Wanna give a wordgift?

[serene]

[filtered so that klwalton can't see it -- I'll open it up on her birthday]

It's klwalton's birthday in a week. Anyone wanna give her a wordgift? She loves words and the beauty of poetry and good prose, and I thought that with you crew, that was a good bet for a b'day present from your resident flat-broke writer, along with all y'all. So if you want to give my dear friend a lift on her birthday, please post a comment here, giving her a gift of your words -- it can be spontaneous or studied, poetic or pragmatic, prettily formatted or not, your own words or not -- whatever you feel like sharing with her will, I'm sure, make her day. Who's in?

Here's my contribution:

The green tomatoes
were tiger-striped,
and the red stippled with deep indigo
layered with cheese and herbs
laid in studied disarray
on the trays you strained to hold
and I sat in surprise
that time didn't stand still
that all eyes didn't focus on you
on this gift,
this effort,
this exertion
all pretty in green and red and indigo
and your exasperation, clearly loving,
clearly
clearly
you

Comments

The Modern Primordial

[iwadoj.livejournal.com]

So I was talking to this fingersoup and it

e.e. cummings

[anisoptera.livejournal.com]

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look will easily unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

[hobbitblue.livejournal.com]

As a wine lover (or so it seems from your lj) this seemed a suitable ode to share, from Hilaire Belloc:

To exalt, enthrone, establish and defend,
To welcome home mankind's mysterious friend
Wine, true begetter of all arts that be;
Wine, privilege of the completely free;
Wine the recorder; wine the sagely strong;
Wine, bright avenger of sly-dealing wrong,
Awake, Ausonian Muse, and sing the vineyard song!

Read the remainder here (http://www.eliteskills.com/c/779)

mahamudra

[tedesson.livejournal.com]

The meditation practice which consists of looking directly at your mind. That is, you don't repeat a phrase or mantra, or concentrate on an image, or count or follow your breath.

You just pay attention to your thoughts as they arise and fade away. To their content, to their emotional weight, to the rate at which they occur, to the patterns of their arising.

Mahamudra.

[horis.livejournal.com]

Finding the source of nothing
Corrupting the innocence of Delight
Murmers of Fantastic Deaths.
Deadly love
Beautiful decay


I saw a man standing there, just in the distance. The rain covered him like a silken sheet. His eyes were upturned to the sky and his mouth was in the form of a smile. I watched as the drops of liquid slid down his nose, followed the curve of his luagh lines and collected on his chin. And I knew then that this is the way man was ment to live. By finding joy in the simple things we release ourselves of the worry over pointless things.

[shaktiqueen.livejournal.com]

"I will not die an unlived life.
I will not live in fear
of falling or catching fire.
I choose to inhabit my days,
to allow my living to open me,
to make me less afraid, more accessible;
to loosen my heart
until it becomes a wing,
a torch, a promise.
I choose to risk my significance,
to live so that which came to me as seed
goes to the next as blossom,
and that which came to me as blossom
goes on as fruit. "
--Dawna Markova
The first time I read this poem, I thought of you as one of the few people who truly embody the words. May your year ahead be full of adventure, love and living on purpose.

[lcohen]

the writing and me--not so much.
more with the singing, the talking,
the holding, the laughing.
i am so looking forward to meeting you, finally!

[figmo.livejournal.com]

A news story you'll never hear -- like this, anyway:

A wheelchair-bound woman with no limbs sued Air France for discrimination on Friday, alleging she was kept off a flight by a gate agent who told her a "torso cannot possibly fly on its own." 42-year-old Adele Price is suing the airline for telling her she would not be allowed to fly unless someone gave her a hand. A spokesperson for Air France says Price doesn't have a leg to stand on.

Happy Birthday!

Still I rise

[cassidyrose.livejournal.com]

Still I rise
by Maya Angelou

"You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own backyard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise."

I'll offer one of mine

[dakiwiboid.livejournal.com]

Tea At the Garden

Flowers and tea in mind,
I walk, sipping oolong,
Through the old orangery.
Camellias bloom here,
Handsome kin to my drink.
Glossy leaves explode with
Fireworks of flowers,
Seducing willing eyes,
But give the nose nothing.
Sweetness fills the warm air
From clumps of tiny blooms,
Hiding themselves shyly
In a shrub's green shelter.
Much further south from here
They call it "tea olive",
And the metal label
Says "osmanthus fragrans".
I nurse my scented tea
And hide away a smile
As two women exclaim
Over the camellias
And praise the air's perfume.
With an osmanthus sprig
Tucked inside my hand,
I leave, knowing full well
The fallen bloom they took
From under that pink bush
Will have no scent later
When they take it outside,
And they'll never know why.

Kiwi Carlisle, 7/2/03