a dream of dreams

This is a poem I wrote nearly a year ago, inspired by a charming and fascinating site called Osseous Design: The Blog .      I happened upon the site one day when surfing, and wrote the date 1-24-17, and name of the Blog at the top of my notebook page.   Tracing back, I was able to find the unique  site, with its creative and innovative “faces” and an original painting and poem with a dream theme.    https://osseousdesign.wordpress.com/2017/01/08/identities/

I was moved to write a poem of my own in my notebook.   Here it is:

dream of dreams

a dream is never “just a dream”
but a manifestation of reveries
ever real, everlasting, ever true
figments of memories—

a dream is never “just a dream”
for much of life’s experience exists
within a world of somedays and might-have-beens
through which hopes and wishes bravely persist

those who discount or ignore life’s dreams
lose and squander the joy of make-believe…
forfeits the pretense and right to achieve
truth never known remains to perceive.

©Sometimes, 2017

Beginnings, a poem re-blogged from Paul F. Lenzi’s poseypluspolemics

 

One of my favorite poets, Paul F. Lenzi, of poesypluspolemics blog, included the Reblog button with his fascinating and most inspiring works of sheer genius of words…no need to ask me twice.  🙂  The Hubble Telescope shot is also breathtaking. Thanks Paul.

Poesy plus Polemics

pillars “Pillars of Creation” – Photo by Hubble Telescope

Secrets of creation hide deep in conflation
Of science with faith, of corpus with wraith,
Discrete bits of essence, immune from senescence,
That mark each warm creature, or cold lifeless feature,
Of all the known world, plus those unknown, thus hurled
Through vastness of space, push-pulled in their chase
By grave forces, unseen, save by eyes utmost keen
As detectors of naught, who find nothingness caught
By the physics of sleight, in mathematical light,
Racing outward, away from a focal array,
From a radiant heart that outburst apart
With the first stroke of time, Divine in its prime.

Before that release, all was soundless still peace,
When all matter, all dust, was consigned to the trust
Of that heart, then mere speck, the one salient check
Against stark eternity, charged with modernity,
Then, slowly it swelled, its inertia unquelled,
Now a tumescent…

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Alone…by poet Samartha Ingle, re-blogged from her site

Today’s re-blog is this charming and meaningful work by poet Samartha Ingle. Thanks, Samartha.

Samartha Ingle

In love, at peace. 
Is it wrong to want alone. 
To not miss and not be missed. 
To want nothing and no one more.

Liar people say, liar maybe.

Refusing to acknowledge
this internal commotion
leads to dry eyes,
as dry as the ocean.

Liar you say, liar maybe.

At times it gets lonely,
at times of peace.
My heart for this,
my soul for this.

Liar they say, liar maybe.

Childhood heart didn’t
crave it as much.
Pushed in it still, 
circumstances and such.

Liar again ? liar maybe.

In love with the word,
at peace with the world.
Alone, though never lonely.

Liar ! liar indeed.

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The tyranny of fear, reblogged from “420 ways to reach the sun.”

(Here is a new-to-me site I found yesterday. I really like the site, theme and layout, and especially the content. This article on the inconsistencies and idiocracies of politics and the “will of people.”   I really relate to what the author says., and the way in which she writes. I have written elsewhere about my personal experience with fear and sanitation of war back in the 1940s when young children knew all about the chances of surviving a nuclear blast and could discuss it sensibly. ( I will re-post my Me and the War next.)  Thank you, ginsberg420!   🙂

420 ways to reach the sun

The face of fear has no expression.

Heaving dreams are hard to realize in a world where being a pacifist is akin to being a “radical idealist”. I remember when my father called me that. In this entire political rhetoric of normalization of war, it’s the opposition that is demonized. It’s a tragedy to be 20 and deprived of the privilege of being naïve. Never mind the fact that he owns more than the rest of the country put together. Never mind his disregard for the value of human life. Never mind the heaving dreams he stepped on with a smirk in his head. Never mind his rage, his tyranny, his plutocracy, his fast flying drones. Never mind.

Growing up to the politics of war hasn’t been easy, but watching a hateful, angry plutocrat get elected as one of the most influential men in the world has shaken me. Not…

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[Why Nuts?] A look into the unique creative art of blogger I-Shan Lin…

Here is a delightful and different blog by I-Shan LIn. Her drawings and writing are fresh and creative. Thanks for the permission to re-blog.

“I’ve got all I need. Me, a paper boat and lots of nuts. So there’s nothing to be afraid of.” 

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Who Knows Cats?

I am compelled to re-post this photo of MAWKIN and a cat poem from last year. In this shot he was observing our efforts to clean the garage.

SOMETIMES

DSC03167

 Kitty…
Where do you go
When you vanish like that?
How do you reappear so soon?
Why are you napping now?
What is your game?
Who knows?

© Sometimes, 2016

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From Doorstep fiction writing— to unfinished dissertation (Re-posted)

When one of my daughters was about ten, her school bus came later than those of the other kids, so she and I had half an hour or so one-on-one time.  I loved to make up stories, and some of my best (maybe) ideas came at that time.   This means fiction…since I was a working newspaper reporter and writer at the time I was writing other types of material —news stories, police reports, obits, motor vehicle crashes, city meeting coverage— when I wasn’t making up far-out stories.

The story I am referring to was about a tiny slug that landed on a patch of grass, and was saved from trampling by a group of scuffling boys by a young girl named Fonzie McElroy.   Turned out the Slug was no other than Prince Rehebal, of some distant planet that was left behind on an exploratory visit to Earth.   To fast-forward the plot, the young Prince was rescued by returning space crew…and Fonzie was richly rewarded, although no one but she ever believed the tale was true.

I know…sounds vaguely like “ET,” which had not hit the movie theaters yet, and I did not hear about for at least a decade.  Yes, I did type up (on newspaper print paper) and I still have the original.

Another of my languishing plots was a Civil War theme, set on a Confederate prisoner-of-war island, a sutler’s daughter who fell for a Rebel army officer, and so the historical novel was set to go.   A sutler was a farmer or merchant who set up sales of produce like onions and potatoes in periodic markets held by prison officials for the imprisoned soldiers.

Then there is the loose plot of a murder mystery set in a small town, peopled by town municipal workers like council members, police, and of course a newspaper reporter that solves the whole crime.   My heroine is still (after about 30 years real time) sitting at the railroad tracks waiting for a train to pass, the murderer holding a gun to the reporter’s side–while the police chief waits on the other side of the train tracks.

In my Science Fiction story the location is a planet which is ruled by women.  All of the men are sent out on space ships doing various jobs, and serving out their time until they and their wives can reunite and move to a utopian planet where they live out their years in happy wedded bliss.

The probability of any of those works ever seeing the light of day is remote.  My more recent interests are in writing  Historical topics in which I have an interest…such as the British Abolition of the Slave Trade; Liberation Theology in Latin America; and various other essay contributions.

Oh, and my current…and possibly only novel is one that I worked on as a National  Novel Writing Month (not the correct name, but the popular writers’ competition in which the goal was to write a 60,000 word novel in one month…which was accomplished mostly stream-of-consciousness-style with no correcting spelling or style or anything else…just pounding away for 30 days.   That NaNoWriMo exercise is THE most useful and inspiring writing experience I have undertaken.   I have elaborated on the plot and the work to a great extent.   It is part Historical and part Time-Travel.

The topic of my novel was based on my doctoral dissertation (which I did not  bring to completion within allotted time.)    Obviously no one except my advisor professor has ever read the Final Draft, which I wish now with all my heart that I had completed.    Various readers such as my kids and best friends…captives, if you will…SAY they read the copies that I gave them ten years ago, but their eyes glaze over as they say it.     It’s about History of 500 years of the Catholic Church in Mexico, or something like that.   It’s a LOT more interesting than you all think!

What got in the way of my writing was … well… writing.    I often whine that  “I wish I had been a Writer.”   I spent years writing for newspapers, term papers, writing minutes as secretary of city boards and commissions, in college writing assignments and serious papers.  E-mailing (the way I have always done it) is sort of like writing as I wrote  to my friends and other people.

Blogging  is writing of course…and I love it because it is a combination of all the different kinds of writing I have ever done:   Fiction, poems, rants, news stories, satire, responding to prompts about all kinds of things…and writing about writing.   Photographing isn’t writing of course, but in a way it can be in that photos tell stories in and of themselves, or they serve as props for accompanying prose.

 

 

S is for Schrödinger’s Cat

Today’s post was inspired by Mindlovemisery’s site.   Thanks https://mindlovemisery.wordpress.com/2016/04/21/six-for-wednesday-3-schrodingers-cat/

I’ve always wondered
about Schröedinger’s cat–
specifically the end state
of the experiment.

Imagination shows plainly
or is it hopefully?  that the cat
jumped out of the box while alive
and sauntered off in time for supper

It would be a shame if the poor feline–
what was her name?– was to meet
her demise in the negative state
and failed to emerge none-the-worse
for wear in another dimension.

Well –now I find out that
although there was a Schröedinger–
he may or may not have had a cat,
and if he did there was no box, either,
the dear fellow was simply making light
of some Quantum Theory ideas of
colleagues who believed in it all.

Impossible! said Schröedinger to his pals
because a cat was of matter too big
for such an experiment to work at all
and anyway, the whole process was silly
and way too complicated to contemplate…
and that is all supposing that the cat herself
was willing to even consider getting into a box
that was not of her personal choosing

© Sometimes, 2016

Here is a link to an amusing insight into the  whole incident of Schröedinger and the cat-in-the-box affair.

http://www.iflscience.com/physics/schr%C3%B6dinger%E2%80%99s-cat-explained

 

 

Twins! Reblog from Autumn Ambles

[My small rhyme (following,) is inspired by the thoughtful poem which is re-blogged from the Autumn Ambles site. Thanks!]

Faith supports Doubt
Doubt mirrors Faith
To doubt belief
is to strengthen Faith
… for it is not denial.

© Sometimes, 2016

Twins!

Autumn Ambles

IMG_3254(WP)Down lonely avenue of naked trees,
Disconsolate Doubt goes wandering wearily,
Frantic familiar face before him flees,
As though he’s set upon his destiny,

Preoccupied with demons of unease,
Barely a smidge of hope to underpin,
He fails to sense a cause for inner peace,
Close by his side walks Faith his brother Twin!

©Meanderings 2016

smile emoticon kolobok

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Re-blogged from The Years of Living Non-Judgmentally

This great post is re-blogged  with the kind permission of the author, Ann Koplow, to whom I am very grateful.  (Gradmama2011, Sometimes.)

Day 1111: Ones

If one takes one moment and  one looks at the numbers in today’s title, what does one see?  Ones.

How one-derful!

Here’s one photo on my one iPhone:

IMG_8587

My one thought when I saw that, yesterday:

It’s one shoe.  Is someone  waiting for the other shoe to drop?

One thing I hope one writer of this blog has learned  after one one one one days of blogging:

There is no other shoe, so spend not one moment  worrying about one’s future. Worry is one especially useless way to spend one’s time.

Here’s more than one thought about ones, on this 1111st day of this one blog:

  1. I have one son.
  2. Last night I had one dream that my one son was gone.
  3. I one-der if I had that one dream because my one son will be attending one college (TBD) in less than one year.
  4. One needs to look out for number one, because what number of people will do that if you don’t?
  5. One needs some al-one time, once in a while, to keep oneself together.
  6. People need people, and yet one thing I witness as a psychotherapist — one day after another —  is everyone’s difficulty asking for help and support from even one other person.
  7. Mindfulness  —  one’s ability to be present from one precious moment to the next one — is one useful practice.
  8. One is the loneliest number according to one amazing singer/songwriter named Harry Nilsson and also (one + one + one)  Dog Night.

 

One may be the loneliest number, but the ones in my one title today aren’t lonely — they have each other!

Which one of these other photos on my one iPhone best represent ones?

1111 thanks for every-one’s support through 1111 days of blogging. One never knows how many more days one will have, besides this one precious day.

Will there be one comment from the one person reading this blog, in this one particular moment?

Zoom: Nicola Noventa

This blog by Jeroen de Wal, is SO fascinating.   I was thrilled to see the re-blog button. Thanks for allowing the re-blog Jeroen! . 🙂

The Artisan Journal

There is no limitation for creativity. The secret is to listen to it and let it express itself.

Self Portrait Nicola Noventa

Words spoken by aspiring photographer Nicola Noventa. Born August 2nd, 1991. A youngster, a millennial, a dream-chaser. Discovering at a young age how creativity could build his world of dreams, Nicola grew up building visions with Lego, visualizing landscapes on his drawing board and embracing his passion for motorcycles. However, nature and the world around it proved to be his addiction. 

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