Life is what happens…

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Accounting.

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This is how I wish to be.

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Sorry for my love rants, though poetic.  I know that I can vent here in my own little wordpress place, but it seems bad form somehow. I should write my rants and then stash them in a private rant folder, vault, or treehouse.

Truth be told, I love being in love, I miss being in love. Why were we given such capacity to love if not to use it? What good is life without love?

OK, enough. You get the picture. I am lovelorn. But, I am particular, verging on picky, and if I were not so I could be at least dating. Maybe I should not be so picky; sometimes love is found in unexpected places and unexpected people. Well, I shall persevere, in any case. I’m sure that some of you brilliant bloggers have written something applicable so that I can pick up my shattered little lonely self. Actually, I am smiling, and not too shattered at present. Life really is good.

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Love is a word.

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Love is a word.

Stop throwing it at me.

Eliza Doolittle demanded

that your feelings

Show.

Why is it that is too much to ask

of the men I know?

If you make plans,

keep them.

If you disagree,

don’t argue with me.

Don’t kick me when I’m down,

so to speak;

mourning is not your time

of opportunity.

Stop telling me about my

perfect gifts

and thoughtfulness;

think up some of your own.

Better yet,

give of  yourself

so I may cherish

you

and your spirit:

reassurance,

laughter,

care and affection–

simple things

show

you know me

and understand

Love.

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Light through Lace Curtains.

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With effort

Open the casement window:

fresh air

like a breath

lifts the lace curtains

shadowed softly on the walls.

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Ease

into acceptance,

days blending

the heavy into light,

the taut raw times

fading,

mere wisps of curtains accomplish this,

mere wishes,

many prayers.

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Faint flowers of light

caress

dim walls.

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Tea time.

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Tea

green

kitchen

one cup

Limoges

one spoon

silver.

No lemon

no mint

no sugar

no

honey.

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I have the results and I wish to return them.

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Once upon a time

I longed to be free

and here I am

free

but alone,

guilt following me like a cloud

whispering

you are allowed

no peace,

it is your fault

you are alone.

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Sunday Song…chasing those blues (*updated).

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This was written by George Harrison, but it is done so well by Davy Knowles. He’s a young blues guitarist from The Isle of Man and he’s toured in the U.S. with guitarists such as Jeff Beck and Joe Satriani.

Sometimes I blast this song when I need to rock my blues away. “Hear Me, Lord.”

It’s a prayer, a contrition, an entreaty. “Help me Lord, please, to rise above this dealing…”

Music is another language with its own beauty and meaning that is difficult to translate. You just have to listen, and feel.

I love when the music says what words cannot, or continues from where the lyrics leave off.

I love when music understands me, even when I do not understand myself.

Phenomenal guitar playing, here. If you are familiar with Rory Gallagher (*my favorite is I Fall Apart, another song that I play over and over. Listen to the guitar solos!), early Knopfler/Dire Straits, or the Clapton of acoustic Layla, you may appreciate Davy Knowles.

Thank you to George Harrison, Davy Knowles, and all of you who visit here. Oh and– to Peter Frampton, who produced Davy’s album. I missed the Frampton frenzy when he was singing, but I know him now as a darn good producer and have listened to some of his music because of that.

Peace, joy, and harmony,

~ Lily

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