"Autobiographies of great nations are written in three manuscripts – a book of deeds, a book of words, and a book of art. Of the three, I would choose the latter as truest testimony." - Sir Kenneth Smith, Great Civilisations

"I must write each day without fail, not so much for the success of the work, as in order not to get out of my routine." - Leo Tolstoy

I have never believed that one should wait until one is inspired because I think the pleasures of not writing are so great that if you ever start indulging them you will never write again. - John Updike

"The life of every man is a diary in which he means to write one story, and writes another; and his humblest hour is when he compares the volume as it is with what he vowed to make it." - J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

Poetry is the shadow cast by our streetlight imaginations." - Lawrence Ferlinghetti


[Note - If any article requires updating or correction please notate this in the comment section. Thank you. - res]


Thursday, January 28, 2016

Maya Angelou - Portrait of a Legendary Poet, Writer, Playwright, Performer, Civil Rights Activist




Maya Angelou: she refused to be cowed by past mistakes or indiscretions | Photograph: Wayne Miller/Supplied



Maya Angelou and Still I Rise review -
perceptive portrait of legendary writer
http://www.theguardian.com/film/2016/jan/27/maya-angelou-and-still-i-rise-review-iconic-writer?CMP=share_btn_fb


by Lanre Bakare
January 27, 2016

In the opening moments of Maya Angelou and Still I Rise, Hillary Clinton says it would be sad if the poet, thinker, and performer were only to be remembered for one thing, alluding to her classic work I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. But this documentary – put together by Bob Hercules and first-time film-maker Rita Coburn Whack, shows the varied, creative and often brutal back story that created one of America’s finest writers.

Starting with her upbringing in Stamps, Arkansas, the directors use Angelou’s unmistakably raspy narration to weave a story of abuse and neglect. Her mother leaves home, and a seven-year-old Angelou is raped by her mother’s new boyfriend when they are reunited in St Louis. After she tells people about the rape, her attacker is arrested and released before his corpse is found: seemingly, he has been beaten to death. It’s a moment that profoundly affects Angelou, who not only has to recover from the assault but also the fact that she now believes her words were responsible for his death. She decides not to speak for five years. The thought of Angelou being mute is shocking, not least because the film is so much better thanks to her voice. She could read a shopping list and make it thrilling.

Angelou finds her voice again when learning poetry – she reads every book in the black library. It’s from here we learn about her developing into a performer. She moves to San Francisco and begins a career onstage; she also gives birth to her son Guy Johnson (there’s an amazing moment when she describes losing her virginity and how underwhelming she found the whole process). Johnson steals the show. His accounts of their life together (and apart) are heartbreaking and tinged with anger. He talks about the time American entertainer Pearl Bailey stopped his mother from being her understudy because she considered her too ugly. It was a decision that meant they’d be separated again because Angelou would have to go back on the road in a touring company. There’s a mix of fury and pride as he tells the story of Bailey getting a lifetime achievement award and choosing Angelou as the person who should give it to her. His mother did it happily, without mentioning the pain she had caused.

It’s their relationship that drives the action again as Angelou becomes involved in the civil rights movement, spending time with James Baldwin, Martin Luther King Jr and Malcolm X, as well as operating on the front lines of protest despite the dangers. Throughout everything she is outspoken and defiant, refusing to be cowed by past mistakes or indiscretions. The only times she is withdrawn is when discussing her son’s accident in Ghana, during which he broke his neck and almost died.
What Coburn Whack and Hercules do so well is capture Angelou’s power and elegance, which seems to have increased as she got older. An important figure throughout the 60s, in the 70s and 80s she developed into a maternal figure for black America, ushering in the period of Oprah and black female empowerment. It’s that longevity and creative drive that the film celebrates. No hagiography, it paints a portrait of a life lived to the full and dedicated to being true to oneself.

Still I Rise
Maya Angelou, 1928 - 2014

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own backyard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.


* * * * * * * * * * *


Poet Maya Angelou
poet

Maya Angelou
1928-2014 , St. Louis , MO


Maya Angelou was an author, poet, historian, songwriter, playwright, dancer,
stage and screen producer, director, performer, singer, and civil rights activist.

Maya Angelou was born Marguerite Johnson in St. Louis, Missouri, on April 4, 1928. She grew up in St. Louis and Stamps, Arkansas. She was an author, poet, historian, songwriter, playwright, dancer, stage and screen producer, director, performer, singer, and civil rights activist. She was best known for her autobiographical books: Mom & Me & Mom (Random House, 2013); Letter to My Daughter (2008); All God’s Children Need Traveling Shoes (1986);The Heart of a Woman (1981); Singin’ and Swingin’ and Gettin’ Merry Like Christmas (1976); Gather Together in My Name (1974); and I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings (1969), which was nominated for the National Book Award.

Among her volumes of poetry are A Brave and Startling Truth (Random House, 1995); The Complete Collected Poems of Maya Angelou (1994); Wouldn’t Take Nothing for My Journey Now (1993); Now Sheba Sings the Song (1987); I Shall Not Be Moved (1990); Shaker, Why Don’t You Sing? (1983); Oh Pray My Wings Are Gonna Fit Me Well (1975); and Just Give Me a Cool Drink of Water ‘fore I Diiie (1971), which was nominated for the Pulitzer Prize.

In 1959, at the request of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Angelou became the northern coordinator for the Southern Christian Leadership Conference. From 1961 to 1962 she was associate editor of The Arab Observer in Cairo, Egypt, the only English-language news weekly in the Middle East, and from 1964 to 1966 she was feature editor of the African Review in Accra, Ghana. She returned to the United States in 1974 and was appointed by Gerald Ford to the Bicentennial Commission and later by Jimmy Carter to the Commission for International Woman of the Year. She accepted a lifetime appointment in 1982 as Reynolds Professor of American Studies at Wake Forest University in Winston-Salem, North Carolina. In 1993, Angelou wrote and delivered a poem, “On The Pulse of the Morning," at the inauguration for President Bill Clinton at his request. In 2000, she received the National Medal of Arts, and in 2010 she was awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom by President Barack Obama.

The first black woman director in Hollywood, Angelou wrote, produced, directed, and starred in productions for stage, film, and television. In 1971, she wrote the original screenplay and musical score for the film Georgia, Georgia, and was both author and executive producer of a five-part television miniseries “Three Way Choice.” She also wrote and produced several prize-winning documentaries, including “Afro-Americans in the Arts, a PBS special for which she received the Golden Eagle Award. Angelou was twice nominated for a Tony award for acting: once for her Broadway debut in Look Away (1973), and again for her performance in Roots (1977).

Angelou died on May 28, 2014, in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, where she had served as Reynolds Professor of American Studies at Wake Forest University since 1982. She was eighty-six.


Alone
Maya Angelou, 1928 - 2014

Lying, thinking
Last night
How to find my soul a home
Where water is not thirsty
And bread loaf is not stone
I came up with one thing
And I don’t believe I’m wrong
That nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.

There are some millionaires
With money they can’t use
Their wives run round like banshees
Their children sing the blues
They’ve got expensive doctors
To cure their hearts of stone.
But nobody
No, nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Now if you listen closely
I’ll tell you what I know
Storm clouds are gathering
The wind is gonna blow
The race of man is suffering
And I can hear the moan,
‘Cause nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.


*From Oh Pray My Wings Are Gonna Fit Me Well by Maya Angelou. Copyright © 1975 by Maya Angelou. Reprinted with permission of Random House, Inc. For online information about other Random House, Inc. books and authors, visit the website at www.randomhouse.com.

Monday, January 18, 2016

Odyssey - An Online Writer's Mecca of Classes, Course Work, and Webinars


Here is a great online help for any writer wishing to develop their craft and/or profession. The Main Home Page link will explain who and what the organization is and the Online Courses Link will direct you to the most current classes which are meeting. Enjoy! ~ R.E. Slater




Odyssey Online Writing Classes






Monday, January 4, 2016

The World of Introverts






Introverts and Friends


Nature,
silence,
peace..

Music,
lyrics,
melodies..

Poems,
stor­ies..

Introvert's friends.


Jan 19, 2015






Quotes about Introverts (insightful)http://www.goodreads.com/quotes/tag/introverts


More Poems by Introvertshttp://allpoetry.com/poems/about/Introvert

Famous Introverted People: Emily Dickensonhttp://lonerwolf.com/emily-dickinson-introvert/



* * * * * * * * * * *




Introverts Need People Too


Because I’ve moved so much and because I am an introvert I don’t have many friends. I mean the kind of person who’ll come to my house or ask me to theirs just to spend time together. As for the people I “know” right now, if they did ask me to hang out, I’d have no clue what to do or how to act.
Over the past month I’ve had the opportunity to hang out and spend time with a few people who’ve actually made me feel comfortable around them. I have to admit though, that when I was camping there was one person who commented to me that he wasn’t sure if I was having fun because I didn’t show it. Well, I didn’t drink because it was a new group of people and I need to feel comfortable around them first. Also I don’t get loud and boisterous when I’m having fun but I smile and laugh and try to be active with what everyone else is doing. If I wasn’t enjoying myself I would’ve made up some excuse to go home. Not being overly demonstrative is one of the downfalls of being an introvert.
The problem I have with hanging out with people for an extended amount of time is that I become comfortable with them and coming home can be a big adjustment. Sure I enjoy my alone time just as much as any other introvert but coming home means that I won’t interact with any other adults for a couple of weeks. I go days upon days without ever talking to another adult because I work from home and raise my children. The only adults I talk to are clients and that’s business not quality time.
The other problem I have after hanging out with people is figuring out whether or not to communicate with them afterwards. I question everything I do:
  • should I text them? maybe they’re busy?
  • do they want to text me?
  • did I hang out for too long?
  • are they glad I’m gone?
  • do they want to talk to me?
  • will they answer me?
  • what do I do if they don’t answer me?
  • what should I do if I’m the only one texting or messaging them and they don’t initiate conversation?
  • do they still like me?
  • do they dislike me now that we’ve spent time together?
  • the questions are endless!
Introverts need people too – even one person we feel comfortable with who we can actually be ourselves around. People who are okay with an introverts personality.
So what are some of the things that introverts do? Here’s a few that I’ve put together:

  1. small talk is torture
  2. crowds are stressful
  3. we have a small group of close friends (if we have any that is)
  4. feeling alone in a crowd is quite the norm
  5. we hear the same questions repeatedly – what are you thinking? are you okay? are you having fun?
  6. we wait to text back – and re-think every word we say
  7. taking walks is our favorite exercise
  8. networking makes us feel like a fake
  9. puzzles are intriguing – especially people who are puzzling
  10. people think we’re too intense
  11. books and movies are the best way to chill out
  12. we enjoy talking to people about subjects we’re passionate about
  13. we’re very picky about stuff – music, food, movies, friends
  14. we don’t trust easily – but sometimes we make bad judgement when we’re too isolated
  15. we’re easily distracted …hey look there’s a squirrel!
  16. we’re really a great listener
  17. people often interrupt us because we listen so well and they forget we sometimes have something to say
  18. we plan ahead …alot
  19. if we like something we absolutly love it …or we absolutely hate it – there doesn’t seem to be an in-between
  20. giving a talk to 500 people is easy – mingling and making small talk afterwards is hard
  21. too much activity causes a shutdown – pj’s and warm drinks are necessary
  22. observation is an activity we enjoy
  23. once we find a friend we tend to open up like a book – sometimes this makes us feel vulnerable if the person isn’t a true friend
  24. we know what we like and aren’t worried about missing out on new things
  25. extroverts are the best relationship partners
  26. we screen all our calls – even from friends
  27. we take it very personall when someone we thougt we were close to starts to ignore us
  28. getting lost in our thoughts happens alot even when other people are talking to us




* * * * * * * * * * *

BATTLE CRY OF THE INTROVERT

May 12, 2013

I don’t write as much poetry as I used to…probably because I am no longer as depressed as I used to be. A few years ago, I suffered some really bad spells and it seemed that the only way I could work my way out of them was to write how I felt…because sometimes I was literally incapable of speech.

In recent days however, my muse seems to have resigned from the poetry inspiration department and moved to short story writing…my muse is obviously unable to multi-task. Anyway, whenever I do write poetry, it is no longer the deep heart wrenching expression of loss and brokenness and greyness that I used to write…my poems are more..well…they’re just odd…I don’t mind though, I like discovering how my mind works.

So anyhow, this is a poem I wrote about being an introvert… I think that it puzzles many of my friends and acquaintances that I can completely disconnect from the world around me and retreat to the relative safety of my room and the world in my laptop… my family just accepts that I’m cuckoo and gets on with it but anyway… here’s the poem.


BATTLE CRY OF THE INTROVERT

I am not an extrovert; I am a socially proficient introvert
I interact not because I like to, but because I can
I have learned the art of conversation
Of meaningless sentences strung together to make a pleasant sounding thread
Just like white noise
I am not an extrovert; nothing wears me out more than people
With their pettiness and their drama and their lies
I have learned to listen but not absorb
To understand without accepting
To be present but not involved
I am not an extrovert; crowds bore me, people tire me
I do not wish to know who did what to whom on what day with which witnesses
I promise you, I do not care
Life is complicated enough without needing to puzzle out the details
Of everyone else’s drama.
I am an introvert; and that is why,
No matter how sweetly I smile,
Or how deeply I seem to listen,
Nothing pleases me more than curling up in my bed
With my books and my thoughts for company
I am an introvert; and so,
Despite how well I put words together
I would much rather write, or tweet
And free myself to expression,
Without the burden of interaction
I am an introvert; the chronicler of your stories
Watching from the side-lines, I’d rather not go on the stage
I’ll watch and talk and listen
And then eagerly rush home, to recount all I have seen and heard
To my patiently waiting computer
I apologize if I seem rude, or unconcerned or distant
It’s just that life is so much sweeter
Standing where I am
I love you very much, I promise I do
I am your friend, I promise I am
But allow me to be one, from way over here
Where I can love you, without having to talk to you
Thank you

- menoword








* * * * * * * * * * *





WORLD INTROVERT DAY

WHO THEY ARE AND WHO THEY ARE NOT
HTTP://INTROVERTDEAR.COM/2015/01/01/INTROVERTS-WORLD-INTROVERT-DAY/

By Jenn Granneman
January 1, 2015

Introverts have received a lot of attention lately, yet misconceptions about introversion still exist. Who are introverts, really? And perhaps more importantly, who are they not?
  1. Introverts make up 30-50 percent of the population.

    That means up to half of the world is introverted.
  2. Introverts loathe small talk, but they enjoy meaningful conversation.

    “Introverts crave meaning, so party chitchat feels like sandpaper to our psyche,” writes author Diane Cameron.
  3. When in relationships, introverts want to keep up with their partner’s inner life, not just day-to-day events.

    “When an introvert cares about someone, she also wants contact, not so much to keep up with the events of the other person’s life, but to keep up with what’s inside: the evolution of ideas, values, thoughts, and feelings,” writes Laurie Helgoe in her book Introvert Power: Why Your Inner Life is Your Hidden Strength.
  4. Introverts become distracted and overwhelmed in highly stimulating environments.

    Introverts are known for their extraordinary ability to focus intensely for long periods of time in quiet, minimally stimulating environments. Yet in highly stimulating environments, introverts tend to either zone out because there’s too much going on, or they become distracted. On the flip side, “extroverts are commonly found to be more easily bored than introverts on monotonous tasks, probably because they require and thrive on high levels of stimulation,” Clark University researchers wrote in a paper published in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology.
  5. Despite preferring to work alone, introverts can still be good team players.

    “We just don’t need to be in the same room as the rest of the team at all times. We would much prefer to have part of the project carved out for us to squirrel away with it in our offices, consulting as necessary but working independently,” writes Sophia Dembling in The Introvert’s Way: Living a Quiet Life in a Noisy World.
  6. Introverts often feel more lonely and bored in a crowd than when they are actually alone.

    “I am rarely bored alone; I am often bored in groups and crowds,” writes Helgoe.
  7. Introverts often express themselves better in writing than in conversation.

    Writing allows introverts time to gather their thoughts and select just the right words.
  8. Introverts are often called “old souls.”

    “Introverts tend to think hard and be analytical,” Dembling tells Huffington Post. “That can make them seem wise.”
  9. Introverts notice details that others might miss.

    They often have a keen eye for detail. They might notice the subtle shift of a friend’s mood or the slight variations of color and texture in a piece of art.
  10. Introverts often feel alienated.

    “In an extroverted society, we rarely see ourselves in the mirror. We get alienating feedback. Alienating feedback comes in the form of repeated encouragement to join or talk, puzzled expressions, well-intended concern, and sometimes, all-out pointing and laughing. Alienating feedback happens when we hear statements like, ‘What kind of loser would be home on a Saturday night?’ Alienating feedback happens where neighborhoods, schools, and offices provide no place to retreat. Alienating feedback happens when our quiet spaces and wilderness sanctuaries are seen as places to colonize,” writes Helgoe.
  11. Introverts may end up in one-sided relationships.

    “Because introverts are typically good listeners and, at least, have the appearance of calmness, we are attractive to emotionally needy people. Introverts, gratified that other people are initiating with them, can easily get caught in these exhausting and unsatisfying relationships,” writes Adam McHugh in Introverts in the Church: Finding Our Place in an Extroverted Culture.
  12. Introverts tend to internalize problems.

    “We place the source of problems within and blame ourselves. Though introverts may also externalize and see others as the problem, it’s more convenient to keep the problem ‘in house.’ Internalizers tend to be reliable and responsible, but we can also be very hard on ourselves,” writes Helgoe.
  13. Introverts are not necessarily shy.

    According to Susan Cain, author of Quiet, shyness is the fear of negative judgment, while introversion is having a preference for minimally stimulating environments. You can be an introvert without being shy, like Bill Gates. There are even extroverts, like Barbara Streisand, who are shy.
  14. Introverts aren’t anti-social.

    They alternate between periods of work and solitude, and periods of social activities. They may have strong social skills, be talkative, have deep relationships, and enjoy going out with friends. They simply need downtime after socializing to recharge.
  15. Introverts aren’t just extroverts who need to come out of their shells.

    About introverts, Cain writes, “At school you might have been prodded to come ‘out of your shell’ — that noxious expression which fails to appreciate that some animals naturally carry shelter everywhere they go, and some humans are just the same.”
  16. Introverts are not people who need to be “fixed.”

    Of course, we all have habits or behaviors we could improve, whether we’re an introvert or an extrovert. Yet introversion is not a flawed way of being or a “problem” that needs fixing. Helgoe writes, “Your nature is not the problem. The problem is that you have become alienated from your nature — from your power source.”

Monday, November 16, 2015

R.E. Slater - Birdsongs



Birdsongs
by R.E. Slater

                                                                                 1            Youth was a time of deep reflection
                                                                                2            of what was, and is, and was to come,
                                                                                3            but also a time of silently mourning
                                                                                4            each rapturous day passing its silence –
                                                                                5            full of doubts and fears, reprises and surprises.

                                                                                6            My boyhood seemed lost in a forever
                                                                                7            remaining special to me o'er long years of
                                                                                8            trial or failure, marking  an innocence
                                                                                9            and marvel I still cling to unsurrendered
                                                                             10            in fidelity to passing days of yore and legend.

                                                                              11            Where childlike wonder too easily arose
                                                                             12            against the lengthening shadows of each
                                                                             13            passing day listening its many birdsongs
                                                                             14            of voices heard beneath the cooling willows
                                                                             15            of my dark wander across its gathering lands.

                                                                             16            Beheld in the grey shadows of evening starlight
                                                                             17            singing in their choruses new rhythms and balances
                                                                             18            measuring time as an aloneness ranging thick about
                                                                             19            me, enfolding my soul within its whispering deep,
                                                                            20            considering all that I knew or wanted or wished.

                                                                             21            Whose long grey shadows cast dismal cold visages
                                                                            22            ensnared upon the tangles of old wizened trees stretching
                                                                            23            in their lengths across the grey hillsides of frolic I once loved,
                                                                            24            whether rainfall or sunshine, quiet warble or song, drinking
                                                                            25            deeply of its nurture upon my parched soul lost in the dark.

                                                                            26            Remembering early morning marches across wet summer
                                                                            27            meadows drenched in clovered dews, or burning grain fields
                                                                            28            boiling in the afternoon heats simmering beneath the loud din
                                                                            29            of humming insects seeking relief - to suddenly stop, upon my
                                                                            30            forage into their habitat, marked by broken fence lines fallen.

                                                                             31            Or happily chance upon the lone meadowlark bursting
                                                                            32            furiously upon the wing in heart-stopping flight, crying
                                                                            33            its tormented surprise in increasing heart-pounding
                                                                            34            crescendos, when all the world stood still, and I in it,
                                                                            35            overcome by its wondrous mysteries so new yet ancient.

                                                                            36            And it was here where my gazing revelations finally beheld
                                                                            37            across verdant grassland’s tumbling in the gentle breezes,
                                                                            38            or lifting thunderstorms dispelled of their black rage by the
                                                                            39            gay breaks of warming sunlight cleaving the stricken hillsides,
                                                                           40            finding in happy testament large mud puddles to be splashed.

                                                                             41            But sometimes revelation came by the small thing
                                                                            42            when slipping into aged barns o'ercome by weary time
                                                                            43            housing silent, ancient clutter, to find rays of streaming
                                                                           44            sunlight slipping through dirty window panes bestirring
                                                                            45            rising dust particles in slow circle, lift, and gentle fall.

                                                                           46            So that now, as an old man, come full circle from
                                                                            47            youth to youth, into another age full of fury and awe,
                                                                           48            lived in a wounded world still too little understood,
                                                                           49            gained by years of long study, then loss, stripped of
                                                                            50            the many good things once so familiar and near.

                                                                             51            Into a worn world needing a touch of the divine
                                                                            52            bestirring its sober wanderings in lifting wonder
                                                                            53            like childhood gazes upon youth’s early fellowships -
                                                                            54            so fair, so beautiful to behold, beyond the onslaught
                                                                            55            of life’s pained hardships striving its fey beauties.

                                                                            56            There, in my heart, I still carry this altar’d peace
                                                                            57            held deep within the recesses of a gathering soul
                                                                            58            so in love with life’s mysteries, its majesties, and
                                                                            59            glories, unmuted by human hand yet impassable
                                                                           60            to all but the kneeling supplicant come to bow.

                                                                             61            It is this inner child now guides my long years
                                                                            62            as both friend and companion, giving rest to
                                                                            63            an aged heart amidst divine bounteous gifts
                                                                           64            still heard playing across the quieting winds
                                                                            65            of lifting birdsongs awakening each new dawn.

                                                                           66            And it is in the burnt fields of my heart I still
                                                                            67            recall morning’s sublime choruses nurturing
                                                                           68            a presence against all coming later to haunt me
                                                                           69            when evening descends its shadows splashing
                                                                            70            my soul in starlit wonders streaming the earth.

                                                                             71            Sensing a new day’s rhythms and balances arising
                                                                            72            across a weary evening’s lengthening grey shadows
                                                                            73            ushered from afar by the woodland owl's awakening
                                                                            74            greeting starlight and moonlight gathering together
                                                                            75            rising fixed in the cradling heavens far, far above.

                                                                            76            To see the heavenly lights reborn in stupored gaze
                                                                            77            unmoved like each new dawn daring to draw breath
                                                                            78            so still, so alone, my memory of those glorious days
                                                                            79            when youth awakened to creation’s glorious songs
                                                                           80            heralding legends from afar within a parched soul.

                                                                             81            Indwelt by days of fellowship with heaven and earth,
                                                                            82            rung in on evening vespers to days of wine and song,
                                                                            83            woven within life's goodness and pain, bemoaning
                                                                           84            nothing lasting - but all that is true and good - made
                                                                            85            eternal in the heavens by everlasting decree and will.

                                                                           86            These are the guideposts and compasses I seek
                                                                            87            drawn daily from a wandering spirit casting afar
                                                                           88            to cast a spell like the spells I’ve been cast within
                                                                           89            overwhelming the senses, overtaking the spirit,
                                                                           90            steadfastly yielded to the renewing graces of life.


R.E. Slater
October 30, 2015
revised November 3, 16, 2015
revised January 7, 2016; May 29, 2017

@copyright R.E. Slater Publications
all rights reserved