To Live is the rarest thing in the

Advertisements

What a day

Shimmering in the gentle sunlight

Sunset an arms length away

Leaves swing their underbelly

Up towards the light

Branches slowly sway.

Dancing through my clothes

Tickling my skin

Whispering sweet

Saying nothing unreal

All with the wind.

Fuzzy lion heads

Bend in the breeze

Sitting here writing

Listening to laughter

And music

At complete ease.

Take that bird in flight

That cloud too

Rat-like,

Baby blue sky

What a view.

 

Written content is © All rights are reserved. August 2017.

FIVE CREATIVE USES FOR MY BOOK, FROM EVERY MOMENT A SECOND

O at the Edges

More than just poetry!

So you don’t read poetry? No worries. This book is a multi-tasker’s dream. Buy it and let your practical nature take over. No reading necessary!

1) Scorpion swatter – let the aggressive, pain-inducing arachnid know the full weight of poetry! SLAM! No more second moments for you, scorpion!

2) Coaster – a half-dozen copies of the book will keep you out of the doghouse, if you, like certain unnamed poets, occasionally, and without malice, set sweating pint glasses of frothy ale directly on antique cherry end-tables. Just place a copy of From Every Moment a Secondon all tabletops and flat surfaces around the home, and never worry about marring the furniture. Put your beverage glass directly upon the colorful cover, and let the poetry perform its magic. Who knew that paper was so absorbent!

3) Body armor – well, maybe not. The pen is mightier…

View original post 260 more words

Time moves on

The longest day of the year has just passed and the full moon will shine this weekend. The sky is still light with a multitude of blue, purple and pink hues and time still rolls on. 

But we are just specks in existence, our own importance so tiny in the bigger scheme of things.

 

Written content is © All rights are reserved. June 2010.

Seek, see, love and do

A beautiful friend of mine found the following on Facebook and linked me to it… I think she could tell how fully I can relate, and I love her all the more for knowing my soul inside out:

I would rather pass my days lying in the middle of dirt roads, staring at the full moon with a bottle of summer red in my palms.

I would rather have kids when it suits me, not when society expects or throws shoulds.

I would rather live in a hammock on a beach for six months, and write like my soul means it.

I would rather be horribly broke at times, than married to a job because a mortgage payment has my ass on a hook.

I would rather own moments, than investments.

I would rather swim naked with bio-luminescence, have it fall like fireflies from my hair, my breasts, my back.

I would rather do handstands naked in the moonlight when no one’s watching than pick bridesmaid dresses.

I would rather drink seven year old rum from a sandy bottle, smell of smoke and ash than sit in church.

I would rather learn from life than rack up debt, in a desk.

I would rather drink the ocean, again and again—celebrate being madly alive.

I would rather my love be defined by love itself, and nothing more or less.

I would rather take the chicken bus, than spend useless money in safe gated communities. Sit beside a goat, listen to raggaeton and eat green mango with sugar in a plastic bag sold from the woman who harasses the bus each time it stops.

I do not need a degree to prove that I am intelligent.

I do not need to own a piece of earth with some wood on top of it—to feel successful. No one truly owns the land, anyway—we just think we do.

I will take a job I love and freedom over a pension, any day.

I will not work and work and work to live when my body is old and I am tired.

Stocks are for people who get boners from money.

Not everyone should have kids, and my eggs aren’t expiring.

I will not drink the societal Kool-Aid on a bus, nor will I drink it on a train.

Not on a plane, with a goat, in the rain, in the dark, in a tree, with a fox, in a box!

I will not jump through societies’ hoops and red tape, the treasure hunt in the rat race we chase.

If we must have milestones—mine will be measured by how much joy I have collected at the end of each day and how often in this life I have truly, deeply, opened.

Seek, see, love, do.

– Janne Robinson, Author

More on Janne here: https://www.facebook.com/jannerobinsonauthor/ and here: http://www.jannerobinson.com/

What an inspiring woman! 🙂 Thanks Janne!