There’s no great loss without some small gain.
Laura Ingalls Wilder,
writer
Education is our passport to the future, for tomorrow belongs to the people who prepare for it today.
Malcolm X
The secret of happiness is something to do.
John Burroughs
The purpose of art is washing the dust of daily life off our souls.
Pablo Picasso
If there is magic on this planet, it is contained in water.
Loren Eiseley
Silence is the sleep that nourishes wisdom.
Francis Bacon
An animal’s eyes have the power to speak a great language.
Martin Buber
Courtesy of Paranormal Romantics: A Few Poems In Passing by Francesca Quarto
Fighting the Time Thief
He enters silently, leaving no trace of his having touched me while I slept.
He is without conscience in the damage he inflicts, his only concern is marking me, the next day, the next month, the next year.
Marked with the passage of his unseen hand, I am altered, moment by moment, until I become a stranger in the mirror.
Escape is impossible, Time will own me.
But a truce will be struck in this battle against the inevitable Thief stealing my youth, my vigor, my life.
I shall go gracefully, falling eventually to the winnowing floor.
I shall, however, go with my thumb in his eye when he winks me out of Time.
Could I do less?
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Rich and Poor
If life was comprised only of the generous souls,
would our perceptions of kindness be diminished by its constant presence?
Perhaps we are hard-wired to expect the least amount of good in others
so that we can appreciate the gift, even in its paucity.
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Book Fly
Sitting at a local book store
my own penned words on display
A woman looking over my books from the corner of her roving eye
Coming close enough now to inspect, but never to light
Not enough food for thought perhaps?
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On Being A Writer
Writing is like a boat that you climb aboard
without knowing what your destination is
how long you’ll be on the journey
or who’s manning the wheel.
What an amazing trip!
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Loves Remembered
How cruel, the hand of time
pushing us unresisting, into the arms of an unknown tomorrow
How unforgiving the pressure of decline
Twisting, bending, etching the very passage of our memories
upon the once pristine palates of our faces
But also, how kind the echoes of time
while it makes its journey
carrying us along like kites tied to long, colorful ribbon
floating forward and backwards
always gathering the beauty and shedding the weight of mortality
Remembering loves of yesterday and quickly renewed
by the power of their love having been ours.
