Une amie est mort

‘When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.” – Kahlil Gibran
“He who has gone, so we but cherish his memory, abides with us, more potent, nay, more present than the living man.” – Antoine de Saint-Exupery

Une amie est mort  (in memory of Louisette Fabre)

The shaft of the evergreen towers above me

Against a grey sky

Its head bent and broken

At its crown – two blackbirds lament

Bisous,

Léa

La chatte

“Of all God’s creatures, there is only one that cannot be made slave of the lash. That one is the cat. If man could be crossed with the cat it would improve the man, but it would deteriorate the cat.” – Mark Twain

“Way down deep, we’re all motivated by the same urges. Cats have the courage to live by them.” – Jim Davis

“There are two means of refuge from the miseries of life: music and cats.”- Albert Schweitzer

une chatte d’Albas

La chatte

They call her

Feral

Total lack of moralitié

She prowls about

Mon village

Sampling all the treats

On offer

Living by instinct

Reality not judgment

Despite nine lives

She knows how quickly

Today becomes the past

Her time is not to be wasted

Taking her pleasure

As she finds it

Satiated she moves on

In front of the fire

Reminiscent

Her rough tongue

Traces a map of pleasure

Washing, always washing

Body memories – retracing her passion

Spent

She sleeps

Perchance to dream

Bisous,

Léa

Birds of Prey – Saigon

This is my simple religion. There is no need for temples; no need for complicated philosophy. Our own brain, our own heart is our temple; the philosophy is kindness.
– Dalai Lama

birds of prey

the priest and huyen

sit across from the dying mother-in-law

tham, she is Buddhist

and afraid

they smell the rotting meat

of fear

tham is afraid to die

the priest –  eager to convert her

in her time of fear

they hover eagerly

will she take their bait?

a precaution added insurance for

her journey

leaving it behind

whatever use it might be

discarded in a heap with silken pajamas

left behind

as she crosses through the final exit

what remains of 53 years

of traditions

rituals handed down

from her ancestors

will they pick those

bones clean

they chant as they recite the beads

and count her among those caught

in their net

Bisous,

Léa