Dream your dreams
and live them too
their more real
they’re all of you
The you who seeks
and always feels
the closeness of
what your soul zeal’s
Your beauty lies inside
and always in your mind
let it flow from within
and let the world, it find
~RRS 1/08
~~~*~~~
Feed me, Water me and Care for me.
When my day’s work is done, provide me with shelter,
a dry, clean bed and a stall with enough room for me to lie down in comfort.
Talk to me. Your voice often means as much to me as the reins.
Pet me sometimes, that I may serve you more gladly and learn to love you.
Do not jerk the reins and do not whip me when going uphill.
Never strike, beat or kick me when I do not understand
what you mean, but give me a chance to understand.
Watch me and if I fail to do your bidding, see if something
is wrong with my harness or feet. Examine my teeth
when I do not eat, I may have an ulcerated tooth that is very painful.
Do not tie my head in an unnatural position or take away
my best defense against flies by cutting off my tail.
Do not smoke in my barn or leave me tied up overnight
and perhaps burn me to death while you are sleeping in
your comfortable bed.
And last, my Master, when my strength is gone, do not
turn me out in a pasture without shelter and let me freeze
to death, or sell me to some cruel owner to be slowly
starved or worked to death, but take my life in the kindest
way and your God will reward you in the hereafter.
Author Unknown
A very tired nurse walks into a bank, totally exhausted after an 18-hour shift.
Preparing to write a check, she pulls a rectal thermometer out of her purse and tries to write with it.
When she realizes her mistake, she looks at the flabbergasted teller and without missing a beat, she says:
‘Well, that’s great….that’s just great…. Some asshole’s got my pen’!
LET ME SEE IF I GOT THIS RIGHT …..
IF YOU CROSS THE NORTH KOREAN BORDER ILLEGALLY YOU GET 12 YEARS HARD
LABOR.
IF YOU CROSS THE IRANIAN BORDER ILLEGALLY YOU ARE DETAINED
INDEFINITELY..
IF YOU CROSS THE AFGHAN BORDER ILLEGALLY, YOU GET SHOT.
IF YOU CROSS THE SAUDI ARABIAN BORDER ILLEGALLY YOU WILL BE JAILED.
IF YOU CROSS THE CHINESE BORDER ILLEGALLY YOU MAY NEVER BE HEARD FROM
AGAIN.
IF YOU CROSS THE VENEZUELAN BORDER ILLEGALLY YOU WILL BE BRANDED A SPY
AND YOUR FATE WILL BE SEALED.
IF YOU CROSS THE CUBAN BORDER ILLEGALLY YOU WILL BE THROWN INTO
POLITICAL PRISON TO ROT.
IF YOU CROSS THE U.S. BORDER ILLEGALLY YOU GET:
A JOB,
A DRIVERS LICENSE,
SOCIAL SECURITY CARD,
WELFARE,
FOOD STAMPS,
CREDIT CARDS,
SUBSIDIZED RENT OR A LOAN TO BUY A HOUSE, FREE EDUCATION, FREE HEALTH
CARE, A LOBBYIST IN WASHINGTON, BILLIONS OF DOLLARS WORTH OF PUBLIC
DOCUMENTS PRINTED IN YOUR LANGUAGE, THE RIGHT TO CARRY YOUR COUNTRY’S
FLAG WHILE YOU PROTEST THAT YOU DON’T GET ENOUGH RESPECT AND, IN MANY
INSTANCES, YOU CAN VOTE.
I JUST WANTED TO MAKE SURE I HAVE A FIRM GRASP ON REALITY.
Received this morning.
Our Friggin Government! ~R
Here’s someone that’s not afraid to say what needs to be said:
“Tragedy at Ft Hood”
Lieutenant Colonel Allen B West (US Army, Ret)
This past Thursday 13 American Soldiers were killed and another 30 wounded at a horrific mass shooting at US Army installation, Ft Hood Texas . As I watched in horror and then anger I recalled my two years of final service in the Army as a Battalion Commander at Ft Hood, 2002-2004.
My wife and two daughters were stunned at the incident having lived on the post in family housing.
A military installation, whether it is Army, Navy, Air Force, Marine, or Coast Guard, is supposed to be a safe sanctuary for our Warriors and their families. It is intended to provide a home whereby our “Band of Brothers and Sisters” can find solace and bond beyond just the foxhole but as family units.
A military installation is supposed to be a place where our Warriors train for war, to serve and protect our Nation.
On Thursday, 5 November 2009 Ft Hood became a part of the battlefield in the war against Islamic totalitarianism and state sponsored terrorism.
There may be those who feel threatened by my words and would even recommend they not be uttered. To those individuals I say step aside because now is not the time for cowardice. Our Country has become so paralyzed by political correctness that we have allowed a vile and determined enemy to breach what should be the safest place in America , an Army post.
We have become so politically correct that our media is more concerned about the stress of the shooter, Major Nidal Malik Hasan. The misplaced benevolence intending to portray him as a victim is despicable. The fact that there are some who have now created an entire new classification called; “pre-virtual vicarious Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD)” is unconscionable.
This is not a “man caused disaster”. It is what it is, an Islamic jihadist attack.
We have seen this before in 2003 when a SGT Hasan of the 101st Airborne Division (Air Assault) threw hand grenades and opened fire into his Commanding Officer’s tent inKuwait. We have seen the foiled attempt of Albanian Muslims who sought to attack Ft Dix, NJ. Recently we saw a young convert to Islam named Carlos Bledsoe travel to Yemen, receive terrorist training, and return to gun down two US Soldiers at a Little Rock, Arkansas Army recruiting station. We thwarted another Islamic terrorist plot in North Carol ina which had US Marine Corps Base, Quantico as a target.
What have we done with all these prevalent trends? Nothing.
What we see are recalcitrant leaders who are refusing to confront the issue, Islamic terrorist infiltration into America , and possibly further into our Armed Services. Instead we have a multiculturalism and diversity syndrome on steroids.
Major Hasan should have never been transferred to Ft Hood, matter of fact he should have been Chaptered from the Army. His previous statements, poor evaluation reports, and the fact that the FBI had him under investigation for jihadist website posting should have been proof positive.
However, what we have is a typical liberal approach to find a victim, not the 13 and 30 Soldiers and Civilian, but rather the poor shooter. A shooter who we are told was a great American, who loved the Army and serving his Nation and the Council on American Islamic Relations (CAIR) stating that his actions had nothing to do with religious belief.
We know that Major Hasan deliberately planned this episode; he did give away his possessions. He stood atop a table in the confined space of the Soldier Readiness Centershouting “Allahu Akhbar”, same chant as the 9-11 terrorists and those we fight against overseas in the Iraq and Afghanistan theaters of operation.
No one in leadership seems willing to sound the alarm for the American people; they are therefore complicit in any future attacks. Our Congress should suspend the insidious action to vote on a preposterous and unconstitutional healthcare bill and resolve the issue of “protecting the American people”.
The recent incidents in Dearborn Michigan , Boston Massachusetts , Dallas Texas , and Chicago Illinois should bear witness to the fact that we have an Islamic terrorism issue inAmerica. And don’t have CAIR call me and try to issue a vanilla press statement; they are an illegitimate terrorist associated organization which should be disbanded.
We have Saudi Arabia funding close to 80% of the mosques in the United States , one right here in South Florida, Pompano Beach . Are we building churches and synagogues inSaudi Arabia ? Are “Kaffirs” and “Infidels” allowed travel to Mecca ?
So much for peaceful coexistence.
Saudi Arabia is sponsoring radical Imams who enter into our prisons and convert young men into a virulent Wahabbist ideology..one resulting in four individuals wanting to destroy synagogues in New York with plastic explosives.. Thank God the explosives were dummy. They are sponsoring textbooks which present Islamic centric revisionist history in our schools.
We must recognize that there is an urgent need to separate the theo-political radical Islamic ideology out of our American society. We must begin to demand surveillance of suspected Imams and mosques that are spreading hate and preaching the overthrow of our Constitutional Republic ..that speech is not protected under First Amendment, it is sedition and if done by an American treason.
There should not be some 30 Islamic terrorist training camps in America that has nothing to do with First Amendment, Freedom of Religion. The Saudis are not our friends and any American political figure who believes such is delusional.
When tolerance becomes a one way street it certainly leads to cultural suicide. We are on that street. Liberals cannot be trusted to defend our Republic, because their sympathies obviously lie with their perceived victim, Major Nidal Malik Hasan.
I make no apologies for these words, and anyone angered by them, please, go to Ft Hood and look into the eyes of the real victims. The tragedy at Ft Hood Texas did not have to happen. Consider now the feelings of those there and on every military installation in the world. Consider the feelings of the Warriors deployed into combat zones who now are concerned that their loved ones at home are in a combat zone.
Ft Hood suffered an Islamic jihadist attack, stop the denial, and realize a simple point.
The reality of your enemy must become your own.
Steadfast and Loyal,
Lieutenant Colonel Allen B West (US Army, Ret)
“I ask the impossible: love me forever.
Love me when all desire is gone.
Love me with the single mindedness of a monk.
When the world in its entirety,
and all that you hold sacred advise you
against it: love me still more.
When rage fills you and has no name: love me.
When each step from your door to our job tires you—
love me; and from job to home again, love me, love me.
Love me when you’re bored—
when every woman you see is more beautiful than the last,
or more pathetic, love me as you always have:
not as admirer or judge, but with
the compassion you save for yourself
in your solitude.
Love me as you relish your loneliness,
the anticipation of your death,
mysteries of the flesh, as it tears and mends.
Love me as your most treasured childhood memory—
and if there is none to recall—
imagine one, place me there with you.
Love me withered as you loved me new.
Love me as if I were forever—
and I, will make the impossible
a simple act,
by loving you, loving you as I do”
– Ana Castillo
BUCHANAN TO OBAMA
By Patrick J. Buchanan
Barack says we need to have a conversation about race in America . Fair enough. But this time, it has to be a two-way conversation. White America needs to be heard from, not just lectured to… This time, the Silent Majority needs to have its convictions, grievances and demands heard. And among them are these:
First, America has been the best country on earth for black folks. It was here that 600,000 black people, brought from Africa in slave ships, grew into a community of 40 million, were introduced to Christian salvation, and reached the greatest levels of freedom and prosperity blacks have ever known. Wright ought to go down on his knees and thank God he is an American.
Second, no people anywhere has done more to lift up blacks than white Americans. Untold trillions have been spent since the ‘ 60s on welfare, food stamps, rent supplements, Section 8 housing, Pell grants, student loans, legal
services, Medicaid, Earned Income Tax Credits and poverty programs designed to bring the African-American community into the mainstream . Governments, businesses and colleges have engaged in discrimination against white folks — with affirmative action, contract set-asides and quotas — to advance black applicants over white applicants. Churches, foundations, civic groups, schools and individuals all over America have donated their time and money to support soup kitchens, adult education, day care, retirement and nursing homes for blacks.
We hear the grievances. Where is the gratitude???
Barack talks about new ‘ladders of opportunity’ for blacks. Let him go to Altoona ?
And Johnstown , and ask the white kids in Catholic schools how many were visited lately by Ivy League recruiters handing out scholarships for ‘deserving’ white kids.? Is white America really responsible for the fact that the crime and incarceration rates for African-Americans are seven times those of white America ? Is it really white America ‘s fault that illegitimacy in the African-American community has hit 70 percent and the black dropout rate from high schools in some cities has reached 50 percent?
Is that the fault of white America or, first and foremost, a failure of the black community itself?
As for racism, its ugliest manifestation is in interracial crime,
and especially interracial crimes of violence. Is Barack Obama aware that while white criminals choose black victims 3 percent of the time, black criminals choose white victims 45 percent of the time?
Is Barack aware that black-on-white rapes are 100 times more common than the reverse, that black-on-white robberies were 139 times as common in the first three years of this decade as the reverse?
We have all heard ad nauseam from the Rev. Al about Tawana Brawley, the Duke rape case and Jena. And all turned out to be hoaxes. But about the epidemic of black assaults on whites that are real, we hear nothing.
Sorry, Barack, some of us have heard it all before, about 40 years and 40 trillion tax dollars ago.
We are a Christian Nation even if Mr.Obama says we are not.
This needs to be passed around because, this is a message everyone needs to hear!!!
Student Survival Kit :
Rubberband :
To remind you to stretch your mind to
new limits on your voyage to discovery.
Candy Kiss :
To remind you that everyone
needs a kind word everyday.
Penny :
To remind you the value of your ideas
and those of your classmates
Eraser :
To remind you that we all make mistakes,
But, thats OK
Toothpick :
To remind you to “pick out” the good qualities
of your classmates and teacher.
Be tolerant and appreciate
the differences of others
Star :
To acknowledge your accomplishments
Sent home with my youngest daughters
welcome to the class packet years ago
Beautiful !
~~~*~~~
Honied yellow dripping gold,
Leaf of autumn in the cold
Dancing on in crisp despair
Whirling on enchanted air
Falling silently to earthen tomb
Away from tree’s rooted arm
Perhaps the silence broken then
By hollow cries of autumn grief
Synchronized with the falling leaf
S.K.Lindeman
Had to bring this one up front
Originally posted 01Oct07
I’m not gonna lay you down easy!
Your fall will be hard with great shatter!
You’ve given me nothing but worry.
To be done with you, is all that will matter.
Your blood runs no more, its stored far away,
seems your insides grew empty and hollow.
With your craggy arms broken and cracked
and your heart, has dried empty and shallow.
I’ve watched you not grow to this point.
Your wasted and the slowly demise.
The vermin inside has taken control,
within you they have taken up shelter.
I know you cant cry, as I add up the days,
since I’ve watched your eminent death!
Watch out below, we will watch as you go
You old ugly Red Oak with no breath!
10/07 OD2
Image by Lightworks
I used to think that growing old was reckoned just in years,
But who can name the very date when weariness appears?
I find no stated time when man, obedient to a law,
Must settle in an easy chair and from the world withdraw.
Old Age is rather curious, or so it seems to me.
I know old men at forty and young men at seventy-three.
I’m done with counting life by years or temples turning gray.
No man is old who wakes with joy to greet another day.
What if the body cannot dance with youth’s elastic spring?
There’s many a vibrant interest to which the mind can cling.
‘Tis in the spirit Age must dwell, or this would never be:
I know old men at forty and young men at seventy-three.
Some men keep all their friendships warm,
and welcome friendships new,
They have no time to sit and mourn the things they used to do.
This changing world they greet with joy and never bow to late;
On every fresh adventure they set out with hearts elate
From chilling fear and bitter dread they keep their spirits free
While some seem old at forty they stay young at seventy-three.
So much to do, so much to learn, so much in which to share!
With twinkling eyes and minds alert some brave both time and care.
And this I’ve learned from other men, that only they are old
Who think with something that has passed the tale of life is told.
For Age is not alone of time, or we should never see
Men old and bent at forty and men young at seventy-three.
~ Edgar A Guest
4:10 am
“Yeeeeah?…. alright I’ll pick you up in about 15, 20 minutes, let me take a crap and find my friggin’ license, you make coffee yet?”
“Yep and the bacon’s on too.”
“Jesus, Cole! Do you ever stop fuckin’ eating? I’m still stuffed ! See ya in a bit”
I had to get rid of last nights grillins; Springtime fishing is a endless bounty of freezer stuffers and we had a great time at our local honey hole yesterday. The smallmouth bass were hitting anything we threw at ‘em and Cole was just itching to get an early start.
My guts were a little uneasy after all the food we cooked last night and I was in no hurry. I gathered up my tackle and found the license laying on the floor of the gazebo. It must of fell out of my pocket when I finally collapsed in front of the fireplace.
I was jarred awake around 1 am to the sound of thunder and made my way inside to
finish off the dream . . .
It was a good one too!
All I remember was a carton of Moonpies, a six pack of Cokes and a muddy Jeep ride with some tight jeans and a clean white T. . .
Cole lives down a twisting lane, fenced on both sides, so it was easy for my groggy eyes to blindly follow the gravel path. I realized not far along though, that it had rained pretty good last night. I hit a couple of puddles and got my ass wet, without having the doors on the Jeep.
I smelled the breakfast as I pulled up to the brightly lit house and had to dodge
Bruiser and One – Eye, Cole’s coon hounds. Who instinctively start howling
when they hear the Jeep coming half a mile away! They go into that mode when its dark out, regardless whether we’re going or not.
“Find your license?”
“Yep, Got coffee?”
“Sure do, grab a seat, ya want toast?”
“Sure, I ain’t in no hurry. The roads gonna be wet as shit, it poured last night. Andy’s field is full again”.
Cole slid a plateful in front of me and set his down. Then went and grabbed our coffee.
“Gonna have to lock the hubs in to get down to the river. It’s gonna be sloppy for sure.
You’re gonna have to take the tractor to your drive, it washed out again down by the cedars.”
“Damn, think I’ll need more gravel?”
“Nahh, just a brushing’ll do’er” . . .
“Maybe pull some in from the lower edge.”
“Thanks for the eggs”.
“Sure, there’s more bacon if ya want.”
“Nah, I’m good…ya ready?”
“You kidding? I cant wait to start casting, that was a ball yesterday.”
“Sure was! Well lets git goin then.” (I grab the bacon.)
We locked the hubs in and pulled out, Bruiser and One – Eye followed along,
till I could hear their howls diminish, like they always do.
I didn’t have the fence to guide me any more. So it was a little harder to see
especially going down through the wooded trail.
All of a sudden an owl came swooping down from my left! Scared the shit out of me!
(didn’t think I had any left) and when I ducked, I pulled the wheel to the right,
that sucked us downward into the gully, I nailed the gas and the mud started to fly.
I knew I had to keep from getting stuck in that ravine. Well, I cut it back to the left again and she started to climb back up out of a certain mire. When all of a sudden,
I saw an old dead fall, with it’s outcropping of branches headed right for my grill!
Still in threat of sliding down into the deep ditch, I had to keep going.
The screeeeeeeching of metal and wood brings cringes to me as it rubs its way along. Snapping and popping as the brittle twigs break free from the trunk.
I managed to save us from going into the ravine. But in that quick instant a branch had reached up into her innards and rendered us immobile. I imagined, it had popped the Z Bar off of the clutch.
Well, I shut her off and climbed out. Kicking and grabbing sticks and twigs, cussing and growling.
I hurriedly got the hood cleared off and opened it up in fear of the battery shorting out or a broken gas line.
Nothing was injured inside the engine compartment. I sighed a little sighhhhh of relief.
So, the next thing was to crawl underneath and look for the Z Bar to try and pop it back on.
I’m on my back under the front end and the water is starting to soak my shirt. I holler out: “Cole bring me the flashlight. It’s in the glove box between the seats!”
I yell again, “Hurry up I’m getting wet!”
Suddenly I feel a hand on my crotch, I clang my head loudly on the metal undercarriage and scream out, “WHAT THE FUCK !”
I clamber on out from underneath the Jeep and there stands Cole:
With a Moonpie and a Coke, in a white T, and his fat ass tightly encased in blue jeans!!!
~Outdoors2 5/08
this is another story written for a “Twisted Tales Challenge” @ Redbubble
I’d let you go.
untouched unseen
Faded dull,
became your sheen
With lack of heed
your jeweled patine
tarnished
green
by envies course
We shared this view
As longed for each
To blush
again so soon
To strip you down
with oiled scents
callous hands
massaged back
Smooth
Though done before
caressed and buffed
Polished
once more
to all your splendor
We’ll let them know
We share this
Bond
By winning
First in show
~Outdoors2 5/08
Have you ever woke to that perfect day?
The one where everything beforehand has been tediously planned,
all the details scrutinized, checked off and gone over thrice!
The only thing left to do the night before is relax, chat about the
upcoming events and get a good nights rest, for the trip ahead.
Trust me, this was “That” day. We woke to the smell of the
timed coffee, the birds calling their splendor to the new dawn.
The sun, just starting to rise over the lake. Suddenly the alarm
breaks the stillness with the Neil Young, put in to listen,
as we rolled around last night.
Signaled, we rise and prepare for the day ahead.
Ambling downstairs, I think of last minute details, such as
the windows and doors locked up, all the powered electronics
off’ed and phone calls to the others to see if there is anything,
anything at all we could have possibly forgotten. Quickly the bagels
go into the toaster and the cream cheese taken out to soften.
Wallet is found, purse set to the ready.
Ah! Toilet paper!
Everything, just as planned!
All the little miscellaneous little do-dads gathered in our arms,
we head outside and dump the burdens on the front seat.
After an observant walk around, we both Jump in and ready
for this, so needed getaway.
Buckled up and all set, I turn the key.
The alarm goes off!
It’s raining hard,….. and Like a Hurricane, is Blaring across the Airwaves
I reach over and touch your back, So starts another, Perfect Day
Originally posted as “The Trip”, for a Twisted Tales Challenge…Here
With a swift crack of the crop
He neighs as he rears and hoofs come down hard.
Pounding the ground ‘thump’ with a thunderous bolt.
Faster than the grasshoppers among Timothy grass.
Yah!! She yells and he bucks a wicked once.
He continues his stride longer and faster
as she grabs his mane tighter with screams
Yah!! Yah!!
to where they are headed is with out a care
but the ride is the limits, if limits were there
Faster!, Faster!
Till all bristles are straight. As if a paint brush
quickly readying to stroke virgin canvas
This portrait of ecstasy is done by a master
The clods that he scours, fly by in a flash
the few that have circled are on their way back
Yah!! Yah!!
He jumps in his canter, as he’s off on this dash.
She pitches to the left as the gritty balls fly,
then back to the right to avoid her sweet sighs.
The river ahead will clean them up well!
The moisture of sweat slipstreaming her thighs.
He slows to a trot,
As the river is thick, overflowing its banks.
She releases his cape in a unparalleled quench.
He kneels down as if bow, then her legs cast away.
They shiver the calmness, after this ride of midday
~Outdoors2 5/08
Chili ’s not made with all measures of which,
But dashes of that and handfuls of this.
Big chunks of onion and plenty of sauce,
Squeezed to extract and steeped in the rue
Tomatoes chopped up and and pushed in to stew
Add cumin not spooned but shook with a shake
The most cayenne also that your stomach can take
The mushrooms are thrown from the woods to the pot
Just a half jig of ‘basco, to get her plenty hot
So slice up the sausage and grind up beef too
This brew will be ready in an hour or two
Still the true test will come as it sits and melds sin
Tomorrow’s guarantee? You’ll have to stay in…;P
~Outdoors2
We gather at Joe’s on a crisp October morning, Coffee for most. Beer for some. The `man’ hug shared among the core. We chat about what chainsaw needs sharpening, who has the percosets (for laters back relief), the deer in the field, which log pile to start on and who’s position is who’s at the splitter.It starts out with three or four `supervisors’ (usually the beer drinkers) directing the mass confusion and stumbling around trying to help the roughshod process turn into a smooth running, orchestrated production. After the initial burst of enthusiasm things settle in and each finds their own spot among the group and accepts the designated or perceived position that needs their filling. The day wears on as we each relinquishes the worn out soldier from the strenuous task they, too, had taken over from the one before him. Lunch brings a long awaited break from the chore that we never prepare for. Moaning and groans, bandages replaced, war stories told about the log that almost… the finger…the toe! All smile at the mornings accomplishment. Each knowing the necessity to keep the winter stoves stoked will cost these little scars. Break time passes and few head off to football practice, the tree stand, shopping whatever other life deed needs to be done this fall day. Besides, wearing oneself out from each years ritual. The core continues on..a well tuned, greased machine is all that remains now. The rhythm goes unbroken as switching eachs’ task, is a premonition known far in advance, before failure in this chain of events. The last pile dwindles quickly, as the remains are cleaned up and every odd piece is put through the mill, Finding it’s fate eventually on the stack. The field is scanned again for the evening feeders, the saws gathered up, stray files found, Tailgates put up, a pat on the back and the final Man hug given.
~Outdoors2 5/08
Thanks, Rachel …be whole now
Been There !
I’m from the oceans
or is it the seas
could be the valleys
a deep side of me
I’m scattered on plains
cast far across rows
or is it the prairie
where my soul blows
I’m born out of springs
trickled from earth
might be the rivers
which I am birthed
I’m an ort of granite
from mountain so wide
but soft as the magma
deep down inside
I’m bayous and swamps
a quag to be mired
stalled to a halt
mossed beauty admired
I’m wherever You are
You’re one in the same
whoever you are
whatever Your name
Care not where
nor what you were then
Who you are now
means more than you’ve been
~ RRS ~ Outdoors2 4/08
the day we went cycling
in the hot summer sun
the wind on our skin
I fell
sat there crying
you came to kiss my bruises
I tried to stop you at the scratches
you looked at me
and kissed them anyway
that day
a garden bloomed
in my heart
I still smell
the flowers
~*~
If I was coming off fast
and my love of it, was pure
The best of the best
would be…
what I wanted for sure
Each of us has our own
So to recommend isn’t fair
just get what you’ve been missing
I just know that you’ll care
The test of time will have taken
it’s toll on your tongue
If only you knew
of what my fasting is from
Mine wasn’t Chocolate or Honey
tho sweet it is true
My restrictions were of
the wonderful tasting of …You
~Me
~~~*~~~
© ~RRS, ~Outdoors2
Artwork by…Kuryosity
a Tree and a River
Role reversals as they grow
The need for each other is always there, Always supporting the other whether the water is brushing the roots or not. The River gives life to the Tree with it’s nourishment and the Trees’ root strength confine the River to its banks. When the River swells the Tree may topple, But certainly clinging to the banks with the tiniest threads for self preservation, knowing if it is plucked from the earth and cast off it is nevermore. The Tree stays close enough to the source of nourishment so it can still survive with minuscule effort and care from the River. Still the Tree holds on, not to succumb to the torrential waters as they erode away the slopes. Then through time, refreshment and reflection, the Tree starts to rebuild, renew with a rebirth. Not as it was. But stronger now that it’s previous branches take hold the silt and burrow to grasp deeper. Still fully aware this very well could be it’s last chance, For another storm of greater intensity would surely carry it to the tangled jam below. With nothing but confusion among its mass. Slowly the Tree will grow strong again with the fulfillment of its need from the River. As the River stays within it’s course and strays not from its channel with the myriad of the Trees new growth, expansion and strength.Till the damn Logger comes and shreds all hope
~RRS, ~Outdoors2 2/08
Outdoors2 