Sunday, 5 May 2024

SHE STILL BREATHES FIRE by Shahida Arabi


"SHE STILL BREATHES FIRE"
by Shahida Arabi

"When Little Red Riding Hood
Defeats the wolf –
When the lamb becomes the lion –
And the prey becomes the huntress –
Everyone acts surprised.
As if they did not see her coming.
As if they did not place the salt on her wounds.
As if they did not cut her open,
open her wide –
Expect her to swallow her defeat.
They should’ve learned
A long time ago
Exactly who she was.
You saw the scars.
You saw the battle wounds.
You knew she survived them.
So tell me,
What kind of woman survives this kind of war?
Only a woman who is the war.
Who brings the war with her,
Her bare naked feet filled with soot,
Scorched earth between her toes.
They tried to pour ice into her lungs –
Tried to keep the truth buried, frozen –
Tried to keep her quiet, but they forgot –
She still breathes fire
because she was made from it.
You will ask her to bow and she will climb.
You will ask her to crawl and she will rise.
You will ask her to die and she will be reborn.
You will bury her and she will grow.
You should’ve known that
This is not a woman
Who fears the wolf.
The wolf fears her." ********
by Shahida Arabi
Lisa Aisato Artist

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THERE ARE NO FISH UNDER THE ICE


"THERE ARE NO FISH UNDER THE ICE" (author unknown)

 A blonde wanted to try out ice fishing. She went out and purchased all the gear she would need and headed to a local spot to try to catch some fish.

She went out onto the ice with her gear and after getting comfy on the stool, she started to cut a circular hole in the ice as she had seen on the internet. As she was cutting, she heard a voice from the heavens speak out, saying, "THERE ARE NO FISH UNDER THE ICE."

The blonde was startled. She stood up and looked around but saw no one. Cautiously, she moved a little further out onto the ice and set up in a different spot. She sipped some hot chocolate from her thermos and then started cutting another hole. Again, the voice called out, seemingly from all around her.
"THERE ARE NO FISH UNDER THE ICE"

Now feeling quite scared and starting to get a bit frustrated, she moved all the way to the far end of the ice and laid out all her gear, sat upon her stool and started cutting another hole. Right away, the heavenly voice boomed out, this time louder than ever, "THERE ARE NO FISH UNDER THE ICE!".

She jumped off her stool and looked all around her. She shouted to the heavens, "IS THAT YOU, LORD?"

The voice answered, "NO. THIS IS THE MANAGER OF THE ICE SKATING RINK. THERE ARE NO FISH UNDER THE ICE!"

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YOU ARE NATURE by Donna Ashworth

"YOU ARE NATURE" by Donna Ashworth
There is a reason why walking amongst nature is most people’s best advice when depression strikes.
Because walking in nature is a return to ‘home’.
You are not a lover of nature, or a fan of nature, you ‘are’ nature.
You are as much nature as the trees in your garden and the bees on your picnic.
You were designed to live your days out in the wild with your fellow creatures and plants but progress, humanity, had different plans for us all.
And so we exist day-to-day, in our homes, but never ‘home’.
The quickest route back to self, to inner peace, is bare feet on grass, arms around trees, head in the clouds and heart in a forest.
Put your bones in water, whenever you can, smell each flower you see and crumble dirt between your tired-of-typing fingers.
You are nature, go home once in a while.
It will bring you much you didn’t even know you were missing.
******** Donna Ashworth https://donnaashworth.com/books/
This poem is from my new book ‘Wild Hope’, a book of short poems designed to remind you daily… why we are, who we are and how to harness hope, joy and peace as we journey through this life.
Art by the fabulously talented Cecile Fragassi-Bidault

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FINDING MAGIC IN HIS POT by Becky Hemsley

"FINDING MAGIC IN HIS POT"
by Becky Hemsley

He carries specks of starlight
In a little silver pot
And they tell him that he’s strange
Because he has something they’ve not
They never think to ask him
What it is he keeps within
For they’d rather speak in whispers
That he doesn’t quite fit in
They think that being different
Is a lonely, scary shame -
They don’t realise that our magic
Lies in how we’re not the same
Yet when it’s dark, they search
For all the light his starlight casts
But they don’t know it’s his doing
‘Cause they never cared to ask
And even if they asked him
They’d be likely to misjudge
And instead of silver starlight
They’d see only specks of dust
See they’ve already decided
That he isn’t worth a lot
And yet, if only they looked closer
They’d find magic in his pot
Artwork by the fabulous Siski Kalla from the children's book of this poem https://a.co/d/duS8SQw

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A TREAT FOR MY MOTHER



"A TREAT FOR MY MOTHER"
(author unknown)

After 21 years of marriage, my wife wanted me to take another woman out to dinner and a movie. She said, “I love you, but I know this other woman loves you and would love to spend some time with you.”
The other woman that my wife wanted me to visit was my mother, who had been a widow for 19 years, but the demands of my work and my 3 children had made it possible to visit her only occasionally.
That night I called to invite her to go out for dinner and a movie.
“What’s wrong, are you well?” she asked. My mother is the type of woman who suspects that a late night call or surprise invitation is a sign of bad news.
“I thought that it would be pleasant to spend some time with you,” I responded. “Just the two of us.”
She thought about it for a moment, and then said, “I would like that very much.”
That Friday after work, as I drove over to pick her up I was a bit nervous. When I arrived at her house, I noticed that she, too, seemed to be nervous about our date. She waited in the door with her coat on. She had curled her hair and was wearing the dress that she had worn to celebrate her last wedding anniversary. She smiled from a face that was as radiant as an Angel’s. “I told my friends that I was going to go out with my son, and they were impressed,” she said, as she got into the car. “They can’t wait to hear about our meeting.”
We went to a restaurant that, although not elegant, was very nice and cosy. My mother took my arm as if she were the First Lady. After we sat down, I had to read the menu. Her eyes could only read large print. Half way through the entries, I lifted my eyes and saw Mom sitting there staring at me. A nostalgic smile was on her lips. “It was I who used to have to read the menu when you were small,” she said. “Then it’s time that you relax and let me return the favour,” I responded.
During the dinner, we had an agreeable conversation — nothing extraordinary but catching up on recent events of each other’s life. We talked so much that we missed the movie. As we arrived at her house later, she said, “I’ll go out with you again, but only if you let me invite you.” I agreed.
“How was your dinner date?” Asked my wife when I got home.
“Very nice. Much more so than I could have imagined,” I answered.
A few days later, my mother died of a massive heart attack. It happened so suddenly that I didn’t have a chance to do anything for her. Some time later, I received an envelope with a copy of a restaurant receipt from the same place where mother and I had dined. An attached note said: “I paid this bill in advance. I wasn’t sure that I could be there; but nevertheless I paid for two plates — one for you and the other for your wife. You will never know what that night meant for me.”
“I love you, son.”
At that moment, I understood the importance of saying in time: “I love you,” and to give our loved ones the time that they deserve. Nothing in life is more important than your family. Give them the time they deserve, because these things cannot be put off till “some other time.”

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THE FLAME by Becky Hemsley


"THE FLAME"
by Becky Hemsley

For the mothers who have lost a child: this is for you on International Bereaved Mother’s Day.
xxx
There’s an order that life is supposed to follow.
An order of breaths we are supposed to take,
as if we are passing a torch from one generation to the next.
And our torch is supposed to go out before our child’s flame is extinguished.
We are supposed to watch them take their first breath. But not their last.
We are supposed to hear the thud-thud of their heart when it starts beating. But never the silence when it stops.
That heart that we once carried inside of us. That breath that we gave them. That life that we kept safe, protected.
So when the order of life is disrupted,
when their torch goes out before yours,
it is as if you too have been robbed of your breath
and as if your heart has stopped beating as well.
There is nothing that can make it less painful.
You would blow out your flame if it meant theirs could burn.
But you can’t. Even though that’s how it should be.
So all you can do is carry them inside you -
like you did once before. Except now they have to stay in your heart forever.
And though it hurts, know that they are safe there.
They are protected.
Because a mother’s love is unending.
Because it burns forever with every breath you take and with every beat your heart makes.
Because a mother’s love is a flame
that can
never
be extinguished. ********

Beautiful artwork by Akira Kusaka

This is on my website as a free download (it’s called The Flame).

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THE WORDS OF AUDREY HEPBURN by Audrey Hepburn


"THE WORDS OF AUDREY HEPBURN"
by Audrey Hepburn

When they asked her to reveal her beauty secrets, Audrey Hepburn wrote this beautiful text that was later read at her funeral.
′′To have attractive lips, speak kind words.
To have a loving look, look for the good side of people.
To look skinny, share your food with the hungry.
To have beautiful hair, let a child cross it with his own fingers once a day.
To have a beautiful poise, walk knowing you're never alone, because those who love and loved you accompany you.
People, even more than objects, need to be fixed, spoiled, awakened, wanted and saved: never give up on anyone.
Remember, if you ever need a hand, you'll find them at the end of both your arms.
When you become old, you will discover that you have two hands, one to help yourself, the second to help others.
The beauty of a woman is not in the clothes she wears, in her face or in her way of fixing her hair. The beauty of a woman is seen in her eyes, because that is the door open to her heart, the source of her love.
The beauty of a woman doesn't lie in her makeup, but the true beauty in a woman is reflected in her soul.
It is the tenderness that gives love, the passion that it expresses.
The beauty of a woman grows over the years ′′

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Saturday, 4 May 2024

STAY WITH ME PAPPA by Joanne Boyle


"STAY WITH ME PAPPA"
by Joanne Boyle

I remember the Man
that would sit me on his knee.
The one that sang me nursery rhymes,
the one I called Daddy.
I remember those walks to school,
and how I'd hold your hand.
I'd skip and sometimes hop,
our days were never planned.
Then when I got a boyfriend,
and he broke my heart in two.
You held me as I cried,
knowing he had broke you too.
You then took me to university,
phoned me every day.
Sometimes I didn't answer,
l was led astray.
Then I met my soul mate.
You walked me down the Isle.
You gave me the perfect wedding,
you done it all in style.
The Grandchildren came along,
loved you as much as I.
You gave us many memories,
for those in which I cry.
I try to help you remember,
to stop you going away.
I keep trying to light those memories,
but they are melting every day.
A Daughter and Her Father,
a story forever to be told.
But only one remembers now,
since Dementia has took hold.
******
Joanne Boyle Heartfelt

(picture by unknown)

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"A VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS MARKET, NOT"

"A VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS MARKET, NOT" (author unknown) Is there anything less festive than the Christmas markets? Thousands of piss...