My brain

Right Brain/ Left Brain Quiz The higher of these two numbers below indicates which side of your brain has dominance in your life.  Realising your right brain/left brain tendancy will help you interact with and to understand others. Left Brain Dominance: (16) Right Brain Dominance: (16) Right Brain/ Left Brain Quiz

Texas Spring Storms

Full Moon in Aries--Phoenix, Az

om mani padme hum

OSHO - sounds for the 7 chakras - Tail Chakra

OSHO - sounds for the 7 chakras - Third-Eye Chakra

OSHO - sounds for the 7 chakras - Navel Chakra

OSHO - sounds for the 7 chakras - Crown Chakra

OSHO - sounds for the 7 chakras - Genital Chakra

OSHO - sounds for the 7 chakras - Throat Chakra

OSHO - sounds for the 7 chakras - Heart Chakra

Desert Flowering

Desert Flowering


Sometimes
I wonder which side you are sleeping on and
If your hair is tousled, or if there are
Pillow case marks on your cheek.
Are you hugging a pillow like I do?
Have you gone through a dozen dozen like I have?
I wonder what wakes you up and
If you startle awake or slowly come into focus.
Do you stretch and thank God for making it
Through another night? Or smile as the
Sun streaks across your face.


As for me, I am acknowledging the dimensions
Where everything is possible.
I am tossing the pillows I cling to.
I am remembering who I am.
I am rising up out of the Jordan
Looking into the eyes of a madman
In a hair shirt, and seeing him and myself.


I have done my time in the desert and
I am done with illusions and temptations.
I have walked through the gate,
Into the garden, and out.
This old self has died, and I am out of the cave. 
Again.
The wrinkles on your cheek and what side you sleep on
No longer concern me. 
Instead,
Meet me with your true heart, your brave heart and
We can share our strength and
We can walk a path we create together.



© Anne 2010 (Revised)

Perhaps Patchen's best line....

"There are so many little dyings that it doesn't matter which of them is death."

Our New Poet Laureate

For The Anniversary Of My Death

Every year without knowing it I have passed the day When the last fires will wave to me And the silence will set out Tireless traveller Like the beam of a lightless star Then I will no longer Find myself in life as in a strange garment Surprised at the earth And the love of one woman And the shamelessness of men As today writing after three days of rain Hearing the wren sing and the falling cease And bowing not knowing to what William Stanley Merwin

Thought

The past changes into what we want to remember...

Prayer for the life we are killing with each gallon of oil

What would the world be, once bereft
Of wet and wildness?  Let them be left,
O let them be left, wildness and wet,
Long live the weeds and the wildness yet.
~Gerard Manley Hopkins, Inversnaid

South Padre Island, Texas

Sunrise South Padre Island, Texas

Bluebonnets in TExas

For my Mother 25 May 2010

My Mother passed away 6 years ago today. She was 86. She was an All-American Leo, born 19 August 1918. Mom was popular AND kind. She was head cheerleader in high school, something I didn’t learn until she was 80; a woman came up to her in a restaurant and thanked her for being so nice to her in high school. The woman said she lived on a farm out of town and that Mom was the only girl who would talk with her. Mom attended Texas Tech in 1936, when there was only a men’s dorm and a women’s dorm--and a tunnel between the two, but the Dust Bowl drove her out of Lubbock. She married my Dad in 1939 and I was born in May of 1941. Six months later, Dad went overseas, ended up in Africa with malaria, and didn’t return until 1945. We lived during those years with my great-grandmother, Martha Washington Pouncey Post, at 1205 East Main Street in Gatesville, Texas. I used to sit in the swing on the side porch while my Mom curled my long blonde hair into long ringlets. But I also remember sitting in the window seat and watching the convoys of soldiers stream down Main in endless ribbons of khaki.
Mom’s sisters and her brother lived a few blocks down with my grandmother, as their husbands were also overseas; my uncle was still in junior high. We were truly a society of women--Southern women--who held it all together during those tough times
Mother was a lover of poetry, so part of my fondness for poetry stems from having heard her all my life reciting various passages of poetry as she went about her daily routine. Her favorite poem was “Maude Muller.” She knew The Bible and was readily equipped with a verse for any occasion. She was also an accomplished pianist, and as part of my reward for dusting the piano each Saturday morning--besides my 50-cent-a-week allowance--she would sit down and play my favorite Chopin or Beethoven. While Mother could read music and took lessons for many years, she could also play by ear and played all of the standards from the War Years as well as a mean boogie-woogie. She also loved the music we were growing up with--Elvis, Santana, Led Zeppelin. Her first concert was a Santana extravaganza. My Mother’s love and support for me--in the midst of my triumphs or defeats, joy or despair--never flagged. She never judged...She simply observed. Not a day passes that I don’t miss her, but she seems to know when things get tough, and she makes her presence known in some way. She was and is the Best Mother in the world.

Helpful Book

The Invitation by  Oriah Mountain Dreamer

Snow on the first day of Spring

Endings

Sometimes 'I love you' is a nice way to end things...

Lost and Partially Found

It's interesting to suddenly look back over two or three years and recognize what shit one has been putting up with. Bad grammar, but clear. One wonders who one was? Boundaries, boundaries, boundaries. Very freeing.

Rabindranath Tagore

More Poetry and Songs by

Rabindranath

Tagore

I seem to have loved you in numberless forms, numberless times...

In life after life, in age after age, forever.

My spellbound heart has made and remade the necklace of songs,

That you take as a gift, wear round your neck in your many forms,

In life after life, in age after age, forever.

Whenever I hear old chronicles of love, its age old pain,

Its ancient tale of being apart or together.

As I stare on and on into the past, in the end you emerge,

Clad in the light of a pole-star, piercing the darkness of time.

You become an image of what is remembered forever.

You and I have floated here on the stream that brings from the fount.

At the heart of time, love of one for another.

We have played along side millions of lovers,

Shared in the same shy sweetness of meeting,

the distressful tears of farewell,

Old love but in shapes that renew and renew forever.

Winter Portrait

Copyright image Anne Robinson 2010

A Cold Cow

Snow in Texas

Admission

Everything exists at the same time.

If I love you now, I loved you then.

Time plays tricks. Our minds believe it.

If we were God, we could love each at once.

But we are only part of God.

The part our consciousness admits.

I admit I love you.

© Anne Robinson 2010

Moment

Melting into you I take a new form

Dying in your arms each night to arise again

Your taste drenching my senses

Delicious smells of you lingering

Your touch bruised into my arm...my mark of love...

Copyright Anne Robinson 2010

Millay

Poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay

To The Wife Of a Sick Friend

Shelter this candle from the wind.

Hold it steady. In its light

The cave wherein we wander lost

Glitters with frosty stalactite,

Blossoms with mineral rose and lotus,

Sparkles with crystal moon and star,

Till a man would rather be lost than found:

We have forgotten where we are.

Shelter this candle. Shrewdly blowing

Down the cave from a secret door

Enters our only foe, the wind.

Hold it steady. Lest we stand,

Each in a sudden, separate dark,

The hot wax spattered upon your hand,

The smoking wick in my nostrils strong,

The inner eyelid red and green

For a moment yet with moons and roses,—

Then the unmitigated dark.

Alone, alone in a terrible place,

In utter dark without a face,

With only the dripping of the water on the stone,

And the sound of your tears, and the taste of my own.

Will You Call My Name?

March ended with such promise...

April rushed in with new love's blush.

May flowered, and so did we.

But June came,

and the open blossoms felt faint.

Petal by petal,

fluttering, falling,

'til only the core remained.

Even that held hope.

But July bore down,

threatening even the core.

Will we remember May

Or will the ravages of July remain?

Will we remember June

And will you call my name?

Full Moon 31 December 2009