a little fun or something, reblog

Today’s German Lesson (Humor)

Egads, this needs to be shared. Hilarious.

Contemplative Moorings

Today we are going to learn some useful, everyday phrases in German. Repeat after me auf Deutsch and then in English.


Hallo. Wie geht es dir?

Hello. How are you?


Mir geht es gut. Danke für die Nachfrage.

I am doing well. Thank you for asking.


Ist das nicht der Tag wunderbar deprimierend?

Isn’t the day wonderfully depressing?


Meine Seele ist schwer mit Bedauern.

My soul is heavy with regret.


Die Liebe ist verwirrend zu dem kleinen Kind aber klar, der Mann auf dem Totenbett.

Love is perplexing to the little child, but clear to the man on his deathbed.


Früher haben wir in den Keller gehen und ziehen Trapeze in der Kohlenstaub.

We used to go down to the basement and draw trapezoids in the coal dust.


Der Supermarkt abgebrannt. Wir verhungern.

The supermarket burned down. We starve.


Bis morgen. Auf…

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Poetry, reblog

So after FFP and I figured out how to share this, because I am a bit share illiterate, and we are staring at our screens wondering where the ‘reblog’ button went…I am giving this a go…

If you are so inclined, click on this. I thought it was a gorgeous piece. And by piece, I mean the poem, as lovely as the artwork is.

(Also, I love that it’s not on Valentine’s Day).


Enigmas like this Don’t come ’round every bend: How best he be told, (In language aptly bold) Of the love, The constant LOVE I have for the storm of him? My impassions brimmed, I aim at words to tell it all, Make other love-claimers ashamed, Inadequate– Though even my claim is not Commensurate To the […]

via Alp — Fitful, Fearful, Phantasmal



A.S. I love you

such a brilliant, thought provoking, and beautiful piece of writing!

Fighting the dying light

I’m the man in the iron cage, the pilgrim with an unrepentant, unyielding heart, the prophet who has regressed into a poet with anguish breaking through bone, and then skin, the tendrils tying my tongue, muting my real howl and creating a soft shriek which they consider beautiful. I’m the Kierkegaardian stereotype, a freak tortured and tormented by his panoramic paranoia, a twisted, fucked up birds eye view of skulls and enemies, of corpses punching keys and hate, and I can’t see a horizon. I’m the label of everyone’s disgust, an animal in an asylum which sensibly speaks, but in alliteration—the zookeeper’s delight. “Look now, here’s Mr. Bipolar. Hysterically jump or flat line, it’s your prerogative, but make sure you entertain, because they’ve paid with their time and energy. Be Quick!” But the more I rattle, the more they rile. The more I lie, the more they cry, until I…

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the detective 2: diegetic mozart

If you’re not reading this series Steve’s started, well, you should. Imho, of course. He’s brilliant. And hilarious. ❤

inconstant light


A detective, his client, the mystery of what lies beyond the quotidian sea, and a marginally relevant precedent.

The sunlight hurts my eyes,
I’m unaccustomed to the lack of walls,
and I miss the certainties
my office prison offered me.

My client gives me glasses, dark,
and thoughtfully plasters zinc cream
on my nose,
but the world is not as I expected.

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Echoes of Purple

One of my favourite parts of this time of year! Thanks for this Raili!

soulgifts - Telling Tales

It’s that time of the year when many of the streets in Adelaide are coloured purple.

As the flowers fall the streets below are carpeted in purple. Simply stunning, the flowering jacaranda is known by students to be the harbinger for end of year exams.

Jacaranda mimosifolia, if grown from seed, can take anywhere from seven to fourteen years before it flowers. For a jacaranda tree to be considered ‘mature’ it is probably twenty years old. They can live up to 75 years and grow as tall as 50 feet.

Interestingly, the jacaranda is not native to Australia. They found their way here from Brazil. However, our climate seems to suit them very well as they thrive here.

©  Raili Tanska

Steps for Peace
Let your eyes feast on the beauty of nature. It feeds the Soul. 

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A Promising Proposition (part 1)

And for something a little different…if you’re interested in some dry commentary along a particular bus route in London, (of course you are), as well as not bus route related material, check this out. (Er this post is not bus related, but this series of events will truly grip you. 😁)

Number 43

I thought I would share an interesting email recently received. I really think that my luck may have eventually changed.


Goodday for today,bearing in mind the nature of the content of this letter coming from a person without any referral, I apologize for any inconvenience, but please read and objectively consider if we can work this together.

I am Razali Nizam, an attorney at law. A deceased client of mine who died as a result of high blood pressure (H.B.P) on the 30th November 2006, because he lost his wife and the only daughter in the 2004 tsunamis natural disaster while on  holiday in Aceh, Indonesia.

I have contacted you to assist in distributing the money left behind by my client before it is confiscated or declared unserviceable by the bank when this deposit valued at $15.5million dollars is lodged. This bank has issued me a notice to contact…

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If your soul’s a little tired with the world burning, this was such a lovely thing to read!

Jerry Brotherton

Let me bring you love from a meadow’s velvet floor; where the grass ripples from a summer’s breath and the bright flowers of purple and gold dance on its gentle wave. Their perfume glides through your childhood memories and heals your wounds.

Let me bring you love from a winter’s night; where the pale moon hangs suspended in a frosted glass sky and the twitching skeletons of lifeless Maples cast bewitching images onto the frozen white canvas.

Let me bring you love from a low fire at midnight; with you safely tucked beneath my blanket and the soft light of the last dying embers dancing smoothly in your eyes, removing all resistance.

Let me bring you love from my last heartbeat…my last breath…my last kiss.

Let me bring you love until my last heartbeat…my last breath…my last kiss.

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Let Me Bring You Love

collaboration, reblog

Unheard Incantations: A Collaborative Poem

I just can’t not share this. Adore.

Go Dog Go Café

The words we cannot say
Will be wept
Into silence between us (CER)

Breathe deep, dear love;
Be still with me
Listen to my heartstrings
A song meant just for you (KMA)

Each tear
An eloquent elegy
To tortured truths (AP)

Each note played
On a hand carved lute
Strung with strips
Of my soul (JWL)

Your breathless aura
Beats in time
Undulating ululation
With my exhaled psyche (AP)

Intertwined, tangled,
Unified: whole
Healed. (JWL)

Yet with hearts torn open
Bleeding out the notes of our song
You turned from me (ME)

I am fire
In desire
I beg
Save me (1W-W)

Fetch me an instrument,
For the untrained ear
Is soothed by that
Which it cannot comprehend. (LEL)

Not everything is black and white.
For even the eclipsed moon
Is not without a little light. (SD)

Whispers through the distance
I remember
As you reach for my…

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Within Her

What a poetry master is Max ❤

Max Meunier

she stepped from the amaranth sky
of eclipsed moon

roseate wreath
wrapped in petaline plight

wandering winds
of familiar requiem

wafting bouquets
bearing dreams deliquescent

long has her linger
allayed my heart’s anguish

surrendered to waves
of an unwitting ardor

peridot drips
into amethyst druse

in these subtle striations
of our intertwining

without her i fold
into prisms of chaos

within her
transpires the depths
of my soul

[image credit: Frantisek Kobliha]

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did you cut yourself on me?

I love Gina’s writing. This so moved me.


I had shared all my favourite songs with him
He trashed them as he walked out the door

You picked up the broken vinyl titles and made me a mix CD
Then sat on my room floor and listened with me

did you see me among those shards?
did you cut yourself on me?

I looked at your bruised fingers
kissed each one and thanked you

you said those broken pieces of me
were now part of you too

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I lose myself

8-4-08 003

Yasmin never ceases to amaze and inspire!


I lose myself ...among wildflowers..
I mind-cut through the rust of mundane thoughts...
resuscitating words and laying them out in the radiance
of the sun.

the sun seeps gold
through my hair....awakening
slumberous reflections..

words shape themselves...cutting through the miasma..
my gut goes candid..I retreat into where I bleed alone..
holding on tightly to the unwavering companionship of
my fervor..

an organic wind
carries syllables to me..
I play my pen

a quill haloed by mentors of destiny..destiny slams its 
door..like a zealot with the devil in his eyes.

words course through the 
virgin of my sternere..
I have come home...


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the healing power of music


I have been trying to catch up on some reading and came across a blog post by Raili Tanska at soul gifts.  It’s an absolutely fascinating read about Ancient Music.

I have been going to alternative health practitioners for years, and am a fan of colour and music therapy, well, all therapies, quite frankly, based on the fact that everything has its own frequency. I find it fascinating, being a practising Christian, that the story of creation emphasises sound as the means by which God created. And now in our times of electromagnetic pollution and overload, how powerful these therapies can be.

Last year when I visited my naturopath, he played some music based on the musical principles explained in this article. The person who produced the music had come to the conclusion in his research that the Biblical story of young David, playing music for King Saul to relieve his suffering when tormented by an evil spirit, was most likely based on this as well. Regardless of what you believe, I think it is very interesting the wisdom and learning that has been lost over the centuries. (I even read something years ago that the ancient Egyptians practised the art of levitation using sound waves. Wish it would improve my memory. I have no idea now where I read that.)

Continue reading

collaboration, reblog

The Weyward Sisters: Back to Black/ Collaborative Amy Winehouse Tribute

How can this not be shared? Awesome collaboration of extraordinary writing.

A Global Divergent Literary Collective

Rana Kelly/2nd star to the Left, straight on ’til morning

Oh, Amy

Whenever I go walking

In my stilettos,

I hear you talking.

Dream me up a way

Of swishing my hips

And pursing my lips

And singing your riffs

So that I find beauty

Like you.

lois e. linkens

she puts her black dress on
in the dark,
anxious nails red and messy
in their early-morning artistry.
he left the candle burning
in the winter window –
vanilla and cinnamon
on a Sunday evening,
tears and vodka
on a Monday morning.
last week’s relief
into tonight’s regrets,
but the shadowy smear
on the glass
is all that is left of him.

Aakriti Kuntal/Writings of Aakriti Kuntal

Rummaging through

black air,

nauseous red nails bearing oily seas


existence with conversations,


with glittering nail cutters,

cracked moons

laughing hysterically in them


of fallen boyfriends, of fallen love

Fallen being

the new being


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Oh my goodness, how I love this…

Poet Girl Em

Very carefully

he stepped on the ladder in a display of unbridled uncertainty

in reach of the divine dangling overhead like a jeweled crown

twinkling truth in morse code (he never did learn)

remaining a mystery that he would never solve

like her

the earthbound fearless lover deathly afraid of heights

who can dream bigger than the sky

but never dares

to fly

…there is always some boulder in the path

he won’t climb

some barrier blocking access

he won’t destroy

despite his strength (that he never has used)

wilting chances eroded by time

fruit of opportunity spoiled on the vine

o…here flies her

within grasp but for one step

one more step

how it must feel to see her so close away

so very away

so near

and her

the one that stands out by trying to blend in

because she can’t 


when all the other stars shine, she…

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O…Here Flies Her


Steve weaving his usual and unique magic.

inconstant light


Thought bubbles must be punctured gently,
deflated with a fine molecular needle.


She lets me do the shopping at the markets,
the hens are in my charge, I sweep the floors,
but I’m a prisoner in her house.

On the crooked kitchen shelving, potions bright,
alluring clues, magic herbs and condiments.
To prepare Bahian fish, she says.

Her eyes are jungle camouflage, her tidal laughter
breaks in waves when nothing is amusing,
mysteries are woven in her hair.

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the spells of itapuã


For my dear friends who struggle with this, (and I have too) and for the people who love you, important words so beautifully and honestly expressed.

Strong Humble Warriors

I don’t want to talk.

I need rest.

I need silence.

The thoughts in my mind are overwhelming. They won’t stop. My life is a constant battle of outside voices competing with internal thoughts. It’s too much.

I don’t know how, but I need rest.

I’m lonely, but I can’t silence the storm of thoughts in my mind when another voice is in my ear; so I shut everyone out and feel relieved when they finally walk away.

I don’t mean to hurt feelings, but I need silence.

I don’t want anyone around because the tension that radiates from their discomfort with silence is even worse than being forced to talk.

I know they mean well, but I need rest.

I don’t need to lay down in the sense that it’s been a long day. I need to disappear for a while in the sense that it could be fatal…

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Depression Sucks.


“Recluse” is a collaboration with Mick Talbot. The Haiku is written by Mick, I did the Prose..Thank you for the honor, Mick.

This is so amazing I want to eat it. But I thought maybe I’d share it instead. Ugh! Thanks Yassy and Mick. Divine.



I lean on my heart, feeling it slipping away into an oblivion of aloneness.
My eyes hold teardrops that want to drown me. My stomach is full of pain that i seem to have swallowed in my sleeping and waking hours. Sobs rise in my throat into a broken conversation.

nature, its wilderness consoles
aloneness the pain

Life is a curtain raiser. I parade my role, a labyrinth knotting my insides, then this unconditional comaraderie breaks into the lonesomeness of my spirit’s desolation.

nature your soul’s partner
harvest her rewards

Dawn breaks into the window of my soul, the cosmos senses my essence, my nuances blend into a telepathic epiphany, stirring peace into my quintessence. I evanesce, the scars on my psyche sparkle like gems..from the heart of a loner, an immortal verse…a meditation for tranquility

austere times
reclusive virtues play

Thank you Mick..

Our very…

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