Other bloggers, I’m sure, can appreciate the frustration when you desperately want to write, but the words just will not come. But in this instance, I think Anthony did one hell of a job with his words – no blockage here. 

The Frustration Game

Here is an attempt: I just finished a glass of wine. As the last of the wine trickled over my taste buds I saw it, the symphony of residue. The sediment, the last bit of liquid, swirling together in a ballad of courting. Shy, yet intrigued. Timid, yet vigorous. Particles of red kaleidoscoping into psychedelic visionscape. Whirlpooling slowly, deliberately, downward. 

To that though, there is so much more. It commands serious thought. It resonates through time itself. Demanding to be seen, better yet, to be read. I am its outlet and I am here to tell its story! But, I am incapable. 

Or maybe, just maybe. A wave is just a wave. Water cascading upon itself as it makes its ultimate journey to the shore. Reaching, reaching upon the sand. Extending its grasp, stretching further to continue its existence. Only to dissipate, and retreat. Thwarted. 

A wave. Just a wave. Nothing else. That is a thought that I truly cannot endure. 

My hope. My salvation. Will be the words. I see them. Pleading to be released. 

You should really stop by and read his work. I think it would be great encouragement and help unblock the blockage. 🙂 Please visit: to offer your words of encouragement – from one blogger to another.



Misunderstanding Love…

I wish there was a way to get “young” people to understand this. Hell, even some “adults” that I know should seriously try to grasp this concept. LOVE is not just making the heart skip beats, a never-ending warmth and mushy feeling inside. I appreciate how this poem sets forth that love accepts the good and the bad, it is not always going to be sunshine and rainbows, there will be flaws, storms. And, let’s face it… don’t you have to get through a storm/rain in order to see and enjoy a rainbow anyway?  When you really love, it is not supposed to be great ALL the time. Why should one expect that you’re supposed be in a constant euphoric state?

Here Russell says that, “Not like a rocket, which, with savage glare, Whirrs suddenly up, then bursts, and leaves the night,  Painfully quivering on the dazed eyes,” but rather love GIVES and takes and SEES flaws and despite it all it becomes “new and fresh each hour.” To really love, I think we should embrace all that comes with it. If we don’t have the “downs” with the “ups”, there is no refreshing. You either crash and burn out or just get stagnate, neither of which encourages growth.

This is a beautiful poem. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do:




Law, like love?

This morning I experienced a frustration at my job, which I normally thoroughly enjoy; but today… today’s news from an outside counsel was very irritating. With respect to one of our cases, a local judge did not follow a precedent already sent in the law. The actual source of my frustration, you ask? Judges swear – they take an oath – to distribute justice based on the law, so when one is elected and gives preference to a firm that lines his campaign pockets, where is the justice? Why isn’t the law just the law?

A friend of mine recently introduced me to the writings of WH Auden. My situation this morning made me recall a poem Auden wrote in 1939 that I thought worth sharing. I guess there really isn’t anything new under the sun…


I found an insight into this poem that really made me see where Auden was going with Law and Love piece. I cannot sum it up better than this next writer, so I will post part of the summary and link to the website. I needed this insight to get me past the irritation of the news I received today.

Kudos to this person for a very insightful view of Auden’s words here:

“People may claim “That the law is / And that all know this,” but specifying it is more difficult than people think. In the long transitional stanza from the subject of law to the subject of love, the poem suggests that “we, dear, know we know no more / Than they,” all of those above, “about the law.” But what really seems to guide people’s idea of law is their own prejudices or selfishness or, to say it more politely, their loves. They “identify Law with some other word.” Philosophically the challenge is to “slip out of our own position / Into an unconcerned condition,” as Kant might approve.

Perhaps this kind of objectivity is impossible for most people, or all people, even if it would be moral and desirable. Perhaps, like it or not, law is like love. This is how the poem concludes, with an AABB quatrain with the repeated opening “Like love we …” all four times. Law, it seems, is like love in that we do not really know where it comes from or where it is taking us. It does not really compel us, and yet we cannot escape it (“fly” as in “flee”). Both law and love make us weep because we cannot freely get and keep what we want. And despite our promises, we “seldom” obey the law or remain true to what we love.”  (

Music appreciation

I love music. Every single day since I was a little girl I wake up with a song in my head. I learn and work best with music playing in the background. I just function, thrive, live on music.

I think my love of music is why this poem touched me so deeply.  No matter what happens to your in life, even an unimaginable injury, never let the music stop…

Accidental Blues Voice  by Anna Journey

My ex-lover received it at seventeen

skiing the steep slope at Wintergreen called

Devil’s Elbow. The early snowmelt along the Blue

Ridge had slipped the white limb of a birch

through the crust, jutted that camouflaged tip

into the center of the trail. He hit it, full speed,

flipped over his ski poles. One of them split

his vocal cords with its aluminum point. He sprawled

in the snow, his pink throat skewered like Saint

Sebastian or the raw quiver of his Greek father’s

peppered lamb kebobs. The doctors didn’t let him speak

for a year and when he finally tried his choirboy

voice had gravel in it. His tenor had a bloody

birch limb in it, had a knife in it, had a whole lower

octave clotted in it, had a wound and a wound’s

cracked whisper in it. The first time I heard him

sing in his blues band, five years after the accident,

I told him his smoked rasp sounded

exactly like Tom Waits. Like my grandfather

sixty years since the iron lung. I couldn’t believe

a growl like that crawled up from the lips

of a former Catholic schoolboy. But as he shut off

the halogen overhead—leaving only the ultraviolet

of his bedside’s black light—he stroked my cheek,

crooned, Goodnight, Irene. His teeth and his throat’s

three-inch scar glowed a green neon.


Of life and love

A beautiful person (former soldier and firefighter) recently said to me the most profound thing: “I would die for anyone, but I want to live for you.”

How does one adequately respond to such loving words?

Being rendered speechless – the only way I knew how – with tears and a kiss.

Love life


Contentedness embodied (Part One)

This is not only beautifully written, but is full of much wisdom. I am looking forward to part two, but thought I should not wait to share part one. It is truly fantastic! Enjoy!

Old Couple in Kyrgyzstan. By Evgeni Zotov, Flickr. Contented Couple in Kyrgyzstan. By Evgeni Zotov, Flickr.

As human animals we spend the greater part of our lives apprehending the world reflectively, as if peering through to it by means of psychical mirrors. Our minds evolved to affect this process unwittingly via constantly flowing streams of updating composite imagery, all unquestioningly taken as the world in itself – Naïve Realism made real. Such mirroring is presumed synonymous with our life itself too – all the sights, sounds, feelings, scents, tastes and thoughts that reflect to us, outside of which no phenomena may appear. These mirrored images are, for the most part, accurate reflections of what happens around and within us, and had our species not evolved to apperceive with this level of precision, then we humans may not be here on earth today. To that extent it is a success story, yet could our mirror-gazing existence be enhanced in…

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Short, but sweet nevertheless

In my part of the world (Florida, west coast), the moon was full and oh so very bright. So bright that it made me think of howling werewolves; therefore, I set out to find a werewolf movie to watch. Netflix let me down. I had to settle for a Stephen King movie. But, that was was okay.

The next morning, I was fortunate enough to stumble across this elegant short poem by H. Lawrence entitled “Aware”.  That evening the full moon was out again, even more gloriously bright than the night before. This poem allowed me to view our beautiful moon through different eyes, so to speak, and come away enthralled by her beauty. Enjoy:

Slowly the moon is rising out of the ruddy haze,

Divesting herself of her golden shift, and so

Emerging white and exquisite; and I in amaze

See in the sky before me, a woman I did not know

I loved, but there she goes and her beauty hurts my heart;

I follow her down the night, begging her not to depart.

Aware – by H. Lawrence.