Binding Tides

I feared the sea’s mercurial pull, stayed

Onshore, when I was small. But now

 I find

With some dismay the ocean is in me.

Moons pull and shove me, but beyond the dark

Blue moods I see a Star for me. So, go,

Rage, waves. See if you can blot out that high,

Eternal north star.

Your consolation

Prize? This. A faulty compass, cast aside.

Miranda by John William Waterhouse

 

Miscellanea Item No. 2

I'm of the following opinion.

Sometimes people--friend, acquaintance, or a chance-meet--make mistakes and are very painfully aware of the enormity of the decisions' stupidity or recklessness. And they are sorry for the deed, not just the consequence.

When these people come to me--for advice, to vent, or so on, and whether or not they have done offense to me personally--I hope God gives me the perception to sense that they are indeed sorry. I pray even more for the grace and kindness of my Brother Christ Jesus to see that they have beaten themselves up enough about what they have done and that I will have the ability to take their "club" away from them--they don't need my help heaping up guilt on themselves.

Not everyone who has strayed from the right path needs a thrashing, and if they do, it's very likely not supposed to come from me.

Hugs, tea or coffee, chocolate, silent empathy, or all of the above are maybe better salves for the grieved hearts.

Untitled [draft 1]

My thoughts sparkle today

I don’t know if I shall show them to you

just yet.

they want polishing

a trim or so

here

and there.

But—possess your soul with patience!

You shall see them soon.

I’ll dance them in the sun before your eyes

While we haggle over significance,

Weight,

Worth.

You shall take it with you when all’s said and done,

And I’m as richer and more as before.

You’re taking it shan’t take a smidgeon from me.

I—I draw my wonders from a bag

cut from the same cloth

as Peter Schlemiel's wondrous bag of gold—

Only, I, fortunate favorite 

or not so fortunate,

Did not sell my shadow

for the sack,

As did poor Peter—

The shadows gave me mine for free.

All

All 

A sparrow’s crumb—

Because a crumb to a sparrow

is a feast

but a sparrow’s crumb

is hardly

mentioning.

Well Now. This is a Something.

"How To Self Publish (And Seem Like You're Not)”

I don’t altogether approve of her fudging the facts to her readers nor with her philosophy that “writing is a lot like lying” (italics mine). However, I will say this: that girl has got moxie and talent three ways to Sunday. My hat’s off to her for her spunk. I might even buy her book.

Here is her author blog,  and her other blog is here.