Little bee, no swerving from your line when you deliver the goods back home.
A busy place with no door but when you enter you still use your buzzer.
Then back again from flower to flower, collecting the pollen that gives you power.
It’s home again, little bundles carried to feed the Queen
What’s on my mind?
Indigenous peoples and their worry about being over run by other populations I guess could sum it up.
I suppose if cougars, wolves, elephants and such learned to shoot guns or band together better they would kick out the human populations who have transgressed on their land but as people go I believe we need to understand the reason for others unlawfully entering areas already overpopulated.
Overpopulation where they come from, economic despair, greed, the making of money into a God and the lust for power over others seem to be good places to start .
Seems to me that as people from a planet with finite resources we need to try to make all places a good place to live so people want to stay where they are. Make everywhere a good place to be.
Sharing with others does not have to mean give away my happiness but it could mean helping you gain yours. I hope I can do that with more than one other and if we all did it for just two other people it would cure the problem in my mind at least.
When you are feeling all alone, if you just sing out loud you may be surprised how many others will join in with you …
I was just thinking that it’s not the perfect flower I look for in my photography, it’s the perfect feeling, same with my friends, they all have little flaws just like me but when I close my eyes and think of them I only know the sweet essence of their perfection and see how wonderful life is to let me see them … Love you all !
A quite lively discussion has blown in from space on a friends Face-postcard about something I forgot because it went a completely different way in short order and is now a history lesson on indigenous peoples.
It was said the “Native “”American”” people” were here first and that they claim to be “Indigenous” and that they have their traditional stories to back up their claim to properties etc.
That got me to thinking (usually leads to minor disasters) that just because someone in your past lived some place and told creation stories doesn’t always mean you have any more rights than the guy who was born there after you lost the battle, in my case way after.
I know, growing up, my mother used to tell me, when I asked how I got here that I came from heaven and perhaps, if I’m a good boy, God will give me land there again though I think he may balk at the casino I want to build even if it is to take all the sinner’s money or credits or what ever the currency of his realm is.
And further more if in the past there was only one super continent, Pangaea or what ever they really called it, then we all have a claim to everywhere cause we are all descendants of the original inhabitants and I’ll bet a dollar to a doughnut there aint anywho who can tell me where they thought they came from even after the break up.
I thought perhaps we are all from Mars via the Pleiades star system but had to leave cause the Marshonians wanted the place back so we moved on as they had come from the Hercules system to Mars first.
To send every one back to where they came from is stupid, you can’t fit that many people on Ellis Island let alone grow enough hemp there to have a trade economy with New York.
I don’t know the answer other than if we don’t start being natives from “EARTH” the little grey men will boot us out and wipe out the myths of our origins from then to eternity.
It’s a race none us may win …
With apologies to my ancestors, My interpretation of Skibbereen and post script.
They say it tis a lovely place, where in a saint might dwell,
so why did you abandon it father dear, the reason to me tell?
Oh son I loved my native land, with energy and much pride
‘Til a blight came over on my prats, my sheep and cattle died,
The rent and taxes were so high, I could not them redeem,
And that’s the true cruel reason why, I left dear old Skibbereen.
Oh, It’s sure I do remember, that bleak December day,
The landlord and the sheriff came, to drive us all away
They set my roof afire, with their cursed yellow english spleen
And that’s another reason why, I left dear old Skibbereen.
Your mother too, God rest her soul, fell on that snowy ground,
She fainted in her anguish, seeing the desolation laid all round.
She never rose, but passed away, from life to imortal dream,
She found a quiet grave, my boy, in dear old Skibbereen.
And you were only a wee young lad, and feeble was your frame,
I could not leave you with your friends, for you bore your father’s name,
I wrapped you in my overcoat , in the dead of night unseen
I heaved a sigh, and said goodbye, to dear old Skibbereen
o’ father dear, the day will come, when answer to the call
all Irish men of Freedom Stern, will rally one and all
ill be the man to lead the band, beneath the flag of green
loud and clear, well raise a cheer , remember Skibbereen
PS on St. Patrick’s day
The plight of the Irish immigrants who flooded the world in the time of potato famine
was caused as much by greed and prejudice as any lack of simple peasant food.
The poor Irish were driven from land by invaders, monetary greed, by taxes and starvation,
demonized like any culture the powerful wish to wash away so they may consolidate their power.
If scattered, the poor could not rise up, if not fed they would parish and be no threat.
Drunkenness is not the legacy my father gave to me, pride in my name and ancestory
of a race that will never give up or in until death takes me kicking to what lays beyond.
That is what my Father sang to me as his Father did to him.
John Murphy
As we are busy blaming “BP” for messing up the Gulf of mexico I would suggest a solution for oil barriers along the beautiful beaches there and in fact all along our coastlines. First I will direct you to search floating “debris in the gulf of Mexico”.
There are enough objects floating there that if gathered and strung along the beaches could cover all the coastlines of our country I believe. It is floating so we would not have to buy new floating barriers, all we need is nets, which could be made from shredding more of the junk out in the ocean. “BP” didn’t put it there, it came from the cities along the waterways that feed into the gulf.
Though much of it is oil byproducts washed out from storm drains, a lot came from the “Beautiful” beaches and those “Valuable tourists” that are so afraid of getting a tar ball on their tootsies visited and left behind. They should come back and volunteer to help clean it if they really care!
I also propose instead of dredging sand that will destroy animal habitat we build berms of the garbage that came from those beaches in the first place. It may be ugly, to say the least, but it would do more for the fish and birds in the region that get trapped in it than any other thing I can think of, just cover it with a small portion of sand from the tourist beaches.
The wild life doesn’t want it and it’s only fare that the people that made it take it back and recycle it or something. They need to pay for every bit of the pollution just like “BP”, all of us who let that junk float out to sea should pay for it to be cleaned up!
If an honest look at what is in the ocean was taken “BP” would look like small potatoes or in this case oil byproduct pollution.
The old tale of Tortoise and Hare tells that falling asleep while doing a task is bad.
Jack the rabbit read it well, thought to himself, “the light this sheds is sad !”
No member of my global community is so lax, I’ll get that title back !
To that end he checked out the local Tortoise, Goggling on his computer for every fact.
He bought goggles and bomber cap from a site on the internet .
And while he was at it, found some sites and placed a few side bets.
The odds were good, in the turtles favor.
The money Jack knew he would soon savor !
Come race day the a crowd came out and the sun did shine.
The Tortoise was ready and Jackrabbit looked quite fine !
The race got started with a flurry and flash.
The rabbit was off like a shot but Tortoise got hung up in desert trash.
Jack was far out in front and in sight of the finish line .
But Coyote spied the race, thinking Tortoise and Hare would taste just fine.
Coyote joined in the race with turtle the first one he caught just rounding the bend.
Tortoise pulled up shy in his shell and, though Coyote knocked, would not let him come in.
So off Coyote sped to catch his other pray but Jack saw him coming and did not want to be Din Din.
As things often go the race was a bust and no body won.
Jack was diligent and did not sleep, so lived to have another son.
Tortoise, though he was slow, lived long and finally came out.
But Tortoise forgot what the race was about.
So when you hear another famous fable.
Just finish your spinach and clean up the crumbs before you leave the table.
So you may live long like Tortoise and Hare,
Though like Tortoise your mind may not be there.
And fast is good when you are fast as a bunny so you may outrun the danger.
Like Jackrabbit, you may have to change your course when chased by a stranger.
Lucky is as lucky does but no rabbit he !
Lucky sees future things that wishes do not fulfill and makes them happen just because …
He knows the rabbit was not so lucky that gave a foot so that you might be …
Hamster ways like hamster days are short stepped and burrowed with mini paws …
But believe or don’t, the magic carried in his Shillelagh, makes no difference to him …
Shillelagh or no, making things happen is Lucky’s way …
Fury lil ball-o-fat forever treading mill is not his whim …
For every time a C notes found forget the leprechaun, it’s Lucky’s day !
“I was there once” I said to myself and wondered who said that.
“I know there are deer just beyond those trees” I can smell them, it’s old hat.
I hear words like “no” and I know there is something I shouldn’t do but why, I do not know.
They smell delicious, I would share and the chase would be a wonderful thing so let’s go.
He is telling me something that sounds like I will regret it but I know I won’t.
There they are just a short sprint over easy ground but here it is again “Don’t!”
I like him even if he is a pill! Why he even roasts perfectly wondrous raw kill.
Oh now I’m going no matter what it is he’s trying to say.
Look at them all dancing with excitement, what wonderful prey!
I could run forever mile after mile but I’ll go back and let him see my happy smile.
Hey what’s this ? no “atta boy” or “good boy you” ?
I will never understand that attitude after such a wonderful chase, where they all almost flew!
OH I see … I didn’t catch one to bring back with me.
Next time I’ll not ask, just go and bring back a present then perhaps he’ll be much more pleasant.
“Well I was wet, your side of the truck was dry,
I like dry,
that side didn’t have your name on it,
so I am a bad boy…
it’s Christmas … go tell Santa or get over it !
Sheesh Murph !!!”
He was young and idealistic but RANDOLPH
thought there would be no discrimination just
because he was a Black tail and not a Rein deer.
Unfortunately he had not counted on local
animosity of the more famous deer who worked there
and was found crossing the north pole border unlawfully.
It was said he must have lost his way or gone back home
and no further investigation was launched though many years later
rumors surfaced that he was spotted in Santa’s barbershop relaxing.
This could not be confirmed though because of the
security worries about lists compiled on humans stored there.
The tapes of all comments were lost some how by accidental erasure.
By Polar News Service …
My dog’s name is Wyatt.
He’s never too loud and mostly quiet.
He romps and plays on sunny days and even stormy weather.
He likes to chase anything that scats, especially if they look like cats or has a pretty feather.
But he does not know birdy fluff from cattail stuff and most times ends up looking pretty funny!
I can’t help but to keep thinking of all the religious strife that covers this planet all in the name of the all mighty.
I wonder how anything in this little place can be of any more significance
to that which is everything.
If one proton of one atom in my body has a billion solar systems in it’s being and one place there less than a speck of sand has beings living on it and they are made up of the same thing as I or I am made up of it because the speck and the me are one thing, inseparable except by my casting it out but I am all things so when I cast it out there is no place but back in to me it must go to be mixed again in an ever-changing, roiling mass of energy as known by me but which is unknowable to the speck. The total is me yet the speck is me.
I do not want to kill myself, I only want to let the speck change to my benefit. My purpose is only to be and the only battle should be against that opposite, not to be.
Perhaps Shakey Spear had it more right than is given credit except to be or not to be is not the question, it is the answer.
Even if you are a speck of dust in the deepest, darkest reaches of space and time …
Even if no light shines form any knowable sun and all the points of light are so far away the universe looks like one dimly lit speck barely noticeable in a vast sea of blackness …
Even if the distance to anything like you is so far that time itself does not exist and seems void…You are not the forgotten edge of nothing …
But the leading edge of everything …
! …
This very night I walked to my darkest place, eyes closed as if blind.
I know this spot , I have been there many times, alone.
This night I walked with two friends, a dog and me.
I was determined to see what I might find when I looked from my blind place, the one in the corner.
I walked slowly but sure-footed, listening for the trees, the rocks, all obstacles.
The other animal was sure of his path and thought none the less of me though he was wrong.
I was soon left alone to find what I came for.
No coyotes or deer rustled, no bird, no breeze disturbed my mind.
I tilted my face to a preconceived heaven then opened my eyes to see what I expected, points of light scattered and a feeling of being alone.
I closed my eyes, erased my mind, then looked again to see the face of God in narrow perspective.
I closed them once more to drain my head of such small thoughts and the vanity that I might know the almighty for I knew if it were the face only a thoughts worth could I really see.
I opened them again and let my soul see it’s destiny.
There are many rocks but old man rock is the wisest of them all.
He watches with a steady gaze through sun and storms.
You may not notice him at first because he is very stealthy and it might seem he could never know anything .
But he is wise ! Old man rock is son of old man mountain and mother earth so he knows the importance of patience.
While he sits there watching and you think he can only know what his eyes tell him, you are wrong.
The wind brings him smells, he knows of the fire before your news person does and he has survived many of those himself so he knows how hot they can be.
He feels and tastes the rain to see if it is good enough for his brothers and sisters like racoon who he lets live in him and deer, fox and even old trickster coyote.
I myself have seen Coyote go many times and howl in old man rocks ear at night to tell him of a fine meal he has brought to share.
When men lay on him and block the sun his friend Ant chases them off then Mosquito makes sure man remembers his lesson near old man rocks drinking water.
He whistles in the wind and knows the world much deeper than you or I.
He feels the world around him and knows heavy weights on his soul.
He watches.
Your poem touched me. My ancestors were Scottish, not Irish, but they shared much the same fate when leaving the old world for the new. Thank goodness for America where our peoples have flourished.