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Selkie Girl by Jessica Shirley with kind permission
All Rights Reserved.

Sunday, August 28, 2011

“For My House is Huge” ~ Postcards from Paradise

Praud  (n)Praud © 2011 Milan Malovrh

It Was Winter
Winter came as it does in this valley.
After eight dry months rain fell
And the mountains, straw-colored, turned green for a while.
In the canyons where gray laurels
Graft their stony roots to granite,
Streams must have filled the dried-up creek beds.
Ocean winds churned the eucalyptus trees,
And under clouds torn by a crystal of towers
Prickly lights were glowing on the docks.

© 2011 Milan Malovrh
This is not a place where you sit under a cafe awning
On a marble piazza, watching the crowd,
Or play the flute at a window over a narrow street
While children’s sandals clatter in the vaulted entryway.
They heard of a land, empty and vast,
Bordered by mountains. So they went, leaving behind crosses
Of thorny wood and traces of campfires.
As it happened, they spent winter in the snow of a mountain pass,
And drew lots and boiled the bones of their companions;

And so afterward a hot valley where indigo could be grown
Seemed beautiful to them. And beyond, where fog
Heaved into shoreline coves, the ocean labored.
Sleep: rocks and capes will lie down inside you,
War councils of motionless animals in a barren place,
Basilicas of reptiles, a frothy whiteness.
Sleep on your coat, while your horse nibbles grass
And an eagle gauges a precipice.
Duel © 2011 Milan Malovrh
When you wake up, you will have the parts of the world.
West, an empty conch of water and air.
East, always behind you, the voided memory of snow-covered fir.
And extending from your outspread arms
Nothing but bronze grasses, north and south.

At Night © 2011 Milan Malovrh
We are poor people, much afflicted.
We camped under various stars,
Where you dip water with a cup from a muddy river
And slice your bread with a pocketknife.
This is the place; accepted, not chosen.
We remembered that there were streets and houses where we came

In darkness  (n)Into the Dark© 2011 Milan Malovrh
So there had to be houses here, a saddler’s signboard,
A small veranda with a chair. But empty, a country where
The thunder beneath the rippled skin of the earth,
The breaking waves, a patrol of pelicans, nullified us.
As if our vases, brought here from another shore,
Were the dug-up spearheads of some lost tribe
Who fed on lizards and acorn flour.
©2011 Milan Malovrh
And here I am walking the eternal earth.
Tiny, leaning on a stick.
I pass a volcanic park, lie down at a spring,
Not knowing how to express what is always and everywhere:

© 2011 Milan Malovrh
The earth I cling to is so solid
Under my breast and belly that I feel grateful
For every pebble, and I don’t know whether
It is my pulse or the earth’s that I hear,
When the hems of invisible silk vestments pass over me,
Hands, wherever they have been, touch my arm,
Or small laughter, once, long ago over wine,
With lanterns in the magnolias, for my house is huge.
Berkeley, 1964
Czeslaw Milosz, "It Was Winter" from The Collected Poems: 1931-1987. Copyright © 1988 by Czeslaw Milosz

About the Photographer:
Milan hails from a small town in Slovenia, Trzic.
Photography is his primary hobby  and during the last  forty years it has become a great passion. He loves seeing the world through his camera because it opens the eyes of others to things, that they don´t initially see on  first view.
He is grateful to all who appreciate and look at his pictures.
You may find more of his images of these amazing dream horses at and also at
For those who are facing the Struggles of Hurricane Irene,
May You always have a sense of Home, Protection and Shelter And the Knowledge that there is Grace in recovery and restoration even after the harshest of storms.

For More Lovely Postcards from Paradise, Please visit Recuerda Mi Corazon. It will be a breath of Fresh Air for you!
Note: All of Milan Malovrh’s images are copyrighted and posted here with photographer permission. They may not be used without that permission. Thank you.

Saturday, August 20, 2011

Haiku My Heart: Journeying God

Women and children waiting to enter Dadaab camp
Journeying God
Journeying god,
pitch your tent with mine
so that I may not become deterred
by hardship, strangeness, doubt.
Show me the movement I must make
toward a wealth not dependent on possessions,
toward a wisdom not based on books,
toward a strength not bolstered by might,
toward a god not confined to heaven.
Help me to find myself as I walk in other's shoes.
(Prayer song from Ghana, traditional, translator unknown)
journeying God
May Our Hearts be Full
Like the Sovereign Moon who Shines
On a Weary Face.
~Noelle Renee
You may read more about the good work of Unicef Here.
The short film you are about to see offers a quick, easy, and painless way to give money to this cause. It is supported by almost all mobile phone carriers.
Peace and Light,
Noelle Renee
For other avenues of giving in this time of unprecedented crisis, please click Here
Here is More In depth information about the crisis in Somalia and the Good Work that Unicef is doing there currently.
For More Ways to Donate to this Fine Organization that has been working to save the lives of children since 1946 Click Here
For other wonderful Haiku My Heart posts, please visit Rebecca’s blog. you will enjoy your time there and at all the other blog posts she has gathered.

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

The Flower of Love

My Warrior by Andre du PlessisMy Warrior © Andre du Plessis


A Conceit

Give me your hand
Make room for me
to lead and follow
beyond this rage of poetry.

Let others have
the privacy of
touching words
and love of loss
of love.

For me
Give me your hand.

~Maya Angelou

The Joy of a French Love Song sung by Beninoise singer-songwriter, Angelique Kidjo

Angelique Kidjo

Linked to Share the Joy Thursday. For more Share the Joy Posts, Please go to Meri’s Musings and enjoy a visit to more joyful places!


About The Photographer:

Andre du Plessis

Andre du Plessis hails originally from central South Africa and currently resides in the U.K.  (London) where he works in private practice as a Physician with a unique Anesthesiology Specialty. His great love for photography began when he was a young boy of five, and has remained with him steadily since. The great motivator for his photographic adventures is never knowing where they will lead him.  When asked about the spontaneity of his “Street Shoots”  with regard to his South African series he responded in this way:

“In general, my subjects are people I do not know; in essence they are strangers to me at first. My objective is that the images I take of these people become something that transcends this void, and perhaps bridges any distance between us.  When I look at these photos afterwards, although these people might be strangers, I want the photo to express that I feel a kinship, an understanding, and that respect for one another is tangible. In my South African series, very few of my subjects are wealthy; they do not have the goodies that you or I might have.  However, I want the person in front of the lens to be captured in the wholesomeness of who they feel they are. Their environment is captured merely as an addition to complete the canvas.”

~Taken from Andre du Plessis’s Bio. with permission.

Thursday, August 11, 2011

Haiku My Heart: Summer Colors

zawilce kopiaSummer colors © Magdalena Wasiczek  with kind permission


Pink summer petals

Burst through Purple berry buds

Cobwebs, fairy-spun

~Noelle Renee 8/11/11


Enjoy the lovely voice of Songbird Eva Cassidy: Fields of Gold ~We will always remember her beautiful gifts.

Eva Cassidy ~ Fields of Gold (Rest in Peace Eva)


About the Photographer:

Magdalena Wasiczek hails from Trzebinia, Poland.

You may find this and more of her phenomenally beautiful photos on and at her personal website


For more wonderful Haikus from the Heart, visit rebecca’s blog at recuerda mi corazon. It is an experience you will not soon forget.

Sunday, August 7, 2011

Postcards from Paradise: Girl Power

5762799878_b81094a538_o Some rights reserved by

Be Nobody’s Darling

Be nobody’s darling;
Be an outcast.
Take the contradictions
Of your life
And wrap it around
You like shawl,
To parry stones
To keep you warm.
Watch the people succumb
To madness
With ample cheer;
Let them look askance at you
And you askance reply.
Be an outcast;
Be pleased to walk alone
Or line the crowded
River beds
With other impetuous
Make a merry gathering
On the bank
Where thousands perished
For brave hurt words
They said.
Be nobody’s darling;
Be an outcast.
Be qualified to live
Among your dead.

~Alice Walker

~Thanks Sister~


For More Postcards from Paradise Please go to Rebecca’s Blog at recuerda mi corazon. You can visit all the other sisters there too and a few brothers who might have some postcard to share with you.

Saturday, August 6, 2011

Keeping in Touch

keeping in touch 1

ForElisa ©2011 Renato Manzi

"I think we are well advised to keep on nodding terms with the people we used to be, whether we find them attractive company or not. Otherwise they turn up unannounced and surprise us, come hammering on the mind's door at 4 a.m. of a bad night and demand to know who deserted them, who betrayed them, who is going to make amends.”

keeping in touch 2Moving Around ©2011 Renato Manzi

We forget all too soon the things we thought we could never forget. We forget the loves and the betrayals alike, forget what we whispered and what we screamed, forget who we were."—Joan Didion from On Keeping a Notebook

My Notebook Memory~

I remember a very shy, lonely nine-year-old girl who used to sit inside the Catholic Church during recess at the parish school she attended. She was afraid to be laughed at, afraid the other children wouldn't want to play with her, and she found comfort in the dark, musty smell of the old nave with its burning wax candles and the faint scent of incense from last Sunday's mass still in the air. As she sat in a pew by herself with her head in her hands, she could see through the cracks of her fingers, sunlight streaming through the wine-red, mustard and azure-blue stained glass windows that opened near her. She could hear, beyond the windows, the sound of children laughing at play outside.  Somehow, that multi-colored light held promise and safety. As she looked up, she saw a statue of the infant Jesus of Prague in princely robes holding the earth in his hands. "Such courage, she thought, to be a child and carry the world like that all by one's self."

There is another girl I remember, older, more sure of herself, who moved to Santa Barbara at age 21, found old friends with whom to live and made many new ones. Most significantly, she found a new identity, a name that gave her life meaning and promise. She lay in the sun on beaches that allowed an “all-over tan”, drank wine and rode horses in the surf. She acted in amateur radio shows and even on stage at a local theater where she performed in a play with able-bodied and deaf and disabled actors.  She fell in love twice, almost got married once, and then fell out of love. She lived in a college town, in a spiritual community of people young and old, and helped tend a communal garden. She decided at age 23 to return to college and found her passion in English literature, eventually to become a teacher of the same. And now in the middle of her life, she is moving forward into a new career, a new path in counseling psychology, needing all the support she can muster to reach her final goal of attaining a second advanced degree. I think she will make it.

That little nine-year-old girl, sitting in the darkened church, alone, bereft of a father and with few close friends could not imagine how life would change for her. But strangely, it is she whom I recall most vividly.  I still see her in my dreams and often when I am sad. And so I would like to say to her now, "It is going to be alright. You will grow up and be an amazing woman, kind, creative, compassionate and generous of spirit. Know that you are worthy of love." Yes, I think Joan Didion is right, "We are well-advised to keep on nodding terms with the people we used to be, whether we find them attractive company or not." And so I nod to her now, and she smiles back at me and waves, from a distance.

You’re Still You
I lost this post. I reposted it through Windows Livewriter and it didn’t show in my blog any longer. I wrote this in August of 2010. I decided to put it up again today. I was reading Fran’s Redondowriter’s Sacred Ordinary post and felt inspired. Thanks Fran.

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Share the Joy Thursday: My Boy Fergus


Out to Play

Out to Play


Innocent Bystander

Wild Boy!

Wild Boy!



Takin a Breather

~Takin’ a Breather~

Head Turner

Head Turner





So Glad He is Still With Me! I am Blessed!

~Noelle Renee



For more great Share the Joy Posts go to Meri’s Musings! You will be so glad that you did!