Award !

THANK YOU, LINDA S. SOCHA/
PSYCHE CONNECTIONS
X
I AM ALMOST AT A LOSS
FOR WORDS !
STUMBLING OUT OF SLEEPY OBLIVION, I TRIED ONCE MORE TO BEAT MILO (CAT)
TO THE COMPUTER, (HE OVERSEES ALL MY MOVES). I SWITCHED ON, SAW FAMILIAR NAME IN MAIL,AND WHAT'S THIS???
X
Tucked into comments from the estimable
Linda S. Socha/Psyche Connections is a note
that I, (imagine) have been given
one of the awards for
BEST BLOG THINKER !
x
So, two months of stumbling to keep up with
blogging has produced this! Wow!!
I'm more than surprised. And extremely grateful.
We do all know how much we treasure even a nod
of recognition, how it can inform a day, a life.
x
So thank you dear Linda, and I apologize for not
knowing how to highlight your Blog.
Obviously, I'll never get an award
for Best Techie.
x
x

Mischief !

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx MONKEY SHINES
xxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxx from Two Ghosts
by Lyn Rochelle
x
x
I was ten years old and believed in telling
the truth. Yet there I was on my way home
from the park with my girlfriends, Evie,
Marcia and Joan, making up the very best lie
to tell my mother.
x
Earlier, after school, it being the first day of
Autumn, we dropped our books off, then met
up at the candy store. We lived near
The Bronx Zoo and decided to hang out there
for a while. An overpass separated the
Zoo from the Botanical Gardens. Boosting
ourselves onto a large stone, we spotted
Monkey Island on the river below,
about a hundred feet away. There were some
Orangutans romping and scratching. We started
to yell and scratch and called them some rude
names. Then a gorilla saw us and we were
convinced that he would find a Tarzan vine,
swing his way up, and eat us. Headline in the
Daily News the next day:
FOUR WONDERFUL GIRLS EATEN BY ENORMOUS
GORILLA. FAMILIES MOURN.
X
We decided to go back to where the playground
and ball fields were. Maybe we'd find a ball that
someone had lost and toss it around. The
grass was still mostly green, but some
of the trees had rusty leaves flying off them.
We rolled in them, and scrubbed ourselves with
the crunchy little bits, still making gorilla sounds.
x
I was wearing my brand new brown corduroy
pants with a blue belt around my waist.
Yet the pants kept slipping and I hated them
because I would never grow fat enough for
them to fit, being the skinniest kid on earth,
according to my Mom. And brown was not my
favorite color.
x
Looking for treasure, we sifted through leaves
that we kicked into a crumbly pile. A small
square appeared in the heap, a picture of a
glamour girl smoking a cigarette. It was a
book of matches.
x
Since all of us lived in apartment buildings
along Pelham Parkway, we never shared the
all-American autumn ritual of leaf burning.
Until that day. It seemed like fun and it was
what they did in those small town movies,
before the hoedown. A little voice in my head
started yelling, " Don't play with matches".
Sounded like Mom.
x
We lighted a match, set it to the leaves.
Nothing happened. Screeching at each other
for a chance, Evie then singed her fingers,
and the match fell with a puff of smoke. Joany
did better, striking and holding a flame, which
she threw into the pile as we all screamed,
"Lucky Strike". We turned into Indians, dancing
and whooping as the fire started to spread. A
Park Ranger was heading our way.
x
I jumped onto the burning ground. I would
smother the flames with my shoes. A slight wisp
of orange caught my hated brown corduroys.
I was glad for a split second, then sanity took over,
and I started to scream. The Ranger pulled me off,
patting down the left leg of my trousers. For a
Park Ranger, he sure knew some bad words. He
told us to leave the park and that I'd better have
a good story for my mother.
x
Goody-two-shoes Marcia said my mother would
kill me. Evie said I should just run away to
Hollywood. Then I thought of a thoroughly
plausible lie.......
x
x
x
cCopyright all rights reserved

St.Stimulus Day !

CANDLES ARE BEING BURNED AT BOTH ENDS.
SAINTS AND ANGELS ARE BESIEGED,
AND PRAYERS ARE RARELY
ANSWERED BECAUSE OF THE
PREPONDERANCE OF NEED, GREED,
AND FISCAL PANIC.
X
SAINTS WITH LITTLE
RELEVANCE ARE RECEIVING
INAPPLICABLE REQUESTS.
IT'S PAST DUE TO SORT
THINGS OUT, AND ONLY A
BEATIFICATION WILL DO.
X
IT'S TIME FOR A NEW SAINT,
AND A DAY TO CELEBRATE !
x
x
From the overflow of martyrs who have
hung around celestial realms for centuries,
surely one will emerge with the qualifications
to embody the title of St. Stimulus.
With a day of His (or Her) own. Perhaps
April 14, the day before Tax Day, when
really sincere prayers will be offered.
x
The specific task would be to grant
financial revelation and rescue to the
needy. At the same time providing
justifiable austerity to the money addicted.
x
A shrine, to be built on the ruins
of a defunct Wall Street bank, will
attract the supplicators and converted.
But donations will be needed.
x
A website has been set up.
Just send your lists of wishes,
and spare change to:
St. Stimulus.com
x
As a token of appreciation for your
generosity, a small packet containing
a candle, some incense, and a medal,
will be sent to you, with the Saint's blessings.
x
This will be known as a Stimulus Package,
in honor of the Saint who grants
a little something to everyone.
x
x
copyright/ all rights reserved

Happy Birthday !

Age: 20
X
FEBRUARY 13,
1909- 2008
x

DEAR MOM,
YOUR BIRTHDAY, 100 YEARS
since you first showed the world your
beautiful face, your bold spirit.
x
Look at that girl! Still ready for fun,
ready for dreams...
x
I salute the 99 1/2 years that you lived in this world.
x
You'd never say no to a toast, so here's to the girl, my Mom,
who was born in Czarist Russia, made her way across rolling
seas at the age of 12 to the gold paved streets of New York,
and never looked back.
The name they gave you at Ellis Island eventually became
an interesting anecdote.
When I placed your name on the Wall of Honor, on Ellis Island
so many years later, you as Yetta Lam, who should have been Lem,
sit in the midst of a sea of Chinese immigrants, the only girl
from a shtetl so honored.
x
Your artistry in painting, your skill as a designer, informed me,
probably just handed me some very rich DNA. Hopefully,
years also, like you.
x
Sometimes a bit too direct?? Too demanding?? That war is over.
Just love you a lot now.
Funny how that happens.
x
So bless you Mom. It was meant to be.
Happy Birthday!

Age: 15

Saint-Paul de Vence

YESTERDAY I GOT LOST IN A BREEZE.
BEING AN ARIES, I WAS READY TO POUNCE
ON THE FIRST WARM CLUE THAT SPRING
MAY BE IN THE AIR.
X
I know that it's still the middle of February, but
Mother Nature has been slipping in brazen
enticements to those of us who are susceptable to seduction.
x
There I was, sniffing the air like a demented groundhog
shedding his shadow. I became unhinged convincing
myself that springtime is around the corner.
Well, prove to me that it's not!
x
And then I started looking for peaches, my well known addiction.
And then I started dreaming of the Peaches of St. Paul.
I got lost in that yearning, but found some relief by
reading for myself the last stanza of the poem I posted
several weeks ago, the very Peaches of Saint-Paul.
I know it was a tease not to include it, but then I never
really posted the beginning either. Another time.
x
Whatever brings me closer to Spring, to Summer....
x
x
xxxxxxxxxxxlast stanza:
x
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxOne glowed with a fever
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxin my cupped hands.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxI brushed its pre-pubescent fuzz
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxagainst your cheek, and it became
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxa secret kiss
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxthat no one saw.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxBut I saved the first bite for me.
x
x
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxfrom "Two Ghosts" poems/ Lyn Rochelle

On the Trail

FROM:
xxx
DOWNHILL
xxx
xx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxx.....I talk to my bones
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxbefore I start,
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxbegging
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxthe warm marrow
xxxxxxxxxxx xxxxnot to turn to ice.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxStanding at the peak
xxxxxxxxxx on locked knees
xxxxxxxxxx I pat down my orange parka,
xxxxxxxxxx already damp with sweat,
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxand swing into an awkward plie'.
x
xxxxxxxxxx My trail is empty again.
x
xxxxxxxxxxxI take it and dream my way down,
xxxxxxxxxxxskiing new powder,
x xxxxxxxxx going past a few tracks that cut
xxxxxxxxxxxthe hill on the traverse.
x
xxxxxxxxxx xI whisper a caution now and then
xxxxxxxxxxxto shadows rushing past me......
xxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxfrom / Two Ghosts/ poems/Lyn Rochelle
xxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxx
xxxto order:
call 888-795-4274 ext. 7876
http://www.xlibris.com/ http://www.amazon.com/
http://www.bn.com/ http://www.borders.com/
at your bookstore

For Rent

BITING THE APPLE
X
DO YOU HAVE SQUARE FEET?
X
Well, the Gold Coast of Madison Avenue, NYC,
has many to spare. Because? Empty. Why?
Quoting a real estate broker, "This is as bad
as I've ever seen".
x
Seems that retailers on the ever posh avenue
are caught between, "Let's stay", and "Let's
get outta here". Depending on if a sale or two
can be made that day. Everyone's sitting on
their money.
x
The cost of a square foot on Madison Avenue?
About $1250. And everyone knows you need more
than one leg to stand on.
x
Desperate times in New York. The money addicted
deeply feel the affront of approaching a favorite doorway
and seeing a "store for rent" sign posted.
x
A dawning reality: some retailers are taking the bait
and moving a couple of unfashionable streets away
where landlords are offering cheaper rents. The retailers
who are still selling $3000 handbags, $1500 shoes,
$3500 hand embroidered tablecloths, may have to move,
perchance to lower prices. As may the tailors stitching up
Bespoke suits for some uppa-uppa scoundrels, at $7000
or more, a pop.
x
The rest of us used to shop at the ordinary stores, quite nice,
not posh. I'd like to welcome the Madison Avenue elite,
but where will I go? The Hudson River's already been
spoken for.

The Letter "D"

MY LETTER, "D", to play this game, was given to me
by Natalie/ Musings from the deep.

xIf you want to play, please leave me a comment and I'll send you a letter. Then you can list ten things that matter to you. And play!

xWell, "D" indeed! Is that a judgement, a grade, before I even begin? You must have secret knowledge that I can't count. Putting that aside, here comes my first "D", which I will DESIGNATE #1. And then, we'll see.

DANCE- I will DANCE for food. In a DIAPHANOUS gown, in a DOWNPOUR.

DESIRE- There goes that Streetcar again, and from Will Shakespeare:

" Is it not strange that DESIRE should so many years outlive performance" ?x

DREAM- Perchance to....ay, there's the rub. For in that sleep of

DEATH, what DREAMS may come../ Hamlet

xOh well, sorry, DEATH itself, but perhaps more easily, in "webdings".. cowards die many times before theirs DEATH ?...Shakespeare.x

DEEDS- ..."and yet words are not deeds".....Guess who?

x

DICKINSON- I hide myself within my flower,

xxxxxxxxxxxxxThat wearing on your breast,

xxxxxxxxxxxxxYou unsuspecting, wear me too-

xxxxxxxxxxxxxAnd angels know the rest.

x

xDOSTOEVSKY-XXXXXIf you were to destroy the belief of immortality in mankind, not only love, but every living force on which the continuation of all life in the world depended, would dry up all at once.

X

xDYLAN- You better start swimming

xxxxxxxxxor sink like a stone,

xxxxxxxxxcause the times they are a-changing.

x

x

Peaches

xxxxxxxxxxxx I'm dreaming of summer as

I block the powdery wind that carries

a February snow.

Up in the tree, ice pushes down on a bough.

x

That same tree, if I'm patient, will yield shade

in August and let me pull a ripened warm peach

from its hold.

x

xxxxxxxxxxxxI remember another time of peaches...

x

xxxxxxxxxxx Here's an exerpt from a poem I wrote

because I love peaches....

xxxx

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxThe Peaches of Saint-Paul

x

xxxxxxxxx.....Bells suddenly roused us from the chilly grotto.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx We ran down cobbled steps,

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx embracing our brief mortality, and found

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx Rue Verdalette. Following the map

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx we turned right at the telephone pole.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx And full below was Saint-Paul de Vence,

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx washed by the Provencal sea.

x

A vendor's cart,

just wheeled into the shade, displayed

avacados, alongside daisies.

Melons were cut open, their pale green flesh

too pungent, summoning

a rush of fruit flies.

And a dozen peaches

ripened to a dazzling pink......

x

x

from "Two Ghosts", a book of poetry.

x

c 2009 all rights reserved

Poetry Reading

X
FOURTH ANNUAL BLOGGERS ( silent)
xxxxxx POETRY READING
X
X
THE FIRST NIGHT
X
by
X
BILLY COLLINS

X

"The worst thing about death is the first night".

x

Juan Ramon Jimenez

xx

Before I opened you, Jimenez,

it never occured to me that day and night

would continue to circle each other in the ring of death,

x

but now you have me wondering

if there will also be a sun and a moon

and will the dead gather to watch them rise and set

x

then repair, each soul alone,

to some ghastly equivalent of a bed.

Or will the first night be the only night,

x

a darkness for which we have no other name?

How feeble our vocabulary in the face of death.

How impossible to write it down.

x

This is where language will stop,

the horse we have ridden all our lives

rearing up at the edge of a dizzying cliff.

x

The word that was in the beginning

and the word that was made flesh-

those and all the other words will cease.

x

Even now, reading you on this trellised porch,

how can I describe a sun that will shine after death?

But it is enough to frighten me

x

into paying more attention to the world's day-moon,

to sunlight bright on water

or fragmented in a grove of trees

x

and to look more closely here at these small leaves,

these sentinal thorns,

whose employment it is to guard the rose.

x

x

xx