Monthly Archives: July, 2013

Breathe In and Out

Feeling stressed? Breathe slowly and evenly and read the following…

Breathing in, I smile for I know I’ m breathing in;
Breathing out, I smile for I know I’m breathing out.
Breathing in, I smile for I know today is a wonderful day.
Breathing out, I smile for I know I am alive.

~Thich Nhat Hahn~


Letter to Jocelyn

Beautiful words and sentiments from the movie world…

It is strange to think I haven’t seen you since a month.  I have seen the new moon, but not you.  I have seen sunsets and sunrises, but nothing of your beautiful face.

The pieces of my broken heart are so small that they can be pressed through the eye of a needle.  I miss you like the sun misses the flower, like the sun misses the flowers in the depths of winter.  Instead of beauty to direct its light to, the heart hardens like the frozen world your absence has banished me to.

I next compete in the city of Paris.  I’ll find it empty, and in the winter if you’re not there.

Hope guides me.  It is what gets me through the day and especially the night.  The hope that after you are gone from my sight, it will not be the last time I look upon you.

With all the love that I possess, I remain yours,

The Knight of your heart.

~From the movie “A Knight’s Tale”~


I Remember The Last Time

I remember the last time
I said I would never love again.
I remember when ghosts across
my eyes and yesterday’s pain
never left my smile.
I don’t remember when I stopped
fighting the possibilities
or when I began to believe
the honesty in your eyes.
No I don’t remember when your
arms became the only shelter
my heart would accept.
Only that they did.
And when they did your voice
became the only one that mattered



If I could catch a rainbow
I would do it just for you
And share with you its beauty
On the days you’re feeling blue.

If I could build a mountain
You could call your very own;
A place to find serenity,
A place to be alone.

If I could take your troubles
I would toss them in the sea,
But all these things I’m finding
Are impossible for me.

I cannot build a mountain
Or catch a rainbow fair,
But let me be what I know best,
A friend who’s always there
b>~Sandra Lewis Pringle~

The Way to Tell

There is a very similar poem entitled you tell on yourself by Marie Losavio but it is a much more modern version than the one posted below…

You tell on yourself by the friend you seek.
By the very manner in which you speak.
By the way you employ your leisure time,
By the use you make of a dollar or dime.

You tell what you are by the clothes you wear,
By the spirit in which your burdens bear.
By the kind of things at which you laugh,
By the records you play on your phonograph.

You tell what you are by the way you walk,
By the things of which you delight to talk.
By the manner in which you bear defeat,
By so simple a thing as how you eat.

You tell what you are by the books you read,
By the way you treat a neighbour in need.
So there’s never a tiny bit of sense,
To keep up an aura of false pretense.
For you tell on yourself.

The Night has a Thousand Eyes

The night has a thousand eyes,
And the day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies
With the dying sun.

The mind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart but one;
Yet the light of a whole life dies
When love is gone.
~Francis William Bourdillon~


My father always used to say that when you die, if you’ve got five real friends, then you’ve had a great life.

~Lee Iococca~

The Calf Path

One day, through the primeval wood,
A calf walked home, as good calves should;

But made a trail all bent askew,
A crooked trail as all calves do.

Since then two hundred years have fled,
And, I infer, the calf is dead.

But still he left behind his trail,
And thereby hangs my moral tale.

The trail was taken up next day
By a lone dog that passed that way;

And then a wise bell-wether sheep
Pursued the trail o’er vale and steep,

And drew the flock behind him, too,
As good bell-wethers always do.

And from that day, o’er hill and glade,
Through those old woods a path was made;

And many men wound in and out,
And dodged, and turned, and bent about

And uttered words of righteous wrath
Because ‘twas such a crooked path.

But still they followed—do not laugh—
The first migration of that calf,

And through this winding wood-way stalked,
Because he wobbled when he walked.

This forest path became a lane,
That bent, and turned, and turned again;

This crooked lane became a road,
Where many a poor horse with his load

Toiled on beneath the burning sun,
And traveled some three miles in one.

And thus a century and a half
They trod the footsteps of that calf.

The years passed on in swiftness fleet,
The road became a village street;

And this, before men were aware,
A city’s crowded thoroughfare;

And soon the central street was this
Of a renowned metropolis;

And men two centuries and a half
Trod the footsteps of that calf.

Each day a hundred thousand rout
Followed the zigzag calf about;

And o’er his crooked journey went
The traffic of a continent.

A hundred thousand men were led
By one calf near three centuries dead.

They followed still his crooked his way,
And lost one hundred years a day;

For thus such reverence is lent
To well-established precedent.

A moral lesson this might teach,
Were I ordained and called to preach;

For men are prone to go it blind
Along the calf-paths of the mind,

And work away from sun to sun
To do what other men have done.

They follow in the beaten track,
And out and in, and forth and back,

And still there devious course pursue,
To keep the path that others do.

But how the wise old wood-gods laugh,
Who saw the first primeval calf!

Ah! many things this tale might teach—
But I am not ordained to preach

~Sam Walter Foss~

The Preservation of Man

A little light humour…

The horse and mule live 30 years
And nothing know of wines and beers
The goat and sheep at 20 die
With never a taste of scotch or rye
The cow drinks water by the ton
And at 18 is mostly done
The dog at 16 cashes in
Without the aid of rum or gin.
The cat in milk and water soaks
And then in 12 short years it croaks
The modest, sober bone dry hen
Lays eggs for nogs then dies at ten
All animals are strictly dry –
They sinless live and swiftly die
But sinful, ginful, rumsoaked men
Survive for three score years and ten
And some of us thought mighty few
Stay pickled till we’re 92.

Afton Water

July 21st is the anniversary of Robert Burns’ death, Scotland’s National Bard…

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,
Flow gently, I’ll sing thee a song in thy praise;
My Mary’s asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

Thou stock-dove, whose echo resounds thro’ the glen,
Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den,
Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear,
I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair.

How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills,
Far mark’d with the courses of clear winding rills;
There daily I wander as noon rises high,
My flocks and my Mary’s sweet cot in my eye.

How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below,
Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow;
There oft, as mild Ev’ning sweeps over the lea,
The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me.

Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides,
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,
As gathering sweet flowrets she stems thy clear wave.

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays;
My Mary’s asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

~Robert Burns~

Paul Dobraszczyk

rag-picking history

Tdoo in Lesotho

My favourites and it's an eclectic selection


My favourites and it's an eclectic selection


Musings from a mind that just can't be made up

Faces in Places

My favourites and it's an eclectic selection