainian Muse and the Paradox of Life

If you are not yet familiar with Randal’s work, you are missing so much.

Global Sojourns Photography

Alone I walk.  The bite of the winter chill does not let up, colors of the world fade into different shades of bleakness.  The ache for youth pulsates strong although I’m acutely aware each passing second takes me further away from this dream.

A nondescript voice echoes in my head, “the closer to death you are, the closer to life you become…”

My turned-up collar does little to stifle the cold wind caressing my neck, motivation for the continued search of a spark to ignite another year of passion.

The winter’s silence is broken by a warm whisper, “so you’ve finally come to see me again…” I look to find a smile I’ve grown accustomed to when in a philosophical mood.  She’s always walking beside me, but it’s been too long since I last heard her voice.

“This morning, I noticed you were preoccupied with a quote at the coffee…

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At the Mirror: Andalusian Resurrection

Myths of the Mirror

I was browsing the beautiful site Short-Prose-Fiction and stumbled upon this gorgeous poem (one of many). I hope you enjoy it.

Andalusian Resurrection

by Short Prose Fiction

In Spain, the dead are more alive than the dead of any other country in the world.
Federico García Lorca

open your veins Andalusia
let him drink from your lynx blood
inject the rhythms of the flamenco
under the coldness of his eyes
tattoo his flesh with tiles of azurite
pour the sounds of castanets
into his arms
my fingers swirl
the flesh of ripened olives
covers the old shroud
the flow of blood from the white shirt…

(Continue Reading via Andalusian Resurrection)

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