In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.

(John McCrae)

Freedom has its life in the hearts, the actions, the spirit of men and so it must be daily earned and refreshed - else like a flower cut from its life-giving roots, it will wither and die.  

(Eisenhower)

so all must be well

august is gone

Late August

This is the plum season, the nights
blue and distended, the moon
hazed, this is the season of peaches

with their lush lobed bulbs
that glow in the dusk, apples
that drop and rot
sweetly, their brown skins veined as glands

No more the shrill voices
that cried  Need  Need
from the cold pond, bladed
and urgent as new grass

Now it is the crickets
that say  Ripe  Ripe
slurred in the darkness, while the plums

dripping on the lawn outside
our window, burst
with a sound like thick syrup
muffled and slow

The air is still
warm, flesh moves over
flesh, there is no

hurry

(margaret atwood)

it's been a while

goodbye twenty five

This could be the very minute

I'm aware I'm alive

All these places feel like home

With a name I'd never chosen

I can make my first steps

As a child of 25

This is the straw, final straw in the

Roof of my mouth as I lie to you

Just because I'm sorry doesn't mean

I didn't enjoy it at the time

You're the only thing that I love

It scares me more every day

On my knees I think clearer

Goodness knows I saw it coming

Or at least I'll claim I did

But in truth I'm lost for words....




(chocolate :: snow patrol)

St Elmo, Colorado

Meyer Ranch, July 2011