segunda-feira, 26 de novembro de 2007

Push the limits....if they are holding you back...push....

Memories of a old tree....

I am a tired old tree
Once small and fragile,
Now the same wind that gently
Touched my branches
Spreading the fragrance of my flowers
Far away, attracting all kind of insects
Puts my will to survive to a final test

But whenever I may fall
I know that even then I have some worth
Because I will be able to keep the cold away
On a winter night as my dry wood
Is set alight on the fireplace

But I have fond memories of my existence as a tree
As you should have of your life
Despite the end that is approaching I had a full existence

I saw too many sunrises as I did sunsets
Too many stars above me I saw
I haven’t count them all
You should try
And don’t be upset if you can’t count them all

They are there just for that reason to remind you
That something’s you can’t fully understand
Just accept their presence and guidance
As so many have done over the ages,

How I loved the laughter of children
Running around me without a care in the world
Pretending to be leaves hanging from my branches
Sometimes falling
But never resisting the urge to climb again
To experience something, to test themselves
Over and over again,

How I loved the birds chirping
Leaping from branch to branch
Making their nest in the security of my branches
Raising their young, teaching them to survive
In this increasingly dangerous world
Telling them to never but never give up
Despite the difficulties they might face
You should follow that same advice to the letter,

How I loved how fast the squirrels moved
Always alert always prepared to run to safety
Aware that the smallest noise could be the last
One they will ever hear,

How I loved the wise owl
That came every night to its favorite spot
Looking for food to feed its young and himself,
In that way keeping nature in balance,

How I loved the rain falling
Like tears from the gods above
Touching the earth with the sound
Of a thirsty soul searching for answers
Making the dust turn and twist
As if fairies were dancing,

How I loved the sun warming my leaves
After a cold night casting shadows where the tired rested,
Where lovers embraced and oaths of fidelity were spoken
Many in my bark their name wrote as if doing a tattoo

Years passed and some returned to stand beside
Those same letters and with smiles upon their faces
Fond memories recalled,
Others facing those carved letters now aged by time and the
Elements remember times long ago
Full of promises and weep
Facing the fact that life doesn’t always meet
Our expectations but is still worth living
Still worth fighting for,

This is my advice to you, the most important thing
You can do is keep resisting no matter the odds
Sometimes being stubborn is the correct thing to do
Do as I am doing facing the blowing wind and denying
To fall, I will fall but not now it will be on my own terms
When I fell ready.
And even then my presence will be felt….


terça-feira, 20 de novembro de 2007

Sacred art....

I only had to be cut once to know how to bleed
I know why we tend to love most those who know
How to leave

Take my hand and let me tell you
All but my love will soon be gone
And the exit wound will be quick and clean
So the sacred art of leaving passes on.

Billy Franks

domingo, 18 de novembro de 2007

It's all we can do....

Are we blind?....Sometimes we just pretend to be....

Are we blind ?
Too busy to see ?
Too insensible to feel ?

So many human beings in need,
So many human beings with problems,
So many human beings with nothing to eat,
And US wasting so much,
Eating until feeling sick from it,
Eating more than we need.

So many human beings with nothing to wear,
Nothing to keep the cold wind from beating,
Beating, harsh against unprotected skin,
And US only preoccupied that despite
A full wardrobe we must buy a new piece,

Something that will match perfectly with
Another one, a piece that is the new trend,
A trend imposed on us, a piece that has
To be of a certain brand so that we may belong,
Belong to that small group, instead of belonging
To that great group that is Humanity.

Are we not able to see,
That despite their actual situation,
Those human beings were once like us,
That they had a similar life, similar to the one
We now have but by a twist of fate, a trick of destiny
Sometimes with a helping hand, all they once had
Now gone,
All they valued above all else
Now worthless,
All they desperately needed
Now just a vague memory.

Now they only need a helping hand
A second chance,
Sometimes something so simple as a word of comfort,
A few minutes to talk,
To be listened,
To be able to let go, to drop the weight on their shoulders,
To look someone in the eyes again,
Without the fear of doing just that
The opportunity to gain a little respect back.

And what do WE do?
Is simple we just ignore them
Afraid that their problems could
by a simple magic trick
Be given to us.

But what makes me feel angry,
Disgusted is the fact that if one of those
Less fortunate human beings appears on a TV show,
Only with the untold, but still transparent intention
Of boosting the programs ratings,
And with tears in the eyes
Tells the audience their life story,
The reason behind their present predicament

In a moment the phone rings,
On the other side help will be offered
The person calling
Depicted before all those watching
As a true humanitarian,

But let’s not be naïve and ignore the fact
That if the person who is calling faced
The now grateful guest in the street
He would do everything he could
To appear to be unable to see it.

Are we blind?
Too busy to see?
Too insensible to feel ?


sexta-feira, 16 de novembro de 2007


The song is in Arabic. Chemda wrote it in Hebrew, and had a cousin of hers translate it to Arabic. The song is about when Chemda was going through a very rough period in her life and the person she's singing to stood by her side through it all. The "Smah li" of the chorus translates to "forgive me".

This is all according to Chemda, from the C1 website.

Posted on YouTube comments by cubdetroit

quarta-feira, 14 de novembro de 2007

Searching for an answer....

Sometimes words confuse your minds
Sometimes the tears of life try to hide
Leaving memories behind
You wanna live your life with no more fears

In these days of lies and lies
They don't let me free
That's the price


Need time to clear out your mind
Still everything looks so
So confuse
Trying to scape from all mistakes
And run away from all
The scars deep inside

It is....

It is in silence where all sound is heard.
It is in stillness where all movement is felt.
It is by not looking that everything is seen.
It is in aloneness when we are accompanied by all that is.
It is in simplicity that all the complexities become clear.
It is from nothing that all things come.
It is by not walking any path that our destination is reached.
It is in Being that we are eternally reborn.
It is in looking at ourselves that the face of God is revealed.
It is through separation that we become whole.
It is in shadow that we become enlightened.

Tony Reis

Just sand....

When things in your life seem almost too much to handle, when 24 hours in a day are not enough, Remember the mayonnaise jar...and the coffee...

A professor stood before his philosophy class and had some items in front of him. When the class began, wordlessly, he picked up a very large and empty mayonnaise jar and proceeded to fill it with golf balls. He then asked the students if the jar was full. They agreed that it was. So the professor then picked up a box of pebbles and poured them into the jar. He shook the jar lightly. The pebbles rolled into the open areas between the golf balls. He then asked the students again if the jar was full. They agreed it was. The professor next picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar. Of course, the sand filled up everything else. He asked once more if the jar was full. The students responded with an unanimous "Yes."

The professor then produced two cups of coffee from under the table and poured the entire contents into the jar, effectively filling the empty space between the sand. The students laughed.

"Now," said the professor, as the laughter subsided, "I want you to recognize that this jar represents your life. The golf balls are the important things-your God, family, your children, your health, your friends, and your favorite passions--things that if everything else were lost and only they remained, your life would still be full. The pebbles are the other things that matter like your job, your house, and your car. The sand is everything else--the small stuff.

"If you put the sand into the jar first," he continued, "there is no room for the pebbles or the golf balls. The same goes for life. If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff, you will never have room for the things that are important to you. Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness. Play with your children. Take time to get medical checkups. Take your partner out to dinner. There will always be time to clean the house and fix the disposal. Take care of the golf balls first, the things that really matter. Set your priorities. The rest is just sand."

One of the students raised her hand and inquired what the coffee represented. The professor smiled. "I'm glad you asked. It just goes to show you that no matter how full your life may seem, there's always room for a couple of cups of coffee with a friend."

Author Unknown

See....with your heart...with your soul....

The park bench was deserted as I sat down to read
Beneath the long, straggly branches of an old willow tree.
Disillusioned by life with good reason to frown,
For the world was intent on dragging me down.

And if that weren't enough to ruin my day,
A young boy out of breath approached me, all tired from play.
He stood right before me with his head tilted down
And said with great excitement, "Look what I found!"

In his hand was a flower, and what a pitiful sight,
With its petals all worn - not enough rain, or too little light.
Wanting him to take his dead flower and go off to play,
I faked a small smile and then shifted away.

But instead of retreating he sat next to my side
And placed the flower to his nose and declared with overacted surprise,
"It sure smells pretty and it's beautiful, too.
That's why I picked it; here, it's for you."

The weed before me was dying or dead.
Not vibrant of colors, orange, yellow or red.
But I knew I must take it, or he might never leave.
So I reached for the flower, and replied, "Just what I need."

But instead of him placing the flower in my hand,
He held it mid-air without reason or plan.
It was then that I noticed for the very first time
That weed-toting boy could not see: he was blind.

I heard my voice quiver, tears shone like the sun
As I thanked him for picking the very best one.
"You're welcome," he smiled, and then ran off to play,
Unaware of the impact he'd had on my day.

I sat there and wondered how he managed to see
A self-pitying woman beneath an old willow tree.
How did he know of my self-indulged plight?
Perhaps from his heart, he'd been blessed with true sight.

Through the eyes of a blind child, at last I could see
The problem was not with the world; the problem was me.
And for all of those times I myself had been blind,
I vowed to see the beauty in life, and appreciate every second that's mine.

And then I held that wilted flower up to my nose
And breathed in the fragrance of a beautiful rose
And smiled as I watched that young boy, another weed in his hand
About to change the life of an unsuspecting old man.

Author Unknown

quarta-feira, 7 de novembro de 2007


I draw a window
and a man sitting inside it.

I draw a bird in flight above the lintel.

That's my picture of thinking.

If I put a woman there instead
of the man, it's a picture of speaking.

If I draw a second bird
in the woman's lap, it’s ministering.

A third flying below her feet.
Now it's singing.

Or erase the birds
make ivy branching
around the woman's ankles, clinging
to her knees, and it becomes remembering.

You'll have to find your own
pictures, whoever you are,
whatever your need.

As for me, many small hands
issuing from a waterfall
means silence
mothered me.

The hours hung like fruit in night's tree
means when I close my eyes
and look inside me,

a thousand open eyes
span the moment of my waking.

Meanwhile, the clock
adding a grain to a grain
and not getting bigger,

subtracting a day from a day
and never having less, means the honey

lies awake all night
inside the honeycomb
wondering who its parents are.

And even my death isn't my death
unless it's the unfathomed brow
of a nameless face.

Even my name isn't my name
except the bees assemble

a table to grant a stranger
light and moment in a wilderness
of Who? Where?

by Li-Young Lee

Lágrimas ocultas....

Se me ponho a cismar em outras eras
Em que ri e cantei, em que era querida,
Parece-me que foi noutras esferas,
Parece-me que foi numa outra vida...

E a minha triste boca dolorida,
Que dantes tinha o rir das primaveras,
Esbate as linhas graves e severas
E cai num abandono de esquecida!

E fico, pensativa, olhando o vago...
Toma a brandura plácida dum lago
O meu rosto de monja de marfim...

E as lágrimas que choro, branca e calma,
Ninguém as vê brotar dentro da alma!
Ninguém as vê cair dentro de mim!

Florbela Espanca


Não sei quantas almas tenho.
Cada momento mudei.
Continuamente me estranho.
Nunca me vi nem achei.
De tanto ser, só tenho alma.
Quem tem alma não tem calma.
Quem vê é só o que vê,
Quem sente não é quem é,

Atento ao que sou e vejo,
Torno-me eles e não eu.
Cada meu sonho ou desejo
É do que nasce e não meu.
Sou minha própria paisagem,
Assisto à minha passagem,
Diverso, móbil e só,
Não sei sentir-me onde estou.

Por isso, alheio, vou lendo
Como páginas, meu ser.
O que segue não prevendo,
O que passou a esquecer.
Noto à margem do que li
O que julguei que senti.
Releio e digo: Fui eu?
Deus sabe, porque o escreveu.

Fernando Pessoa


Quando estou só reconheço
Se por momentos me esqueço
Que existo entre outros que são
Como eu sós, salvo que estão
Alheados desde o começo.

E se sinto quanto estou
Verdadeiramente só,
Sinto-me livre mas triste.
Vou livre para onde vou,
Mas onde vou nada existe.

Creio contudo que a vida
Devidamente entendida
É toda assim, toda assim.
Por isso passo por mim
Como por cousa esquecida.

Fernando Pessoa

segunda-feira, 5 de novembro de 2007

Yes.... English can be difficult....

We polish Polish furniture.

He could lead if he got the lead out.

A farm can produce produce.

The dump was so full, it had to refuse refuse.

The soldier decided to desert in the desert.

The present is a good time to present the present.

At the Army base, a bass was painted on a bass drum.

A dove dove into the bushes.

I didn’t object to the object.

The insurance for the invalid was invalid.

The bandage was wound around the wound.

There was a row among the oarsmen about how to row.

The two were too close to the door to close it.

The buck does funny things when does are present.

They sent a sewer down to stitch a tear in the sewer line.

To help with planting, the farmer taught his sow to sow.

The wind was too strong to wind the sail.

After a number of Novocain injections, my lips got number.

I shed a tear over a tear in my shirt.

I had to subject the subject to a number of tests.

How can I intimate this to my most intimate friends?

I spent last evening evening out a pile of dirt.

Author Unknown

It Couldn’t Be Done....

Somebody said that it couldn’t be done,
But, he with a chuckle replied
That "maybe it couldn’t," but he would be one
Who wouldn’t say so till he’d tried.
So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin
On his face. If he worried he hid it.
He started to sing as he tackled the thing
That couldn’t be done, and he did it.

Somebody scoffed: "Oh, you’ll never do that;
At least no one has done it";
But he took off his coat and he took off his hat,
And the first thing we knew he’d begun it.
With a lift of his chin and a bit of a grin,
Without any doubting or quiddit,
He started to sing as he tackled the thing
That couldn’t be done, and he did it.

There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done,
There are thousands to prophesy failure;
There are thousands to point out to you one by one,
The dangers that wait to assail you.
But just buckle it in with a bit of a grin,
Just take off your coat and go to it;
Just start to sing as you tackle the thing
That "couldn’t be done," and you’ll do it.

Edgar Guest

Learning from Noah's Ark....

Don't miss the boat

Don't forget we're all in the same boat.

Plan ahead—it wasn't raining when Noah built the Ark.

Stay fit-when you're 600 years old someone might ask you to do something really big.

Don't listen to critics, just get on with what has to be done.

For safety's sake travel in pairs.

Two heads are better than one.

Build your future on high ground.

Speed isn't always an advantage, after all, the, snails were on the, same ark with the cheetahs.

When you are stressed, float a while.

Remember the ark was built by amateurs; the Titanic was built by professionals.

Remember that the woodpeckers inside are a larger threat than the storm outside.

Author Unknown