REBLOGGED: For Manchester:
Love, Sorrow, Love
REBLOGGED: For Manchester:
Poetry of Everything
REBLOGGED: For Manchester:
Posted in Mundane Monday
“There is no mundane dimension really,
if you have the eyes to see it, it is all transcendental.”
― Terence McKenna
Mundane Mondays
Snow, snow, snow
Let it blow, let it blow…
… Even in May!
Posted in Mundane Monday
“There is no mundane dimension really,
if you have the eyes to see it, it is all transcendental.”
― Terence McKenna
Mundane Mondays
Snow, snow, snow
Let it blow, let it blow
Where ever it may flow
It’s coming down
Really, really slow
Posted in Simply Poetry
“Every viewer is going to get a different thing.
That’s the thing about painting, photography, cinema”
David Lynch
Painted
A water colour painting?
Or an image ever fading?
The flowers once blooming
The watcher’s mind fueling
If you keep on viewing
The picture might be renewing
Something everlasting sustaining
Forever, in the frame maintaining
Cute little black cat 🙂 Go check out the blog too!

Black
Itty bitty
Lion hearted kitty
Bare feet best beware
Ouch
In response to Patrick Jennings Pic and a Word Challenge #87: Heart
Excellent post: go check out the original!

For years I dreamed of travelling this fabulous continent with only a camper van and my best friend, (and hubby in case you are new to the blog) Q. I was heavy into my career, building, growing, climbing that corporate ladder but as I sat in my office staring out the windows I would dream of being somewhere else. I felt stifled, uninspired in my life. I was successful but I felt empty inside like something was missing.
Snippets of the life I truly wanted were granted to me via holidays and vacations but once I returned to my life of commute, home, commute, I would quickly push those memories away so I wouldn’t be reminded I wasn’t where I was supposed to be. With obligations growing I worked on, adding responsibilities to my job and knick knacks to my house. Over time I would forget the feelings the vacations…
View original post 885 more words
Posted in Simply Poetry
Photo credits Google
“No man is an island,
entire of itself;
every man is a piece of the continent”
John Donne
Island
On an
Deserted island
I got slammed
This is, my land
This is, where I make my stand
Here lays, my strand
If here, you try to land
Know that, you’ll be damned
By the wave, of my hand
You will be, hanged