life: acoustic & amplified

poetry, quotes & thoughts about life

Archive for the category “laugh”

today’s weather 

Todays weather calls for

Sunny outlook

with occasional clouds floating through

a few showers always possible

through out the day

daisies sure to peek out of the green grass

just to smile for me

wine and laughter at sunset

moon tonight 

full of you

with a sweet dream or two 

and more than a few songs

sure to drift through me

continuing on 

into my sleeping hours

Waking to a great new day of promise ‪tomorrow‬ 


Amy Lloyd (AL)

smiling’s my favorite  

You are the bread and the knife, 

The crystal goblet and the wine… 

-Jacques Crickillon 
You are the bread and the knife, 

the crystal goblet and the wine. 

You are the dew on the morning grass 

and the burning wheel of the sun. 

You are the white apron of the baker, 

and the marsh birds suddenly in flight. 
However, you are not the wind in the orchard, 

the plums on the counter, 

or the house of cards. 

And you are certainly not the pine-scented air. 

There is just no way that you are the pine-scented air. 
It is possible that you are the fish under the bridge, 

maybe even the pigeon on the general’s head,

but you are not even close 

to being the field of cornflowers at dusk. 
And a quick look in the mirror will show 

that you are neither the boots in the corner 

nor the boat asleep in its boathouse. 
It might interest you to know, 

speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world, 

that I am the sound of rain on the roof. 
I also happen to be the shooting star, 

the evening paper blowing down an alley 

and the basket of chestnuts on the kitchen table. 
I am also the moon in the trees 

and the blind woman’s tea cup. 

But don’t worry, I’m not the bread and the knife. 

You are still the bread and the knife. 

You will always be the bread and the knife, 

not to mention the crystal goblet and–somehow–the wine.


Litany by Billy Collins

They tell me that euphoria is the feeling of feeling wonderful, well,

      today I feel euphorian,

Today I have the agility of a Greek god and the appetite of a Vic-


Yes, today I may even go forth without my galoshes,

Today I am a swashbuckler, would anybody like me to buckle any


This is my euphorian day,

I will ring welkins and before anybody answers I will run away.

I will tame me a caribou

And bedeck it with marabou.

I will pen me my memoirs.

Ah youth, youth! What euphorian days them was!

I wasn’t much of a hand for the boudoirs,

I was generally to be found where the food was.

Does anybody want any flotsam?

I’ve gotsam.

Does anybody want any jetsam?

I can getsam.

I can play chopsticks on the Wurlitzer,

I can speak Portuguese like a Berlitzer.

I can don or doff my shoes without tying or untying the laces be-

      cause I am wearing moccasins,

And I practically know the difference between serums and anti-


Kind people, don’t think me purse-proud, don’t set me down as


I’m just a little euphorious.

No Doctors Today, Thank You by Ogden Nash


When we die

maybe we all come rushing 

together with joy

with pieces of each other 

we’ve had all along,

exchanging treasures,

so happy to see each other, 
to find ourselves 

why do we wait?


Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

just because it’s awesome!  

So I woke up and was going to do a post about grief and heartbreak…but then this came to me from Jen Lemen and changed my mind! Enjoy!!! More Soul Snacks could be on the way! You will get lots of crazy good stuff!!! Sign up now! xo

quest for that shade of blue

When the light lessens,

Causing colors to lose their courage,

And your eyes fix on the empty distance

That can open on either side

Of the surest line

To make all that is

Familiar and near

Seem suddenly foreign,
When the music of talk

Breaks apart into noise

And you hear your heart louden

While the voices around you

Slow down to leaden echoes

Turning the silence Into something stony and cold,
When the old ghosts come back

To feed on everywhere you felt sure,

Do not strengthen their hunger

By choosing to fear;

Rather, decide to call on your heart

That it may grow clear and free

To welcome home your emptiness 

That it may cleanse you

Like the clearest air

You could ever breathe. 
Allow your loneliness time

To dissolve the shell of dross

That had closed around you;

Choose in this severe silence

To hear the one true voice

Your rushed life fears;

Cradle yourself like a child

Learning to trust what emerges,

So that gradually 

You may come to know
That deep in that black hole 

You will find the blue flower

That holds the mystical light 

Which will illuminate in you

The glimmer of springtime. 


A Blessing for Loneliness by John O’Donohue  

Alone and lost

    at the edge

    of an ocean

    of memories,
    a heart of the deepest blue


    to the slow monotony

    of a swaying metronome;
found in the crashing waves

    of a dark desolate shore.

The weeping wind,

    with its hidden whispers,

    murmurs her name;
as nights they walked

    hand in hand
        flashback into view.
Haunting the torn fabric of his soul.


Shipwrecked heart by AllPoetry member, Halosonthemoon

read the rest here:

when I ride the nights ragged hours

when my loneliness rages with ruthless, restless, too warm turning 

when heaven is that smudge of light

seen beside the farthest star

when sleep is torn from my hungry grasp

and I am left without an inch of satisfaction 

from the feathers beneath my head

when I open my eyes to the same shade of black

I see with them closed

then I feel the disappearance of my desire to conform

my self is borderless at 3 am

my pretensions dissolve into this dark

I surrender to my grief

as well as to my hope

I swim to the other end of the bed

to cooler pastures

I visit the sheep 

living among the stuff 

down there

I listen as they recited the 23rd Psalm 

to reassure my nervous entering

in that strange world

I hear all the sounds from this new dimension 

my mind takes on the shape of new perspective 

alert to this unusual adventure 

I cry a little

laugh a little

think about the glory of love

the world turns on its axis

I breath free

I fly home



I am a sheep

and I like it

because the grass

I lie down in

feels good and the still

waters are restful and right

there if I’m thirsty

and though some valleys

are very chilly there is a long

rod that prods me so I

direct my hooves

the right way

though today

I’m trying hard

to sit at a table

because it’s expected

required really

and my enemies—

it turns out I have enemies—

are watching me eat and

spill my drink

but I don’t worry because

all my enemies do

is watch and I know

I’m safe if I will

just do my best

as I sit on this chair

that wobbles a bit

in the grass

on the side of a hill.


Here In The Psalm by Sally Fisher

Your great mistake is to act the drama

as if you were alone. As if life

were a progressive and cunning crime

with no witness to the tiny hidden

transgressions. To feel abandoned is to deny

the intimacy of your surroundings. Surely,

even you, at times, have felt the grand array;

the swelling presence, and the chorus, crowding

out your solo voice You must note

the way the soap dish enables you,

or the window latch grants you freedom.

Alertness is the hidden discipline of familiarity.

The stairs are your mentor of things

to come, the doors have always been there

to frighten you and invite you,

and the tiny speaker in the phone

is your dream-ladder to divinity.
Put down the weight of your aloneness and ease into

the conversation. The kettle is singing

even as it pours you a drink, the cooking pots

have left their arrogant aloofness and

seen the good in you at last. All the birds

and creatures of the world are unutterably

themselves. Everything is waiting for you.


Everything is Waiting for You by David Whyte

from Everything is Waiting for You

©2003 Many Rivers Press

photo sources found at

threads that won’t break 

On Dec 3, 2014 (2 year anniversary of my living death in the dark night of the soul, I got a post titled Love never Dies from Jen Lemen at Hopeful World

Here’s a taste of what it said:
I am struck also as I write to you from this wintery desk, that building our capacity for stillness helps so much when the wild comes to our restless souls. Without that practice of being quiet, it’s easy to be scared when our wild, instinctual thoughts pop up. It’s easy to think that they are bad somehow or in need of corralling. But the practice of quiet and stillness helps us recognize our instinctual knowing for what it is: a call to our most true nature. A call to a kind of expression that is more vibrant, more textured, more passionate, more alive–even if it’s a little bit messy. Even if it kicks up a little bit of shame that we are this human, this raw.
So I invite you today to sit with me for three magic minutes. I’ll be right here with you, my own mind a rollercoaster of crazy, of frantic, of nonsensical worrisome things. I’ll sit with you and notice everything in my own soul, while you notice everything in yours and together we will begin to knit together an understanding of what’s underneath that noise: a gorgeous, exquisite tapestry of human longing designed to carry us to an awake magnificent place.
Will you join me?

Setting the timer now.

Let me know how it is on the other side.
With so much love,

It’s now 3.5 years later and Jen Lemen is still bringing all that, and more to me, to you, to the shaky, hoping world, to the edges of eternity…love never dies. 
Today, in this crazy, brutal brutal place, where we ask…
how can these two people be our Presidential choices?
how can people keep killing other people?
how can I deal with the grief and the fear of this? 
how can I help?
what is the solution? 
what is my part? 
Jen Lemen is doing her part. She’s offering Soul Snacks –
Amazing gifts to all of of struggling, hungry, hurting, angry, frustrated pilgrims and poets. 
Right now she has open enrollment and I have just this…
Don’t wait!
Gobble this up, savor it a bite at a time, eat them from start to finish, or nibble from the middle to each edge of crust. Savory, delectable soul-spices involving all your most subtle senses.


Keep wrestling, burn, scream, let go, melt, let your heart keep breaking for the sake of your heart, keep saying the names of your people, fiercely defend your tenderness, think, grieve, repair, renew, continue to do what’s in your heart to do…each thread matters…each color makes the world more beautiful…
in the end, only love is eternal, only love remains…



We are God’s thread

weaving through the tapestry,

the masterpiece is slowly 


Potential for beauty, we can’t know,



          revealing glory 

so bright 

it makes the sun squint 

and reach for sunglasses.  

Brilliance so far beyond ourselves

we go shining into the gray

as we open to the new jewels appearing,

sparkling in the moonlight. 

As we step into the needle’s eye 

the angels catch their breath,

cheering our blazing garments,

dazzled by the vision

God is revealing through the creation. 

As we surrender to the greatest mystery,

the beauty we inhabit 

becomes us,

walking in humble clay

eyes out shining the stars 

set in the heavens. 

Until we totally disappear and all that’s left

is holiness 

so pure 

all we can do 


bow in wonder 

at ourselves

and give thanks 

as the silk thread 

becomes liquid gold and silver

pure and simple


as we realize our place in the whole. 

We are the temple of our creator. 

The home of God. 



As deftly and finally as one pulls out a thread

someone is weaving them, gracefully tying them,

minute and irreversible.
In the towering sky, even under the fortress, 

root tendrils muscle in and bind ligaments

through an abyss we had been told was absolute.
No enormity of terror

can keep up  

with the steady, unseen healing. 
Before the assault, the horrible wound, 

gaping and exposed,

the stitching has already begun.
Even as we sigh in our own world,

moving on, separate,

we are being sewn in. 
In the earthquake, the collapsing mountains,

not a bit of rubble falls

on the path from the temple.
If you could hold your immortal soul

in your hands, you would hardly recognize it

from one moment to the next.
Your grave is already empty. 

Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

photo sources found at

what matters most 

Real power has nothing to do with force, control, status, or money. Real power is the persistent courage to be at ease with the unsolved and the unfinished. To be able to recognize, in the scattered graffiti of your desires, the signature of the eternal.


John O’Donohue 


there’s laughter in the air

flickering like candle light

touching hearts and ears



through the air around us,

between us. 

Soaking into our pores,

permeating our bones,

healing us,

making us strong. 

Why should we worry?

so, there’s a black cloud above us..

Let it stay…

or let it go….

let’s laugh till your bellies hurts. 

Then laugh some more, 

until the sun comes out 

just to find the reason, 

Till all the corners of the world 

need to wipe their eyes with us,

and, then, we all take a great, big sigh of relief…



such beautiful sunset photos taken today by my very, very special Allie Dolan, aka: Allie-girl. So blessed and grateful to have her back in my life 💞 @ Branford, CT

you CAN see the forest



Some days I find myself

putting my foot in

the same stream twice;

leading a horse to water

and making him drink.

I have a clue.

I can see the forest

for the trees.
All around me people

are making silk purses

out of sows’ ears,

getting blood from turnips,

building Rome in a day.

There’s a business

like show business.

There’s something new

under the sun.
Some days misery

no longer loves company;

it puts itself out of its.

There’s rest for the weary.

There’s turning back.

There are guarantees.

I can be serious.

I can mean that.

You can quite

put your finger on it.
Some days I know

I am long for this world.

I can go home again.

And when I go

I can

take it with me.

Blessings by Ronald Wallace

A toast to an unexpected Monday

Yes, my friend, a toast!

Unexpected mondays are one of my very favorite things

Along with the unexpected moments in everyday. 

For many years

I have looked for,

and always have found

in each day,


Where I find myself breathless

suspended in the aha’s

of ordinary miracles,

the sharing the laughter hidden in our days –

the glory in the grey. 
I, under the shadow of Walt Whitman,

seeing the miraculous in it all. 

The simple pleasures,

which take our breath away

and remind us of our gift. 

this moment. 

Nothing more important than

this ordinary day

opening before us

like a sparkling present to unwrap. 


Taking great care with the paper,

lingering over untying the satin ribbon,

Letting it slid beneath our fingers

Savoring the feeling

of the silk 

in all of our senses. 

Especially on the tip of our tongue.

This is passion. 

This is life! 



poetry is not a luxury   – Audra Lourde

For a very long time we had these strange rules around prayers…we forgot the bow at the end of a thought, the lowering of not our head, or our shoulders , but our inner being. The way a heart can break at the sound of the word, Holy or Lord. The urgency of our words when we are lost in darkness or broken by grief. How words can be tangled in territory that seems foreign, but really, home doesn’t look like that at all. 

I sat outside near the pergala this morning, where the trumpet vine is greening with strength and its power to flow with tendrils over twenty feet of wood, and the cardinals came to sit near me on the yellow wicker chair. Their song blending into my skin and I could feel the beat of their hearts as prayers grew within me, touching their backs and stroking the song coming forth into the morning hours. The sun beat warmth down to the bone and the sphere of time and space slid to the side of the garden where purple salvia has grown to a foot, and all the words of prayer that flow as love from Spirit, out into the world, came like silence from the realm of one beam of light, and I heard, and I witnessed, and I prayed…where the bow meets the stillness, is where I stayed…


Donna Knutson

photos by Fisherman Dan @ Branford, CT

I wonder if writing this poem
will spill you out of me
through my fingertips
will the ink become your blood 
this paper your skin
for me to touch 
again and again?

I wonder if stretching my hands to the sky,
while standing on my tiptoes
will release you into the blue
so you can fly free with me
into the starry sky
discovering all the worlds we have inside?

I wonder if I stand as tall, and as still, as a tree
you will come to me
climb up inside me
twist your arms and legs into my branches 
hold me close and sleep with me always?

I wonder if I sing you a love song
if I will become a part your soul
and a part of mine
both of us sewn within the chords
of words and notes
absorbing our crazy love 
into our very dna? 
Will we ever begin becoming each other? 
Forever becoming each other’s other?
mirrors of beauty
dancing eternally 

within the aleph
where heaven meets the earth?



Prayer comes in many forms. Beauty to bless the space between. 

make the most of it

Setting priorities is a difficult process…
No, it’s not!

That’s just what I keep saying. 

But, it’s really very simple –

Just this…
What is the most important thing(s) in my life?
How do I reorganize my life around 

the most important thing(s)?
Am I willing to do the work focused on that/those?
Those questions are on me. 

The answers are very clear,

very simple. 
Ok, then…

Get busy

make your music happen 



Do it!

This is it!

Set your sites…





smiling’s my favorite… 

Days the weather sits

in the endless sky,

the clouds drifting by.
The winter’s snow,

summer’s heat,

same street.
Nothing changes

but the faces, the people,

all the things they do
‘spite of heaven and hell

or city hall—

Nothing’s wiser than a moment.
No one’s chance

is simply changed by wishing,

right or wrong.
What you do is how you get along.

What you did is all it ever means.


Place to Be by Robert Creeley

My mission in life is not merely to survive, but to thrive; and to do so with some passion, some compassion, some humor, and some style. – Maya Angelou

Oh yes, this is my motto!!

These four things for the rest of my life:





Maya is my friend

She knows me well

We are soul connected in so many ways

Thank you, my sister

For your words

Your journey

Your passion

Your choices

I am ever grateful for your teaching

I will do my best to live

the same way you did

within the space I have been given

So my song

will be transformed from

breaking free from my cages

and I will sing my personal song

of freedom



Don’t leave home without your sense of humor. Don’t come home without it either.

    – Robert Moss

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