have some fun! xo
There’s no ‘I’ in ‘team’. Always better, and more fun, together!
Listen to Jack Johnson sing Banana Pancakes
🍌
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life: acoustic & amplified
poetry, quotes & thoughts about life
Archive for the category “laugh”
Care of the soul requires ongoing attention to every aspect of life. Essentially it is a cultivation of ordinary things in such a way that soul is nurtured and fostered. – Thomas Moore
Never better, mad as a hatter,
right as rain, might and main,
hanky-panky, hot toddy,
hoity-toity, cold shoulder,
bowled over, rolling in clover,
low blow, no soap, hope
against hope, pay the piper,
liar liar pants on fire,
high and dry, shoo-fly pie,
fiddle-faddle, fit as a fiddle,
sultan of swat, muskrat
ramble, fat and sassy,
fllimflam, happy as a clam,
cat’s pajamas, bee’s knees,
peas in a pod, pleased as punch,
pretty as a picture, nothing much,
lift the latch, double dutch,
helter-skelter, hurdy-gurdy,
early bird, feathered friend,
dumb cluck, buck up,
shilly-shally, willy-nilly,
roly-poly, holy moly,
loose lips sink ships,
spitting image, nip in the air,
hale and hearty, part and parcel,
upsy-daisy, lazy days,
maybe baby, up to snuff,
flibbertigibbet, honky-tonk,
spic and span, handyman
cool as a cucumber, blue moon,
high as a kite, night and noon,
love me or leave me, seventh heaven,
up and about, over and out.
Sweather Weather: A Love Song to Language by Sharon Bryan
alchemist training
Loaves and Fishes
This is not
the age of information.
This is not
the age of information.
Forget the news,
and the radio,
and the blurred screen.
This is the time
of loaves
and fishes.
People are hungry
and one good word is bread
for a thousand.
– David Whyte
from The House of Belonging
©1996 Many Rivers Press
we’re all just ex-babies! embrace it!
…everyone is involved, whether they like it or not, in the construction of their world. So, it’s never as given as it actually looks; you are always shaping it and building it. And I feel that from that perspective, that each of us is an artist. Secondly, I believe that everyone has imagination. That no matter how mature and adult and sophisticated a person might seem, that person is still essentially an ex-baby. And as children, we all lived in an imaginal world. You know, when you’ve been told don’t cross that wall, because there’s monsters over there, my god, the world you would create on the other side of the wall.
– John O’Donohue
http://www.onbeing.org/program/inner-landscape-beauty/transcript/1125
King Lear
THERE WOULD BE a strong argument for saying that much of the most powerful preaching of our time is the preaching of the poets, playwrights, novelists because it is often they better than the rest of us who speak with awful honesty about the absence of God in the world and about the storm of his absence, both without and within, which, because it is unendurable, unlivable, drives us to look to the eye of the storm. I think of King Lear especially with its tragic vision of a world in which the good and the bad alike go down to dusty and, it would seem, equally meaningless death with no God to intervene on their behalf, and yet with its vision of a world in which the naked and helpless ones, the victims and fools, become at least truly alive before they die and thus touch however briefly on something that lies beyond the power of death. It is the worldly ones, the ones wise as the world understands wisdom and strong in the way the world understands strength, who are utterly doomed. This is so much the central paradox of Lear that the whole play can be read as a gloss if not a homily on that passage in First Corinthians where Paul expresses the same paradox in almost the same terms by writing, “God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise. God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong. God chose what is low and despised in the world, even things that are not, to bring to nothing things that are” (1 Corinthians 1:27-28), thus pointing as Shakespeare points to the apparent emptiness of the world where God belongs and to how the emptiness starts to echo like an empty shell after a while until you can hear in it the still, small voice of the sea, hear strength in weakness, victory in defeat, presence in absence.
I think of Dostoevski in The Brothers Karamazov when the body of Alyosha’s beloved Father Zossima begins to stink in death instead of giving off fragrance as the dead body of a saint is supposed to, and at the very moment where Alyosha sees the world most abandoned by God, he suddenly finds the world so aflame with God that he rushes out of the chapel where the body lies and kisses the earth as the shaggy face of the world where God, in spite of and in the midst of everything, is.
-Originally published in Telling The Truth
http://m.frederickbuechner.com/
💞
And now I know what most deeply connects us
after that summer so many years ago,
and it isn’t poetry, although it is poetry,
and it isn’t illness, although we have that in common,
and it isn’t gratitude for every moment,
even the terrifying ones, even the physical pain,
though we are halfway through
it, or even the way you describe the magnificence
of being alive, catching a glimpse,
in the store window, of your blowing hair and chapped lips,
though it is beautiful, it is; but it is
that you’re my friend out here on the far reaches
of what humans can find out about each other.
“Coda” by Jason Shinder
The Crest at Reserve of Turpin
for Anni
All I do these drawn-out days
is sit in my kitchen at Pheasant Ridge
where there are no pheasants to be seen
and last time I looked, no ridge.
I could drive over to Quail Falls
and spend the day there playing bridge,
but the lack of a falls and the absence of quail
would only remind me of Pheasant Ridge.
I know a widow at Fox Run
and another with a condo at Smokey Ledge.
One of them smokes, and neither can run,
so I’ll stick to the pledge I made to Midge.
Who frightened the fox and bulldozed the ledge?
I ask in my kitchen at Pheasant Ridge.
The Golden Years
by Billy Collins
Dearest Anni,
Congratulations on your newest beginning. I will scatter walnuts under your bushes for you to discover regularly. Perhaps Sarah Margaret could do the vista?
I love you my lovely friend
I gotz good people who go with me
This face is all I have, worn and lived in
And lines below my eyes are like old friends
And this old hearts’ been beaten up
And my ragged soul has had things rough
And this face is all I have, worn and lived in
The fairest they can fall bored in believing
Something to achieve, this peaceful feeling
After all these tears are only true
And your silver spoons can’t dig up my roots
And this face is all I have, worn and lived in
Worn and lived in
Through the tides of time
Worn and lived in
This face of mine
And I kept believing, the reflection on the wall
Who needs to be the fairest of them all
I never looked like you, cool and streamlined
I have this honesty that grows with time
And when cracks appear they suit me fine
Like a good old dog you won’t hear me whine
And this face is all I have, worn and lived in
Worn and lived in
Through the tides of time
Worn and lived in
This face of mine
And I kept believing the reflection on the wall
Who needs to be the fairest of them all
Sins and lies, they take the place of truth and answers
You can trade a glance and call it second sight
You cannot buy sympathetic mirrors
And honesty is an answer you cannot find
And I kept believing the reflection on the wall
Who needs to be the fairest of them all
This face is all I have, worn and lived in
And lines below my eyes are like old friends
And this old hearts’ been beaten up
And my ragged soul has had things rough
This face is all I have, worn and lived in
And this face is all I have, worn and lived in
– Willie Nelson
oh how i understand this feeling…
At the very lengthy meeting
I actually felt my soul leave my body
and rush toward the ceiling—
and fly around the walls and flare
toward daylight, toward the windows—
to throw silently its impetuous emptiness
against the glass in vain.
It could not go anywhere, the clear moth.
Then it lay on the rug, not exhausted
but bored and so inert that it almost—
though nothing—
took on a hue, stained with all the breaths
and words and thoughts that filled the room:
the yellow-green color of old teeth.
http://writersalmanac.publicradio.org/?elq=a4cfd7c26a1f462caccd044b1cc3a3ab&elqCampaignId=6904
“At the Very Lengthy Meeting” by Kevin McCaffrey from Laughing Cult. © Four Winds Press, 2014. Reprinted with permission. (buy now)
searching
Eldorado
Gaily bedight,
A gallant knight,
In sunshine and in shadow,
Had journeyed long,
Singing a song,
In search of Eldorado.
But he grew old—
This knight so bold—
And o’er his heart a shadow
Fell, as he found
No spot of ground
That looked like Eldorado.
And, as his strength
Failed him at length,
He met a pilgrim shadow—
‘Shadow,’ said he,
‘Where can it be—
This land of Eldorado?’
‘Over the Mountains
Of the Moon,
Down the Valley of the Shadow,
Ride, boldly ride,’
The shade replied,—
‘If you seek for Eldorado!’
Edgar Allan Poe
http://writersalmanac.publicradio.org/
life: acoustic & amplified 