Love is just a Word

So they say…

Love is not just a word.

It comes in many shapes, forms and sizes.

 

Love is not about being with someone.

It can also be about not being with someone.

As they say, love yourself.

 

Love is blind.

For some, but not for all.

If love were blind then I’d be staring at the wall.

 

Love is never having to say you’re sorry.

That was the famous line of the movie, Love Story.

For me, Love is saying you’re sorry.

 

Love thy neighbor.

It depends on what kind of neighbors one has.

Even if you didn’t love them, doesn’t mean you hate them.

 

All you need is Love.

Famous line in a song!

Feel good indeed when singing along.

 

Not everyone can sing in tune.

Regardless, even the most off-beat individuals find love.

Love is in the air.

 

Yes!  Every waking moment breathe in and breathe out.

 

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A Transcendental Journey

The new edition is now available for order online or through many local bookstores. Here is an excerpt: a-transcendental-journey

 

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Lord Nelson's Hat

Image courtesy of 123rf (modified)

 

 

Diamonds dazzle Lord Nelson’s hat,
that vintage oak wind-sculpted on the hill.
Light-pierced from a bold, all-seeing sun,
it nobly ponders summer's embers.

Bronzed acorns slip their leather cups,
reverberant upon the ground and proud
their forebears made those 'wooden walls'
on crescent tides that drove invaders back.

Sheep browse a hoof-worn treadmill,
eschewing thorn and thistle where random seed
may take no root, no quarter gained by rising
verdure in the evening blaze of history's days.

Wind burns its timeless song into the soul,
clouds flee to brood and congregate elsewhere,
earth braces for a remnant harvest home.
Another spring, another life, another year...

But Michaelmas is bright with angel mist,
the ether wired with energies of beating wings.
The blinding circle inches westward, a whirling
cursor poised to link to otherworldly scenes...

 


 The tree in winter which was the poem's inspiration

from Mysteries of Light (collection in preparation)

 

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Early Autumn Wedding

"Are you having any readings?"

"No."

"Have you brought some music?"

"No."

"Do you have rings?"

"Yes."

The elderly registrar smiles with a hint of relief.  At least one traditional feature.  She tells those present that photos are not permitted during the actual signing of the register but they can be posed for afterwards.

"Does anyone have any questions?"

"No."

"In that case, shall we begin?"

We all stand in our appointed positions. Just the couple and two witnesses.  "We asked you  because you're the first people we met after we moved here," the bride and groom said. "Also, this way, none of our other friends can possibly be offended at not being asked."

Given these circumstances, H. and I feel deeply privileged to be here.

There are no other guests.  They felt disloyal about inviting friends and leaving out family.  She doesn't want her family's aloofness to sabotage her special day.  He knows his family aren't ready to hear the news.  Too much pain to come to terms with yet, too much forgiveness to be granted.  This marriage is a right built on wrongs.  Inevitable wrongs that had to be righted and could not be righted without some wrongs.  We're only human.  

He wears grey chinos and a blue shirt that brings out the colour of his eyes and the silver of his hair.  She bought a terracotta top for the occasion, as well as a blue-grey skirt.  Something new.  Nothing old or borrowed.  No flowers.  This is a second marriage for both.  A couple of decades ago, both had a day of white lace, speeches, three-tier cakes and pink champagne.  A day to please her husband's family and his wife's tradition.  Today is for them alone. 

The ceremony takes about twenty minutes. The registrar speaks the vows and they repeat after her slowly, meaning every word.   Plain, matching gold bands are slipped on fingers.  A tender kiss exchanged. This is a second wedding.  The youthful trust has grown into firm intention.  The candy-coloured spring blossoms have been replaced with the deeper, earthier hues of early autumn.  Passion with compassion.  

Scribe Doll

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Latest Comments

Ken Hartke Telephone Nostalgia
17 January 2019
I have never liked using the telephone. Too often it brought bad news and holds some of my most pain...
Rosy Cole A New Life
17 January 2019
How to gain a whole new perspective on the life lived. That journey in itself would be full of surpr...
Rosy Cole Telephone Nostalgia
17 January 2019
'Nostalgia' is, perhaps, the operative word here. Time has stolen those days. I do wonder whether th...
Stephen Evans Telephone Nostalgia
16 January 2019
I actually dread phone conversations - they seem to me the worst of both worlds. You don't have time...
Katherine Gregor New Year Resolutions?
08 January 2019
Oh, my goodness, yes. Absolutely. May the New Year bring you as much "You time" as you need, Rosy!

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