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 |   A terminal for all blogs coming in or going out. A view into my life. |
Started July 1st 2019 for contests, etc. as other blogs are filling up and have other purposes.  I'm starting a new blog because
I'll be linking to
I've started an appendix (I no longer have one personally) to keep track of my Space Cadet journals for Space Blog. It's a work constantly under construction. Mind the mess.
I needed to start a folder for contests as there are so many deadlines and details to remember.
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| There was a sliver of moon tonight at dusk. Was it waning or waxing? I've used the moon as a poetic talisman before: "A radiant moon has set"  "The moon is blue ice" "Owls at the hour of moonset" "Of mice, owls and moonflowers" "Shadowed silhouettte (gzaibun, Zmitri)" (still set on private for who knows what reason) For flash fiction: "The Moon Walks as a Man [119] (296w)" "Comfort of moonlight and shadows (253w)" "Lela Mae [75] (300 words)" And short stories: "Laura by moonlight" "Johnny-by-moonlight" Last night it was waxing...
"Never love a poet, she warns..." Why should we never love a poet? God may be sunlight but a poet is more like moonlight. A reflection, a mirror, a phantasm one cannot hold, a mere apparition or illusion. Poetic words like moonlight move us but both pass through out fingers as if they were a sieve. How does one possess a lover of moonlight... one that fades away at dawn? For:
See her how she flies Golden sails across the sky Close enough to touch But careful if you try Though she looks as warm as gold The moon's a harsh mistress The moon can be so cold Once the sun did shine Lord, it felt so fine The moon a phantom rose Through the mountains and the pines And then the darkness fell And the moon's a harsh mistress It's so hard to love her well I fell out of her eyes I fell out of her heart I fell down on my face Yes, I did, and I -- I tripped and I missed my star God, I fell and I fell alone, I fell alone And the moon's a harsh mistress And the sky is made of stone The moon's a harsh mistress She's hard to call your own. I told Joy  in "Autumn and Poets" : "Thank-you. I was a sensitive child that was somewhat wounded and a bit crinkled and crushed. Once in high school I wrote something very poetic (the assignment wasn't poetry) but I was never encouraged. I was 47 when I opened up."Future Mrs. B  is sounding good in "The Beauty of Letting Go" Autumn may be a colorful time, but is not her time to fall away like autumn leaves.    Elle - on hiatus  also had a positive post about a book she read and enjoyed. "Book review: The All for the Game series by Nora Sakavic" I responded: "So exy is a fictional game! Intriguing. I've read YA that is dark, so dark it is ... as long as it doesn't trigger me." MY LIFE: 11 a.m. AQI is 63 (moderate) so I'll go for lunch. 12° but should warm to 24°. Bright morning when there isn't so much haze. I wanted to leave this comment on a post but decided against it: "It's hard to know when to hang on and when to let go. I am at an age where I may be forced to let go. If I don't move I may end up being moved. When I left in 2003 it was as if a tornado had stripped me of all my leaves. Oklahoma was welcoming but it was a false Spring and Kansas an unexpected freeze. But Montana which was a respite and a place to come home to, is no longer my 'happy' place. These up and downs come and go as you well know. It's just hard for me to have perspective when I'm down. This too shall pass." I met up with friends for a blah-blah meal. I couldn't stay as long as they wanted. I just don't well for long periods of time. Norwegian... the grammar is going to kill me. That and I don't seem to be able to distinguish certain sounds well. Should we mention that vocabulary is also an issue? I'm at part 8 but snuck in a peek at part 9. My original goal was to complete all 10 parts by end of September. I could... but what will I retain? I slog away. 2939 |
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