Mmmm

Mmmm - I feel good….

With a ‘Breath of fresh Ayr’
To start your day,
And 'Honest Men'
Along the way,
'Bonnie Lasses'
To help you stay,
Aye, Ayr’s the place,
To be today…

© ali-p 2003

Parting Ways (The Day The Music Died)

The last note still ringing in his ears, the night’s events still swirling around in his head, he walks out of the door into the warm evening air.  The entire atmosphere is one of joyous sadness.  Emotions course through the air, giving it some sort of charge.  The next morning shall be the last exchange of the drink of the fruit of passion, and yet the solemn first for him.  Later tomorrow he knows, they all know, that they must part ways.  They must all leave their oasis of comfort and security to dive again into the vast sea of reality, of conformity.  Yet still they cherish it, hold on to it.  Even in the last moments of such a magical night, they open their minds, their hearts, open their souls to each other and learn to love that which is there in what others have exposed.  The chants of “…MORE, MORE, MORE, MORE” truly resound in not only everyone’s thoughts but in their utmost desires.  

Late that night, lying in that same old bed for the last time, gazing up at the concrete ceiling.  Finally, his thoughts allowed to sit and slowly filter out.  Shock, insubordinate yet knowingly unjust anger.  A few muttered words from the other side of the room, a brief agreement of opinions. Then silence.  The hazy recollection of events over the past three weeks, the bittersweet insanity which so marked each and every day.  The mistakes made, the friendships formed, the battles lost and won.  And as all of this starts to settle down into a gentle murmur, he drifts off into sleep.

The next morning, torn from the warm embrace of his frail sheets, down to the circle, sips from the glass, toasts to a fallen comrade.  Soon enough the group all progressed to go through their daily routines one final time.  They returned to what they knew was the inevitable.

They were there, it was time to be rounded up and brought back to their respective lives.  Tears were shed, last goodbyes, every single one of them joined as one united being, as one entity separate from their single selves.  Each and every one of them will never leave the spot they were when they knew it was time they had to leave.  Those who knew they could never return let fall the rains of their misery.  Their true love for something so intangible yet so true and so real ripped apart their true selves and lovingly joined their true selves back together in an instant.

But, as inevitabilities go, by midday it was empty and silent.  Once could almost feel on the air all that had occurred there so few hours ago.  That evening, He finally lay in bed before sleep.  All were dispersed from that place they cherished so dear, back in the true world but thinking of naught but what they had left behind.

And all at once, without warning, from places near and far came the sound of 300 voices:  “This will be the day that I die…”

A global interest in all things cosy

Cosiness is a broad concept. It is a feeling of refuge, comfort and wellbeing. It is the idea of being in a space where you feel completely content and at ease.

During the pandemic, global interest in all things cosy has risen. Across interiors products, keywords related to cosy living rose 46% in the UK and 11% in the US. "Cacooning" was one of Pinterests' top trends for 2021, and "cosy aesthetic outfits" rose 100% from last year.

Rosslyn Chapel - Heinrich Hansen

A Suicide Bombing

An unimaginably loud explosion,
Is followed by broken glass,
And the screams of women and children,
Who are caught up in the blast.

They are caught up in a conflict,
It is catching up with all their lives,
It hasn’t asked for what it’s taken,
And it won’t apologise.

The people open their eyes,
Or at least all those who can,
They don’t want to see the damage,
Dealt by the bombers hand.

They survey all the bleeding,
They hear the cries of pain,
They struggle to comprehend this,
And they start to feel the strain.

A half a dozen are dead,
Fathers, mothers and sons,
And no one can answer the question:
In all this loss, just who has won?

What would drive a person
To board a bus with this in his head?
The survivors don’t know the reason,
Anyone who does is probably dead.

Message

Upon a mailbox
I did stumble
And all that I wished
Was to leave a message
Perfect, like they were.
This is what I left:

I want to leave a message
Something Beautiful
And touching
Yet witty
And humorous
Intelligent
But not pretentious...

I guess this will work

I love you.
That is all.

Soul Mates

I could stand here and challenge fate
With no one else but you
Is it all worth the wait
Or will you just hurt me too

I’ve learned to stand behind
Everything you’ve said
Just when everyone said
I should listen to them instead

You have put me on a pedestal
I’ll always call you king
You tell me I’m your angel
Let me fix your broken wing

I need to be complete
I need to take my chance
If our souls are meant to meet
Lets give them the chance to dance

Danyon L. Youngs
2-11-02

Havana Harbor - Willard Metcalf

Don't snow me

it's every fear that you dared to ignore
in a shiny black mercedes and walking up to your door
but if you don't like me anymore then why am i here
i can see millions of voices behind your every sneer

bury me underground
i will not make a sound
you're pushing my teeth in
you're making a scene again
you'll find yourself alone in the end.

it’s every hand that you declined
there's nothing left to do when i am stuck in mine
dropping a heart when it beats out of time
i need my indifference just to survive  

bury me underground
i won't make a sound
you're pushing my teeth in
you're making a scene again
you'll find yourself alone, in the end.

do what it wants and bend till you break
my apathetic face is starting to ache
smiling at the walls proved too much to take
so we took to digging holes instead  

bury me underground
i won't make a sound
you're pushing my teeth in
you're pushing my teeth in
you're making a scene again
you'll find yourself alone, in the end.

My Own Broken Mirror

It’s my perfect distortion
My face mirrored, and split by emotion
Toyed with and tainted as I move
From one to another, I fit to the grooves

Of the loose ends of sharpness that gather to unite
To be perfectly fitted
And renewed to the mirrored spite
Unnoticeably broken
But brittle and rough
Stand from afar, and admire the muffs

Help with the pane
Move to uncertainty
Lure the cheery light
And cure my fearful fright.

It’s my perfect distortion
That I recognize so well
But help me see
What the others see but tell.
Are the pieces lost?
Slipped through the cracks?
Fallen through to the dangerous high acts?
I’ll never know of my pieces that are missing.
Mold the old to fit the space
Kiss the glass, even of bad taste

Forever, but never made
To be new
Just molded and distorted
To create a familiar you

Of mirrored light, broken,
But Forever Bright.
Please stay with the brittle pane
Until the sun goes down
And pain fades
And new lights of distorted beauty
Reign again

Male Nude(Apollo Poynter) - Albrecht Durer

Expensive creams and potions won't make you more beautiful

Author Timothy" target="_blank" class="inline-link">http://www.salon.com/2015/... Caulfield spent years researching the science behind celebrity health and beauty tips. He found that most beauty products had either no data behind them or very small and unreliable studies to back up the fantastical claims.

Using beauty products in your daily routine is not bad, but the promises they carry on their labels are probably bunk. When they come with heavy price tags, you're probably getting ripped off.