Be like a train; go in the rain,

go in the sun, go in the storm,

go in the dark tunnels!

Be like a train;

concentrate on your road

and go with no hesitation!
~Mehmet Murat ildan


Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life.

It turns what we have into enough...

.........and more.

It turns denial into acceptance,
chaos to order, confusion to clarity.

It can turn a meal into a feast,

a house into a home,

a stranger into a friend.

~Melody Beattie


Don't be satisfied with stories,

how things have gone with others.

***Unfold your own myth.***
~Rumi


I hope you will go out and let stories,

that is life, happen to you, and that

you will work with these stories . . .

water them with your blood &

tears & your laughter till they bloom,

till you yourself burst into bloom.

~Clarissa Pinkola Estes

Monday, 14 December 2015

A Favorite Christmas Poem





A CHRISTMAS CHILDHOOD
Patrick Kavanagh
Stanza II




My father played the melodeon
Outside at our gate;
There were stars in the morning east;
And they danced to his music.
Across the wild bogs his melodeon called
To Lennons and Callans
As I pulled on my trousers in a hurry.
I knew something strange had happened.



Outside in the cow house my mother
Made the music of milking;
The light of her stable-lamp was a star
And the frost of Bethlehem made it twinkle.
A water-hen screeched in the bog,
Mass going feet
Crunched the wafer-ice on the pot-holes,
Somebody wistfully twisted the bellows wheel.


My child poet picked out the letters
On the grey stone,
In silver the wonder of a 
Christmas townland,
The winking glitter of a frosty dawn.
Cassiopeia was over
Cassidy's hanging hill,
I looked and three whin bushes rode,  
The Three Wise Kings.


An old man passing said:
"Can't he make it talk"-
The melodeon, I hid in the doorway
And tightened the belt of my box-pleated coat.
I nicked six nicks on the door-post
With my penknife's big blade -
There was a little one for cutting tobacco.
And I was six Christmases of age.


My father played the melodeon,
My mother milked the cows,
And I had a prayer like a white rose pinned
On the Virgin Mary's blouse.





Patrick Kavanagh ~ Irish poet & novelist, 1904-1967