TOMORROW MIGHT NOT COME

By Estelle Cortes Pimentel

Please tell people you love them, 

life is so fragile. 

Don't wait to bring flowers to the graveyard, 

it wouldn't matter to the ones buried there. 

Give them flowers while they can still smell them, 

and marvel at their beauty.

Dance with them,

Hold their hands,

Sit with them in silence,

Do all that while you can,

Tomorrow might not come.

~Estelle~

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©️Estelle Cortes Pimentel

All Rights Reserved

Epitafio Antes de la Muerte

By Estelle Cortes Pimentel 

Epitafio Antes de la Muerte

There will be regrets

When I am gone,

When you can no longer

Hold my hand.

Don't shed a tear for me,

Don't cry for my name.

Don't say a prayer for me,

Nor put flowers on my grave.

I will have no need

For meaningless epitaphs,

Nor prayers for the dead,

I will face the Maker on my own.

I will lay bare my Soul,

The Maker have seen it all-

My deeds, my thoughts, my flaws.

I have no fear.

   Because I have loved and cried,

   I have pained and hoped, 

  God knows I tried.

  I gave my best to the people I love,

  I tried to do good

   be fair to others,

  And yes I love with passion-

   No in-betweens.

So save your words, 

Say what you have to say,

Your love, your hate for me,

Say it while I'm still here. 

Too late for apologies later.

~Estelle~

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©️Estelle Cortes Pimentel

All Rights Reserved

FIFTY-THREE SUNSETS

By Melany Amante Mabao Maguindanao

26 April 2025

"Fifty-Three Sunsets"

Today,

the wind carries no candles,

no familiar voices calling out my name.

Just the hush of the boulevard

and the sun—

slowly bowing out of the day

like an old friend who knows when to leave quietly.

Fifty-three times the earth has circled the sun for me.

And here I am—

not at home,

but somehow, more at home

in the silence,

in the burning horizon,

in the sacred hush between what was and what might be.

I do not count the years anymore.

I count the courage it took to survive them.

I count the mornings I chose to rise

even when nothing called me beautiful.

But today, I will.

Today, I call myself beautiful—

Not for the way I look in the golden light,

but for all the times I kept going

when I could have faded

with the sun.

Lifted from Ringers From The T

25 April 2025

THE ANZAC ON THE WALL

I wandered thru a country town, 'cos I had some time to spare, 

And went into an antique shop to see what was in there.

Old Bikes and pumps and kero lamps, but hidden by it all, 

A photo of a soldier boy – an Anzac on the Wall.

 

'The Anzac have a name?' I asked. The old man answered 'No'.

The ones who could have told me mate, have passed on long ago. 

The old man kept on talking and, according to his tale, 

The photo was unwanted junk bought from a clearance sale.

'I asked around', the old man said, 'but no-one knows his face, 

He's been on that wall twenty years... Deserves a better place. 

For some-one must have loved him, so it seems a shame somehow.'

I nodded in agreement and then said, 'I'll take him now.' 

My nameless digger's photo, well it was a sorry sight 

A cracked glass pane and a broken frame - I had to make it right

To prise the photo from its frame I took care just in case, 

Cause only sticky paper held the cardboard back in place. 

I peeled away the faded screed and much to my surprise,

Two letters and a telegram appeared before my eyes

The first reveals my Anzac's name, and regiment of course 

John Mathew Francis Stuart - of Australia's own Light Horse.

This letter written from the front... My interest now was keen 

This note was dated August seventh 1917 

'Dear Mum, I'm at Khalasa Springs not far from the Red Sea

They say it's in the Bible - looks like a Billabong to me.  

'My Kathy wrote I'm in her prayers... she's still my bride to be 

I just can't wait to see you both, you're all the world to me.

And Mum you'll soon meet Bluey, last month they shipped him out 

I told him to call on you when he's up and about.' 

  

'That bluey is a larrikin, and we all thought it funny

He lobbed a Turkish hand grenade into the CO's dunny. 

I told you how he dragged me wounded, in from no man's land 

He stopped the bleeding, closed the wound, with only his bare hand.'

'Then he copped it at the front from some stray shrapnel blast 

It was my turn to drag him in and I thought he wouldn't last. 

He woke up in hospital, and nearly lost his mind

Cause out there on the battlefield he'd left one leg behind.' 

'He's been in a bad way Mum, he knows he'll ride no more 

Like me he loves a horse's back, he was a champ before.

So Please Mum can you take him in, he's been like my own brother 

Raised in a Queensland orphanage he' s never known a mother.' 

But Struth, I miss Australia Mum, and in my mind each day

I am a mountain cattleman on high plains far away. 

I'm mustering white-faced cattle, with no camel's hump in sight 

And I waltz my Matilda by a campfire every night

I wonder who rides Billy, I heard the pub burnt down 

I'll always love you and please say hooroo to all in town'.  

The second letter I could see, was in a lady's hand

An answer to her soldier son there in a foreign land. 

Her copperplate was perfect, the pages neat and clean 

It bore the date, November 3rd 1917.

'T'was hard enough to lose your Dad, without you at the war 

I'd hoped you would be home by now - each day I miss you more' 

'Your Kathy calls around a lot since you have been away

To share with me her hopes and dreams about your wedding day. 

And Bluey has arrived - and what a godsend he has been 

We talked and laughed for days about the things you've done and seen'

'He really is a comfort, and works hard around the farm, 

I read the same hope in his eyes that you won't come to harm. 

McConnell's kids rode Billy, but suddenly that changed.

We had a violent lightning storm, and it was really strange.' 

'Last Wednesday, just on midnight, not a single cloud in sight, 

It raged for several minutes, it gave us all a fright.

It really spooked your Billy - and he screamed and bucked and reared 

And then he rushed the sliprail fence, which by a foot he cleared' 

'They brought him back next afternoon, but something's changed I fear

It's like the day you brought him home, for no one can get near. 

Remember when you caught him with his black and flowing mane? 

Now Horse breakers fear the beast that only you can tame,'

'That's why we need you home son' - then the flow of ink went dry- 

This letter was unfinished, and I couldn't work out why. 

Until I started reading, the letter number three

A yellow telegram delivered news of tragedy,

Her son killed in action - oh - what pain that must have been 

The same date as her letter - 3rd November 1917 

This letter which was never sent, became then one of three

She sealed behind the photo's face - the face she longed to see. 

And John's home town's old timers - children when he went to war 

Would say no greater cattleman had left the town before.

They knew his widowed mother well - and with respect did tell 

How when she lost her only boy she lost her mind as well. 

She could not face the awful truth, to strangers she would speak

'My Johnny's at the war you know, he's coming home next week.' 

They all remembered Bluey he stayed on to the end. 

A younger man with wooden leg became her closest friend.

And he would go and find her when she wandered old and weak 

And always softly say 'yes dear - John will be home next week.' 

Then when she died Bluey moved on, to Queensland some did say.

I tried to find out where he went, but don't know to this day.

And Kathy never wed - a lonely spinster some found odd. 

She wouldn't set foot in a church - she'd turned her back on God.

John's mother left no Will I learned on my detective trail. 

This explains my photo's journey, of that clearance sale.

So I continued digging, cause I wanted to know more.

I found John's name with thousands, in the records of the war. 

His last ride proved his courage - a ride you will acclaim 

The Light Horse Charge at Beersheba of everlasting fame.

That last day in October, back in 1917 

At 4pm our brave boys fell - that sad fact I did glean.

That's when John's life was sacrificed, the record's crystal clear

But 4pm in Beersheba is midnight over here......  

So as John's gallant spirit rose to cross the great divide, 

Were lightning bolts back home, a signal from the other side?

Is that why Billy bolted and went racing as in pain? 

Because he'd never feel his master on his back again? 

Was it coincidental? same time - same day - same date?

Some proof of numerology, or just a quirk of fate?

I think it's more than that you know, as I've heard wiser men, 

Acknowledge there are many things that go beyond our ken

Where craggy peaks guard secrets 'neath dark skies torn asunder, 

Where hoof-beats are companions to the rolling waves of thunder 

Where lightning cracks like 303's and ricochets again

Where howling moaning gusts of wind sound just like dying men. 

Some Mountain cattlemen have sworn on lonely alpine track, 

They've glimpsed a huge black stallion - Light Horseman on his back.

Yes Sceptics say, it's swirling clouds just forming apparitions 

Oh no, my friend you can't dismiss all this as superstition.  

The desert of Beersheba - or windswept Aussie range,

John Stuart rides on forever there - Now I don't find that strange.  

Now some gaze upon this photo, and they often question me  

And I tell them a small white lie, and say he's family.

'You must be proud of him.' they say - I tell them, one and all, 

That's why he takes - the pride of place - my Anzac on the Wall.

By Jm Brown.

LIFE, DEATH AND BEYOND

By Jeffrey Cejero

Life, Death and Beyond

jepoy

Life and death 

These two are the grand mysteries in the tapestry of the cosmos

Intertwine from each other

But what is the meaning of life and death, and beyond?

Death is not the eternal blanket of darkness 

Wrapping the mortal body that once had the breath of life

Nor the soul that ceases to be one with the flesh

Nor the spirit that fails to persevere the trials brought by the road of life.

 

For we live on in hearts that once beat as one

In memories of love, laughter, tears, pain

Of yesterdays where our essence still remains

We survive in recollections of joy and suffering

Of love's warm touch, of hatred's lingering stain

Of hope's resilient spark, of desperation's struggles

Echoes that linger, never truly saying goodbye.

Life's thread is severed not by mortal breath

But when memory fades,

When the last person whom we've touched 

Can no longer remember our name, our story

Lost beyond them all

Then flowers stop visiting our forgotten stone

Our flesh, bones, love and emotions 

Life including death are reduced to timeless dusts of nothingness

Carried away by the sad whistling of the wind

Until it will be swept away by eternity's river of time

Leaving nothing but silence, where memory was once... resided.

 

Before death comes...

Let us cultivate the flowers of love

Harvest and share the honey of smiles and the fruits of labor

And if we have more, extend the rain of blessings

Offer the umbrella of kindness to those suffering from the storms of life.

Give the touch of healing, and hugs of comfort and compassion.

 

Live to love, to give joy and to be kind

Live to accept, not to judge someone

Live with a purpose to shine the goodness of life

It's the only way to live eternally, 

Leaving a legacy of love, kindness and compassion.

WHISPERING STARS

18 April 2025

By Jeffrey Cejero

Whispering Stars

jepoy

Star dreams rise lifting soul freely,

Filling heart with ecstasy,

Bringing joy to you and me.

Star dreams rise lifting soul freely.

Whispering stars, shining so bright,

Filling life with pure delight,

Bringing hope to darkest night,

Whispering stars, shining so bright.

Dreams ignite, a soul with light,

Filling spirit with warm delight,

Whispering stars guiding at night,

Dreams ignite a soul with light.

Raindrops glow like star soft sight,

Filling heart with gentle might,

Reflecting whispers of morning light,

Raindrops glow like star soft sight.

Star dreams rise lifting soul freely,

Filling heart with ecstasy,

Bringing joy to you and me.

Star dreams rise lifting soul freely.

ABOU BEN ADHEM

ABOU BEN ADHEM 

(1834)

By Leigh Hunt 

(1784 - 1859)

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!)

Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,

And saw, within the moonlight in his room,

Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,

An angel writing in a book of gold:—

Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,

And to the presence in the room he said,

"What writest thou?"—The vision raised its head,

And with a look made of all sweet accord,

Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord."

"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,"

Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,

But cheerly still; and said, "I pray thee, then,

Write me as one that loves his fellow men."

The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night

It came again with a great wakening light,

And showed the names whom love of God had blest,

And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.

Overview

"Abou Ben Adhem" is a poem written in 1834 by the English critic, essayist and poet Leigh Hunt. It concerns a pious Middle Eastern sheikh who finds the 'love of God' to have blessed him. The poem has been praised for its non-stereotypical depiction of an Arab. 

Wikipedia

Faith, Love, and Humanity

“Abou Ben Adhem” is a short, fable-like poem that suggests people can best express love for God by simply loving their fellow human beings. Compassion and empathy are presented as the true principles of religion, above the need to pay lip service to a jealous or attention-hungry God.

Source: Literature 

Information. This is an illustration of a poem of the same name by Leigh Hunt (1784-1859), the poet, essayist and journalist. The poem describes the moment when Abou Ben Adhem awakes to find an angel in his room, writing the names of those who love God 'in a book of gold. ' Ben Adhem requests that his name be included. 

Source: Liverpool Museum 

POETRY: ESSAY and CONCLUSION

By Jeffrey Cejero

Writing journey LEVEL UP! Poetry with a counterpart of creative essay and a conclusion! 

***************

Unbroken Spirit Blooms

jepoy

In forest depths, a fierce storm did sway,

A tree once stood, with roots so deep in gray.

Fell to the ground, its future asleep,

Crushed by wild winds, its branches did creep.

Its branches crawled, across the earth,

Drinking sunlight of new birth.

Roots revived, with strength renewed,

A phoenix rising, its spirit imbued.

Through seasons dark, and winters cold,

It persevered, young life to hold.

Years went by, like falling rain,

Nourishing growth, easing pain.

At last it stood, upright and tall,

Bearing fruits, for one and all.

Juicy sweet, with seeds inside,

A testament to perseverance's pride.

Courage renewed, with every fall,

Rising again, standing tall.

For when we fall, like this tree laid low,

Perseverance yields success, as fruits start to grow.

*****************

Perseverance Yields Success: The Unyielding Spirit of a Fallen Tree

In the heart of a dense forest, a mighty tree once stood tall, its branches stretching towards the sky, drinking in the sunlight and rainfall. However, fate had other plans, and one silent night, a fierce storm swept through, knocking the tree to the ground. Its trunk lay broken, its branches were almost shattered, its roots exposed, and its future seemingly doomed. Yet, this fallen tree refused to surrender, embodying the powerful spirit of perseverance that yields success.

At first glance, the tree's situation appeared hopeless. Its vertical stance was reduced to a horizontal struggle, leaves withered, and bark cracked. Its friends- the birds and the insects were all crying in pain for they might lost their friend, protector and home. But beneath the surface, a spark within remained ignited. The tree began to adapt, its roots slowly creeping outward, grasping for sustenance in the soil. Its former proud branches, once reaching for the sky, now sprawled sideways, humbly drinking in sunlight filtered through nearby foliage.

Seasons passed, and the tree endured extreme temperatures, rainfall, and droughts. Still, it persevered, nourishing its damaged core. Inner strength revived outer beauty; new leaves budded, and fresh bark formed. The fallen tree transformed into a struggling to survive, then crawling creature of sorts until it finally stood upright again, albeit differently.

Years went by, and the tree flourished. Its unique shape iis a testament of its resilience, attracting more birds to nest and more insects to thrive on its bark. Most remarkably, it produced fruits – sweet and juicy – a testament to perseverance yielding success. Passersby would pluck and taste, marveling at the tree's capacity to overcome adversity and bloom.

***********

Lesson:

The fallen tree's inspiring story teaches us that perseverance yields success. Like this unyielding tree, we must embrace our own struggles, adapt, preserve inner strength, and push forward – for it is in overcoming adversity that we discover our true potential and produce the sweet fruits of triumph.

_____________

Thanks to my daughter- Jema, for the illustration.

DANCE

Lifted from Rumi

We all dance through the grand hall of life, never knowing when the music will fade. Yet, one thing is certain...it won’t play forever. Every step we take, every twirl we make, is singular, never to be repeated.

So make each dance meaningful.

Find joy in the simple moments.

Be kind, generous, and thoughtful.

Let love be the rhythm that guides your every move.

Forgive swiftly, love deeply.

Recognize the impact you leave on the world and on those around you.

Though the dance may be fleeting, it can be filled with grace and purpose. Live each day with passion, and ensure your final dance is a celebration of a life beautifully lived. 

~Unknown 

Beautiful Art via Pinterest

LIFE IS A CHESSBOARD

Lifted from Melany

As a chess enthusiast, I’ve always been captivated by the game’s wisdom and how its lessons extend far beyond the board. Each piece, with its unique power and purpose, mirrors the complexities of life, teaching us strategy, patience, and the beauty of thoughtful actions. Inspired by this, I’ve written the following poem to reflect on life’s parallels with the game I love.

Life is a Chessboard

By Melany Amante Mabao Maguindanao 

Pawn moves slow, its steps are small,

Yet persistence leads to standing tall.

From humble roots, great things arise,

Dreams transform before our eyes.

The knight leaps wide, unbound by line,

It finds new paths where stars align.

Creative minds will always see,

A way through life’s complexity.

The bishop glides with focused aim,

A visionary in life’s great game.

With clarity, its reach expands,

Shaping futures with steady hands.

The rook stands firm, a pillar strong,

Its steadfast path both sure and long.

Reliability builds the trust,

A solid foundation a must.

The queen commands, a leader true,

Balancing roles, both bold and new.

With strategy and heart combined,

Guides the way with a brilliant mind.

The king moves slow, yet holds the key,

Protecting purpose, our "why" to be.

For in its heart, life’s meaning lies,

The core we cherish beneath the skies.

Each piece a role, each move a part,

A lesson in life, a work of art.

On the chessboard of life, we learn and grow,

Strategic steps in the paths we sow.

DAYBREAK DRIZZLE

8 January 2025

Daybreak Drizzle

by Melany Amante Mabao Maguindanao 

Everyone I know is fading away,

This heart bends under sorrow’s sway.

The pitter-patter upon the roof,

Mourns a rhythm stark and aloof.

The cold seeps deep, an unyielding toll,

Creeping from the depths of my soul.

Is this the burden of time’s cruel art,

To feel every absence tear at the heart?

Perhaps it’s not just age that I find,

But the shadow of loss etched in my mind.

The fleeting moments, so fragile, so rare,

Now linger as ghosts in the thinning air.

The rain, like tears, descends in despair,

A dirge for the love no longer there.

Through the storm’s lament, one truth remains,

Grief is the echo where love sustains.

In the quiet hours before the dawn,

I sit with my coffee, alone but drawn,

To the silence of thoughts, tangled and free,

Allowing myself to get lost in me.

A cig burns, and the world stands still,

As I drift in the quiet, lost at will."

Admin.

Fleeting and flowing. The rhymes are perfect with excellent threads weave in eloquence. Let me just admire your enchanting penchant for words so effortless to come forth from your well of bottomless knowledge and wisdom. Thank you Mel. I am in awe of your special gift.

DON'T WAIT TILL I'M GONE

3 January 2025

"Don’t wait til I’m gone

And then stand up to speak

About all the things 

That you loved about me

Don’t sing all my praises

Through all of your tears

When I am no longer 

Beside you to hear

Don’t leave all that love

Like a secret unsaid

But tell me tomorrow

Or right now instead

And I’ll tell you too

Of the things I admire

About who you are

And how much you inspire

I’ll speak from my heart

Whilst you’re still here to know

“You are” not “you were”

Or “it used to be so”

I’ll speak of your light

Whilst you’ll still hear the words

And not leave that love

In the darkness, unheard

So tell me tomorrow

Or right now - don’t wait

Because we don’t know 

When it might be too late

Because we don’t know

When our time might be up

And we need to hear - while we are here -

How we’re loved....."

@Becky Hemsley Poetry 

Artist: Bettina Baldassari - BettiPigna

AREN'T WE FORGETFUL?

3 January 2025

Aren't We Forgetful?

By Melany Amante Mabao Maguindanao 

Beneath the sky, a garden lay,

Where dreams were sown in earth and clay.

By hands of old, its roots took hold,

A haven green, a tale retold.

Seedlings sprouted, tended with care,

A promise of plenty, a future to share.

But greed crept in, with careless stride,

Shadows fell where hope once thrived.

The caretaker’s hands, they thought gentle and pure,

Turned selfish, blind, to wealth's allure.

He stripped the soil, he drained the streams,

He shattered, generations' dreams.

Workers murmured, their voices low,

As fear took root where flowers grow.

“The garden fades,” their whispers said,

“The fruits now rot, the earth lies dead.”

Corruption thrived in seasons past,

Its shadow long, its lessons vast.

Remember the father brought soil to grief,

Yet, now his offspring leads as the chief.

The Senior has long been dead,

Though whispers of ruin and shame still spread.

Son vows to mend, yet shadows remain,

For history repeats, and lessons wane.

Yet gardens live when love is sown,

Not greed that claims it for its own.

It takes a spark, a voice, a stand,

To heal the scars upon the land.

Shall they bow to despair’s cruel art,

Or rise as guardians, strong of heart?

Together, they could tend and mend,

The garden’s tale need not yet end.

For every leaf, for every bloom,

Chase away the creeping gloom.

A single spark can light the way,

And turn the night to brightest day.

So will they fight for roots and shade,

Or let the garden's glory fade?

The answer lives in every hand,

To guard the soil, reclaim the land.

Admin's Note:

Epic and sad saga applicable to the recent times and events. Humans are just a cycle of how it was in ancient days.

ACCEPTANCE

Lifted from English Literature

A poem by Robert Frost "Acceptance" 

Robert Frost

When the spent sun throws up its rays on cloud

And goes down burning into the gulf below,

No voice in nature is heard to cry aloud

At what has happened. Birds, at least, must know

It is the change to darkness in the sky.

Murmuring something quiet in its breast,

One bird begins to close a faded eye;

Or overtaken too far from its nest,

Hurrying low above the grove, some waif

Swoops just in time to his remembered tree.

At most he thinks or twitters softly, “Safe!

Now let the night be dark for all of me.

Let the night be too dark for me to see

Into the future. Let what will be be.”

A Collection of Poems by Robert Frost 

COFFEE GOES WITH MEMORIES

30 November 2024

MEMORIES 

(November 30, 1987)

Coffee goes with memories

Some are nice and some are not 

I keep the nice ones

I incinerated the not-so-nice ones. 

Today, I am looking back

My days as a Pharmacist 

Working in the busiest hub

In Quiapo, Metro Manila -

Thinking what would life be

Should I choose to stay 

In my homeland... which Today

Becomes a beleaguered country. 

The enemies of truth are out

In the open, no more in hiding.

The masks are taken down

To reveal the way of the clowns.

----

I brew coffee in that ritualistic kettle;

From a black kettle then pour into a pot.

A pot is calling the kettle black

The taste can never be justified. 

---

For the storms keep encircling 

Raging like monsters in the night 

The sleeping logs are stirred

They're torn apart slain and dead.

---

Destiny took me away from chaos 

Fate has me survived from misery 

Today, I found myself somewhere 

Holding my morning cup of coffee.

©️ Leah C Dancel 

30 November 2024

Orange 🍊 NSW

AUSTRALIA

I DO NOT LOVE YOU

Lifted from FB

I do not love you... 

~ PABLO NERUDA 

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz, 

or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off. 

I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, 

in secret, between the shadow and the soul. 

I love you as the plant that never blooms 

but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers; 

thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance, 

risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body. 

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. 

I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; 

so I love you because I know no other way than this: 

where I does not exist, nor you, 

so close that your hand on my chest is my hand, 

so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep. 

TO RISE ABOVE A COMMON GROUND

17 November 2024

A plea from a brother, a father, a grandfather... for the sake of peace who hasbeen deprived from being close to his own immediate family especially his growing grandchildren.

To one who seeks harm, and wishes us gone,

May love and light, awaken your heart's tone.

Why choose destruction, over compassion's way?

Can't we address mistakes, in a brighter day?

My son's young family, with dreams so bright,

Two little girls, shining with innocence light.

What drives your anger, your heart's dark night?

Can't we forgive, and walk in love's pure light?

Confront us, let's heal, with open hearts,

Embracing morals, decency, and love's sweet starts.

Fear God's wisdom, and choose a higher path,

Let kindness guide us, through life's turbulent math.

May your heart soften, and love prevail,

Let's break the chains, of hatred's heavy gale.

Let's rise above, and find common ground,

In peace, forgiveness, and love's profound.

SEEKING THAT PLACE

Late upload

Written a year ago today 

11 November 2024

I am seeking that place 

Where I can see the breeze; 

Fanned by the southerly wind,

Where the sun intimately feels my skin 

That mimics my cheeky grin.

A place that can sense my inner joy,

Secretly lurking beneath my Soul 

Bereft with conflict the world is known 

But happiness the day  exudes 

Upon my countenance it shall prevail.

There I will catch my breathe 

While basking in the beauty of the sunset.

©️Leah C Dancel 

Copyright ©️ 11 November 2023

All rights reserved 

NB

Written while in transit (train) to Cronulla, a spontaneous decision hoping to watch the sunset there but to no avail. It's my first time and apart from the sunset, I wasn't disappointed.  There's a next time to revisit the place again. 

Photo: 

This castle crown photo was captured as we passed through Regent Street at Redfern on our way home with my family.

HEROES REMASTERED

11 November 2024

On REMEMBRANCE DAY 

Yes, I miss my poetry... 

but my muse is still asleep.  

The seeds of inspiration lay dormant 

Not for long I hope and pray. 

My stubborn ilk lingers on

Finding that oasis somewhere 

Looking for healing of a drying fluid obscured by vagrancy 

of knots and crosses I can't win.

Yet...

Let me pause my quill aside 

Let me whisper a silent sigh 

Today, I remember the heroes 

Dead in blood for courage sake.

There in kachana Mediterranean Coast 

Their souls were laid to rest 

a hundred years and six years more!

©️ Leah C Dancel

All rights reserved 

11 November 2024

SH NSW AUSTRALIA

RAPUNZEL'S LOCKS

10 November 2024

Late upload 

Rapunzel's locks

Tresses in brunette 

Long to comb and braid

A climbing rope against the wall

Of  a secluded castle in sylvan's lair 

Forgotten by legends

Till a handsome Prince came  

To rescue his maiden fair 

From the wretched fairy

And took her to his kingdom. 

To be his queen forever more.

 ©️ Lola Inday 

11 November 2023

Ala mode

THE ARROW AND THE SONG

18 October 2024

English Literature Page 

"The Arrow and the Song" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

》Introduction:

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's poem, "The Arrow and the Song," delves into the profound theme of the lasting impact of words and actions. Through the metaphor of an arrow and its subsequent ripples, the poet explores the consequences of spoken words, urging readers to reflect on the responsibility associated with communication.

》Metaphorical Significance:

The central metaphor of the arrow serves as a potent symbol for the spoken word or action. Just as an arrow, once released, cannot be recalled, Longfellow suggests that words, once spoken, carry an irreversible power. This metaphor emphasizes the permanence of language, prompting readers to consider the weight of their verbal expressions.

》Ripple Effect and Consequences:

The imagery of the arrow creating ripples in a body of water serves to illustrate the ripple effect of our actions. Longfellow suggests that our words and deeds extend beyond their immediate impact, creating ongoing consequences that resonate in ways we may not fully comprehend. This concept encourages readers to recognize the interconnectedness of individual actions within the broader fabric of human experience.

》Reflection and Regret:

The reflective tone of the poem indicates a level of awareness on the part of the speaker. The realization that words have a lasting impact implies a sense of responsibility and accountability. This introspective moment in the poem encourages readers to consider the ethical dimensions of their communication, fostering a mindset that acknowledges the potential repercussions of thoughtless words.

》Emotional Resonance:

Longfellow infuses the poem with a melancholic tone, evoking an emotional response from the reader. This emotional resonance enhances the poem's effectiveness in conveying the gravity of its theme. The poignant language and imagery serve to underscore the significance of the message, prompting a deeper contemplation of the implications of our words and actions.

》Universal Relevance:

"The Arrow and the Song" transcends its immediate context, making it universally relevant. By addressing the timeless theme of the power of language, Longfellow's poem remains applicable across erent cultures and eras. This universality enhances the poem's enduring value and ensures its continued resonance with diverse audiences.

____________________________________

Book: The Poetry of Longfellow

PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE

Lifted from Eng. Lit.

18 October 2024

Come live with me and be my love,

And we will all the pleasures prove,

That Valleys, groves, hills, and fields,

Woods, or steepy mountain yields.

And we will sit upon the Rocks,

Seeing the Shepherds feed their flocks,

By shallow Rivers to whose falls

Melodious birds sing Madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of Roses

And a thousand fragrant posies,

A cap of flowers, and a kirtle

Embroidered all with leaves of Myrtle;

A gown made of the finest wool

Which from our pretty Lambs we pull;

Fair lined slippers for the cold,

With buckles of the purest gold;

A belt of straw and Ivy buds,

With Coral clasps and Amber studs:

And if these pleasures may thee move,

Come live with me, and be my love.

The Shepherds’ Swains shall dance and sing

For thy delight each May-morning:

If these delights thy mind may move,

Then live with me, and be my love.

By Christopher Marlowe, 

The Passionate Shepherd to His Love

SUNSHINE

08 October 2024

SILENT HOUR

Lifted from English Literature Info

“I love the silent hour of night,

For blissful dreams may then arise,

Revealing to my charmed sight

What may not bless my waking eyes.”

Anne Brontë - Best Poems of the Brontë Sisters.

Anna Billing

AUTUMN AURA

Quote:

“I loved autumn, the one season of the year that God seemed to have put there just for the beauty of it.” ~Lee Maynard

AUTUMN AURA

Midday draped the heart of silver crisps

Beckons far from the horizon 

I draw a joy of radiances in the fluffy clouds 

Seasoned happiness transcends 

When I illuminate a canvas of jubilant expression 

I embrace a dream of amber hues 

Meticulously, it grows to the Northern Sky

A flurry of zephyrs arrives with Autumn aura 

Traversing through a century of kisses 

That’s when a ripple reverberates on my body 

Riding over the moment 

With an abundance of joys

(C) Hum Ale 

PC: Google

"Enriched by a vocabulary, a flurry of descriptive autumn beauty that buoys the imagination of both the writer and the readers' spirit, this certainly is a place to go to." ~Admin.