I Love Women

For International Women’s Day today – I give you this celebration of women.

From Bath to Cork with baby Grace



I love women

I admire women
I am jealous of women

I am enriched by women
I have been saved by women

I love the shape of women
… the flaws of women

I am infuriated by women
I love cooking for women

I am irritated by women
I despair of women

I am tickled by women
I write for women

Women have made me a man.

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Testing the embed code provided by AnchorFM

I’d prefer you to see a pretty audio player – though the sound quality is pure raw.

Here’s the best I can give you – because this is a WordPress.com site.

If only this was a WordPress.org site … things would look different & sound the same.

But – maybe your look would change the sound you hear?

David Gluckman, author, is here

https://anchor.fm/paulomahony/embed/episodes/David-Gluckman-in-Ireland-1-e140ve/a-a2h0a9

His book is here.

Am I the only one?

1.

I was killed at school.

The bullets hit me somewhere

in the eye, ear, nose & throat,

maybe through my heart.

I didn’t feel a thing

pierce my umbilical pipeline.

I guess my mother’s blood gushed.

Maybe she hadn’t decided what she’d do with me.

All that ammunition …

Cartridges for crucifixions

Explosions of extreme unction

A Hell of Heaven

I imagine the bard broken.

I was gone within a heartbeat, snuffed out.

Was I the only one?

2.

I was elected at home.

The votes cost me

a bank balance weighed with wishes.

I keep eyes, ears, nostrils, speeches primed.

I feel throbbing hearts,

invocations of investors …

shareholders sighing like furnace …

I am a political animal,

I stand to attention for the last post

in association with my brothers-in-arms,

with every voter who craves the right to shoot,

to the grave.

I’ve earned the money to pursue the sins of the Senate,

the hustings of the House.

I’ve paid the price

Am I the only one?

3.

I am the gun that shot the child

in many places.

I have an owner.

A kind, gentle, considerate, generous, careful citizen.

An emotionally retarded, psychotic, neglected, deprived, abused, vengeful

collector of beauties.

My barrel gleams.

I am an automatic obliterator,

my owner is a dead shot,

proud, defender of the faith of our fathers,

responsible,

lover of fire & brimstone.

I love my owner.

Am I the only one?

_________________

(17 February 2018 – in honour of 17 humans massacred in Florida – 14 students + 3 faculty members)

Martin Luther King

January 15, 1929 – April 4, 1968

I wish that I could sing
a song so strong
your dream would seemGcPwvo98NRgoMKk1ndyLpeyJ

to have returned to life
on streets
where blackbirds thrill
and arms are bent
against the ring of a call to prayer.

You sit on the right side of an angel’s wing

You rise with horned larks
across farmlands, prairies, deserts, and golf courses.

I have a song
that waits to be sung
the day a choir is born
surrounded by mixed fruits,
blackcurrants, redberries, dark chocolates, and meringues.

Martin Luther King
you’ve never slept,
always an eye forever,
a tooth ready for the call,
ready for the Promised Land.

Walter Whitman – 3 notes about Walt

Historically speaking, did you know that:

American poetry that many readers think of as essentially “American”–free, open ended, rough and inclusive–came largely from poets in New Jersey, particularly Walt Whitman, Stephen Crane, William Carlos Williams, and Allen Ginsburg.

Whitman was born on Long Island but spent 20 years in Camden, N.J.

His “deathbed edition” or “Leaves of Grass” was prepared in 1891.

Ralph Waldo Emerson heralded Whitman as the poet for whom America had been waiting.

_____________________________

John Tamiazzo, PhD, is executive director of Verde Valley Humane Society.

… Seeing the smiles on their faces and listening to their positive attitudes, reminded me of a book I was currently reading on the life of American poet Walt Whitman, authored by Whitman’s personal physician, Richard Maurice Bucke, MD.

Buck spoke affectionately throughout his memoirs about Whitman’s demeanor.

He said that in the 20 years he knew Whitman he never argued or spoke unkindly about anyone. If literary critics spoke harshly about him or his writings, Whitman would simply say that they were absolutely correct in their criticism, thus lessening the emotion of the situation immediately.

Bucke wrote that the central teaching in Whitman’s poetry and lifestyle is that beauty is all around us and we just need to recognize and appreciate this beauty with our God-given senses.

Whitman strongly believed that we are missing out on the enjoyment of life when we long for things we don’t have or become judgmental too often.

Instead we can simply open our eyes to take notice and to see the bigger picture, open our ears to quietly listen, and open our hearts to a deeper wisdom and knowing of how much there is to be thankful for…

Bucke said that he never met a man who genuinely enjoyed so many things and people as Walt Whitman.

Whitman was kind, generous, gracious, and grateful. He was especially fond of children and animals. He exuded such enormous charm and love that he literally transformed the lives of everyone he met…