Month: December 2011
My Living Room–Purple Profundity Poetry
My living room
has a woman
crouched and old
a bit twisted and a tad bent
murmurs
whispers
wisdom
or vent?
She rocks
she works her hands
the motion stops
abrupt
thrust forward
glimpse of smoothing face
joyful expression
noticing
a little girl
perched upon her toes
beside the arm of the couch
peeking out
giggling
brightly
watching bubbles float up
reflecting
my living room
has a young woman
in a sweater
and a handmade quilted skirt
sitting on the couch
reading
as if to herself
sidelong and knowing glances
at the old woman
tilting her head to listen
to the story
read
just for the little girl
wide eyed and joyful
perching on the floor
of
My living room.
–elisabeth connelley
Virtual Thunderstorm instead of Ball Pit
Stopped by Cops in South Carolina Where the Billboards Shift from Jesus to Porn and Back Again, I Understand My Affliction
“Stopped by Cops in South Carolina Where the Billboards Shift from Jesus to Porn and Back Again, I Understand My Affliction
It’s as American as the F.B.I. Hoover in drag, a zealot in silk stockings, careful not to smudge his lipstick as he reads me my rights. The desire to reach the heavens gets mixed up with the pursuit of naked flesh, and the next thing I know, I’m ordering coffee and apple pie a la mode in a topless diner, next to a Bible salesman who can’t get enough of those free refills. Halleluiah! Can I get a waitress? One who was at the scene of the crime? That’s the easy part. It’s as simple as a right hand and a left. I’m guilty of human needs. And here the billboards remind me, like flashcards for a five-year-old, alternating Lust and Love. Moving too fast is what got me here, stopped on the side of the road. The cops wear mirrored shades to keep their own sins hidden. The sign I’m next to features Jesus ascending and a 1-800 number to call if I feel alone. But I’m more hungry than lonely, and once I get my ticket, I’m gone.”
~~Christopher Kennedy
ennui prophet
I read this collection immediately after posting the post about Luxuria. I liked this one and one other in particular, though most of them had something that jumped out at me. Ahhh…the mood of the day!
Thank you Mr. Kennedy!
Luxiuration and The Tea Party
Today the screaming and the howling of winter winds demands a way into the house. The wind chimes dance and sing in tinkling abandon, oblivious to the rage of the wind, unable to convert them, nor to distract them from their joy. Perfect union, not one without the other. Today warmth, the touch of soft clean sheets and gentle conforming heft of blankets round my body nestled in with cup and sip and swallow taste of glorious tea and books full of dross and treasure, married like the winds. Luxuria.
Thoreau Thursdays (36): The Woodpiles of One’s Heart
I found this, early this morning in the quiet, while I had my first cup of tea. I think that I will simply continue to listen, turn my ear in a slightly different direction. The method changes, perhaps not the message.~~elisa
“Every man looks at his wood-pile with a kind of affection.”
–Henry David Thoreau, Walden
I don’t chop wood, but I’ve looked with pride and affection at jars of blackberry jam that I made from foraged wild blackberries. Or bags of frozen apples from windfalls that I picked and sliced for future pies. There is something immensely satisfying about a well-provisioned pantry, especially when it is the work of your own hands.
Thoreau found this kind of satisfaction in gazing at his woodpile, which he loved to have outside of his window to remind him of his “pleasing work.” As winter approached, he said, “I withdrew yet farther into my shell, and endeavored to keep a bright fire both within my house and within my breast.” The fire in his fireplace was a great comfort to him — he enjoyed its flickering shadows, which he described as “more agreeable to…
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I am not feeling Angry anymore.
I am muffled and alert. I feel like I’ve had a good stretch and am ready for sleep. Well earned sleep. Off I go to rest and to dream and to follow my Green Man as he returns Spring and the light.
I am feeling VERY VERY ANGRY…and then…
my son said: here mom, you need to watch this
and I glared at him
and he ignored me
and he typed….
here it is:
I think it helped me to feel a little bit better, even though my angry has nothing to do with my reading a book, though oddly it does, if you know me and you pay attention to what I like and what I dislike, what I find important, and what I do not.
Elisa's Spot 