Wisdom's Way to Wonder
Sharing my ongoing journey of self-discovery.
~:~ poetic monologues: philosophical dialogues ~:~
"If you have a talent, use it in every which way possible.
Don't hoard it. Don't dole it out like a miser.
Spend it lavishly like a millionaire intent on going broke."
Brendan Francis
Timeframe:
17th January 2012 - 21st March 2012
In a garden of the palace strolling with Her Majesty
Wisdom's Way to Wonder?
Yes, Your Majesty?
Wiseoneder,
What say you of days and nights?
Days and nights, Your Majesty,
appear to the bright
to be filled with light;
light being dark way out of sight.
And so to say, to say to see
the days and nights appear to me to be
Sunlight, Sundark,
Monlight, Mondark,
Tueslight, Tuesdark,
Wedneslight, Wednesdark,
Thurslight, Thursdark,
Frilight, Fridark,
Saturlight, Saturdark
And by roundalay, thus do I make my way.
And then what of weeks and weekends?
Amend back to strength, and strength takes hold.
Strength lights; strength darks.
Seven lights and darks of strength.
And the months, and years?
Why handfuls of strength, light, and dark of course.
Are there no weaknesses in your sight?
Only by choice.
Intriguingly do you make comment on reality.
Me being me simply, Your Majesty.
For everyone there it is to see and make be.
© 17 January 2012 RmSweeney
View my reading of the dialogue on Youtube.
Héléna de beauté complete
When I gaze upon thee my light is renewed;
my heart carried away to a glorious day
when we once strolled along the shore of a sea sublime.
Hold my beauty in your eyes this morn
for the blessedness of Parisian tunes
tremble nimble in my ears
to our time upon the Sahara Nile
when westward it flowed into the Atlantic wide.
Can you behold which dawn caressed
the newness of spring
in the footprints on the dewy moss?
Soft warm brown eyes holding me in time;
smile as white as the snows on the floating horizon.
Gold-white upon thee rests most naturally;
home of contented comfort
comforting contentment with ease.
I must sail on n' on along.
Won't you come join me even for a portion of the way,
oh, poet of the fragrant quill of many the day?
Come; come sail with me here in my ruby floatery
all the way into the Mediterranean Sea.
Ever-welcoming we it will be.
Then, lovely lady of my deep memory,
be it must be.
By mid-afternoon, n' by yon promontory grand
will I be with waiting for thee.
Waiting I will be; yes, too waiting I will be
with the rippling waters carrying me to thee.
By yon promontory grand I will await thee.
Sail with the love of eternity,
sweet Héléna de beauté complète.
© 3 February 2012 RmSweeneyWith my compliments,
RichardInspired by Héléna Compper's wonderful portrait photograph
View my reading of the dialogue on Youtube.
40th Birthday
Forty hours, forty days, forty months, n' forty years
bringing to Crown Princess Mary
glorious cheers.
And may her time of such graces in abundance be,
ever multiplying themselves, for all to see.
© 4 February 2012 RmSweeney
Her Royal Highness Crown Princess Mary of Denmark
Photograph courtesy of Royalcorrespondent.com
Ubertas et Fidelitas
Smile in your eyes rolls into my heart
as a fragrance ascending to the sunlight.
Love is in the beauty coming through
with the touch of the landscape
leaning into the misty sweetness
of a harmony dancing pleasantly
through the ancient forests
of my island home.
Far away be ever near in my heart it be.
Ubertas et Fidelitas.
See Cradle Mountain in my dreams.
I trustingly raise my heart to majesty
for that is a calling announcing to me
a role yet to come.
Shimmering in my heart is a love all above
the dreams n' imaginings of my childhood
coming round to me now in the pure beauty
of our children's eyes.
Frederik, my Love,
you found me or was it I found you?
Slipped into each other's lives we did in full view.
Our love is the bliss of my life.
Feeling light when I think of you;
missing you, n' missing you
be that time apart stretching
but from lunch to mid-afternoon tea.
When that time will come;
n' come surely it will,
may you find me, my Love
to be your strength in strength.
Longevity be with Her Majesty.
Long live our strength-full Majesty.
Long live Her Majesty Queen Margrethe
for Her humble servant sees herself
to be not ready yet.
Long live Your Majesty.
Annotation:
Ubertas et Fidelitas. "Fertility and Faithfulness" the motto of the island of Tasmania.
© 13 February 2012 RmSweeneyWith my compliments,
Richard
{40 ans de la princesse Mary de Danemark: nouvelles photos officielles}
http://www.noblesseetroyautes.com/View my reading of the dialogue on Youtube.
Sometimes we're alone in a wall
Sometimes we're alone in a wall
making no headway at all.
I've been shut here now for quite some time;
more of a quiet time of it lasting way too long.
Have you seen me ever open in a day of your lifeline?
Not that I can recall, maybe I did when I small.
Perhaps in a previous time of my line I did.
There're amusements in the texture of the wall,
but I've been of my own way
for such a long while of time revolving
that I've all but forgotten how to play anymore.
Have you shut up windows in the walls of your mind;
bolted up doors hidden in nettles n' briers
about ruins long forgotten therein?
As many are as on the faraway sacred isle of Éire.
I've a hope that some day; yes, some day real soon
I'll be what I was ever intended to be:
a light way to the inner; a view way to the outer.
How long have you been closed up; shut up like so?
Oh, it must be well nigh now on a hundred years
if it's a year of day suns n' star nights at all.
Greenery there she keeps me company;
muffles me cosy in winter,
n' fragrants me dizzy in summer.
Have you such companions in your wanderings?
Me? Well yes, thankfully thoughts n' words.
You n' I then are of a kind.
Yes; yes we are.
© 8 Feb. 2012 RmSweeneyWith my compliments,
RichardView my reading of the dialogue on Youtube.
Inspired by Mark Sean Orr's wonderful photograph: "Santuario" © Mark Sean Orr
Rest in sleep that's fully awake
Eager I am to see; eager I am to see truths
over time revealing themselves to humanity.
Still be the night of the flight of the rare seed
coming in over the golden horizon of tomorrow's
furrow opening itself wide to the conclusion
that somewhere in between cause
n' the subordination of effect there is much
now to do beyond my fourteen thousand
transcriptions in the shelved wall.
File under file is the message hiding itself
with an ever increasing magnitude of simple mystery.
Hold open your hand for the morrow of too soon
is coming with the new moon.
Close my hand to open it wide to see that which
is floating right now over you as we speak.
What can you hear in the waterfalls of your mind?
A noonday tide coming in from the Mid-Atlantic Ridge.
Look into my eyes n' see the finest of transformations
happening on this side of a heavenly drawn line.
Have you the time to explore the past of the future?
Many the day n' night; many the night n' day
has it been making its way known to me,
be it on a pillow low by where the waters
of sweet enlightenment flow or in the alpine snow.
Lift your eyes to my eyes to see what I have seen,
n' do still see though the physical aspects of me
had taken to laying out of sight
n' for a time being no more.
Tip your hat to the cat that snoozes away
on the sunny moss-topped dividing wall,
n' you will be coming into a place
of rare mystery found in the simplest
n' most innocent of living things.
Slow is fast when you're making tracks
into the place where no return
is advancing itself into beatitudes.
So you want to draw treasures from the sacred cache?
Yes; yes, I do.
Then you'll need to be of an excellent listening ear.
I hear tell it has been told that they
who spice the food of life are ten thousands times
more carefree than the eagle who soars on high.
Amazing it is that the perplexity of the bilge
of the galaxy has a way of moving itself to the bridge
without ever being observed.
Many are the phenomenon that are weaving n' purling
in such an anchor free way;
rejuvenating themselves come what may.
Come move with me to the cosmopolitan advantage
of a huge smallness taking for itself
an island off to the east of west.
I'll tell you of a told that I heard tell when I was
with a great listening ear to be found.
Imagine an image conceived in an imagining that is invisible,
yet can be seen quite clearly with the eyes fully shut.
Your time is rolling itself into a delightful eddy
that's spreading itself to ripple all the way
over the grasses n' on into the sea.
Now is the blessing in the double daffodils
beginning to present itself to the landscape of your mind.
I've a mind that rests itself
in footholds of Paris n' Khartoum.
Do you believe in the belief that belief itself can
be truly believed in not alone for its own sake
but also for the sake of someone already unknown
who sits right before you?
When I place my mind in my heart
I'm told that it calls itself by a different name;
a name more beautiful n' powerful than mind.
Now the glance forms the twofold eyes that can see
round n' about space n' time not to mention time n' space
that being not the same when reversed.
Solve the riddle to discover a riddle n' your life
will be a solving n' the finding of riddles.
I'm in need of looking into with the fairest of eyes
out front, n' to their sides two ears sensitively tuned.
Awake now from your wakefulness n' be
with this new n' glorious spring day.
Your day is in the making of certitude made simple
to those who will step on to the floating cloud.
Tell that you were in conversation with me
n' some from among them will take you seriously.
Worry not with any worry about those who are not open
to the mysteries waiting to be revealed.
Conceal them in the wide open; yes, conceal
in the wide open, n' no one this side of day or night
save the bright of light will be able to recognise them
for their true worth.
Lay low on a pillow of clouds that surround the next full moon.
Sniping n' pounding with nobody seemingly
in the wide wider world taking any heed at all.
This isn't right; morality we're leaving disappear out of sight.
Surely is not so sure; not so sure no longer safe
when it finds itself misplacing human dignity.
Homs of Syria on my mind; homes of Syria.
Families of Homs n' cities about n' beyond
all the way to Damascus causing me pain
all the way out to the tips of my lengthy hair.
Who by what; where by how produces a man
that is allowing or even is causing to have destroyed
his lovely wife's ancestral city?
The Orontes floods tears with passing by,
n' no doubt gentle she too in a chamber out of view.
Rest in sleep that's fully awake;
dream dreams therein n' be
unto yourself a mirror of serenity.
Be yourself unto yourself that you may be
yourself unto selves of yourself.
Awake now.
© 9 Feb. 2012 RmSweeneyView my reading of the dialogue on Youtube.
Edgar Cayce
Photograph courtesy: Newspaper.li
My parents they taught me well to be
Tall ships racing through the waters
calling me in my sleep;
making me want to leave behind everything I hold dear.
Hills of my fathers n' valleys of my mothers
the sea is calling me,
n' I must needs be to go n' roam.
Signing up in the pretty village of Ceann Toirc,
n' making my way to the port of Plympton.
Will be a man of the sea soon, so I will.
Thomas Mc Sweeney will be a mariner;
yes, a mariner poet from the lovely isle of Éire;
Oileán na mBeo.
Been assigned of late to the HMS Rodney.
She'll be my barque to the Mediterranean Sea.
Hoping to get at least a look at the sacred promontory.
Richard, my clansman can you hear me speaking to thee?
Yes, I can Thomas, clearly.
For a long time now; along long time now
have I been buried in this sacred ground
with listening to the sound of the gentle wavy sea
about this lovely isle comforting me.
Richard, I did no wrong at all, I'm telling you.
Yet they made me mortally pay for something
any Irishman in my shoes would have done.
I stood up against a bully I did, so I did.
And I had well kept my patience under keep.
But you know how it is with these fellows.
They've no respect for you in the first place,
n' every step of the way after that
is merely an opportunity for them
to humiliate you all the more.
My parents they taught me well to be
courteous n' generous of heart, mind, n' body.
Be kind n' polite to the world n' willing work
was the way they taught the right.
Now, that evening in July off Barcelona of Catalonia;
it being the Feast of Our Lady of Mount Carmel,
I was about to take my night's rest,
having sent my prayers to the starry heavens, when he,
Lance Sergeant James T. Allen of Kent, England
came n' accused me in a way
that to no other member of the crew
would he used to do.
Only me did he single out.
The why I don't know.
Could it be that I'm an Irishman?
Could it be that I'm a Catholic?
Could it be just for no reason at all?
And it was the toneless way he spoke;
the snigger in his lower lip n' the darkness in his eye
that caused in that very moment of an instant
my patience to be drawn forward into his crafty world.
Sure, I did no more mean to hurt him
than I would hurt a fly.
All I wanted to do, was to let him know
that enough had now reached its limit in me.
And didn't I instinctively jump down into the waist after him
to give him a hand to get to his feet.
Tore off my shirt, I did, n' with tears falling
did I tuck it gently beneath his damaged head.
In five days sure alas he was dead!
They took me away, n' locked me away;
bringing me all the way here to the isle of Malta.
And with a total disregard for my innocence
well presented to them in my defence,
they sentenced me to view the HMS Rodney
from her yardarm on high.
Ran they along the deck below they did.
Saw them with my own eyes.
And all about the Grand Harbour
were tear filled balconies.
Little did they standing thereupon know,
that it was a mere prelude to a coming show.
Twelve days hence mounted to the British throne
Princess Alexandrina Victoria of Kent.
Made an example of me they did;
letting the people of this lovely isle,
now my second home, well know,
that they would be crushing them too low.
And all this very long while have I laid here,
with from time to time taking myself to strolling
about the grounds n' gateway in gratitude
to those faithful believers,
who have month in month out,
n' year in following year out
come with prayers in their hearts n' upon their lips,
to place fresh flowers o'er me,
n' to light candles bright about me.
Their love is lovingly always in my sight.
When they come to me with their problems, I heal them.
And when they tell me of their needs, I listen to them,
n' pass them on to Our Lady of Mount Carmel
to make them come into be.
Richard, you have remembrance of me in thee.
Let the truth about me be made clear.
My parents, my descendants, my clansmen; my people
deserve a formal admittance from someone in Admiralty
that a grave miscarriage of justice took place in my day.
The past is ever-present in the today,
n' that which has been proved to be wrong
needs to be set right for future generations.
My once short life up to Thursday, the 8th June 1837
can't be brought back or continued,
but a life anew for me can come through.
We'll talk again, Richard.
Go raibh míle maith agat agus slán go fóill.
Annotations:
Éire - Gaeilge for Ireland.
Oileán na mBeo - Isle of the (ever) Living. (herein meaning the Isle of Éire)
Go raibh míle maith agat agus slán go fóill. Thank you so much (for listening to me).
(And) be in good health until (we converse again).
© 10 Feb. 2012 RmSweeneyView my reading of the dialogue on Youtube.
Photographs and background courtesy: Birgu Local Council, Citta Vittoriosa, Malta Charles Mizzi - Di-ve.com
Being of a Parzival in kind
Catch me if you can whistling
in the grove over by the river.
Touch the hand of the foot that builds
mountains out of furrows in plain view.
Have you come here this day to hear a storm speak
or to climb on alpine words?
I've come to hear of what you're now seeing.
All is gone n' is yet becoming so there is no need
to be taking refuge in a hollow place.
All is good when we look into it.
Over the hills there;
there is the next of tomorrow.
Can you see it?
Triangular is the new square,
n' the square the new rounding.
Nine times nine give the impression of time,
but it's no more time than the grandfather clock
that stands in the foyer of the castle.
Of which castle do you mean?
Ah, the one over by the milk churns.
Bring the cows round for it's milking time,
n' we must be with work a doing.
Do you often see the new day
before it comes into full view?
Look with your hand half held like so
n' the whole world you can behold.
Why would you want to know of the things
which only exist in the future?
I've memories in abundance of being in the future,
n' of telling myself that the past is now all well
within my predication gap.
Are you sure that a great catastrophe
is going to take place in the world of my day?
It's already in full swing n' soon will be
nearing its completion.
People had thought that we should,
according to your words, be on the lookout
for a lot more all told by you long ago.
Long ago, as you call it was but a moment.
Now we're in a new moment n' new moments
lend themselves to new interpretations.
Are you saying then, that what you once said
would happen in the future is now
no longer going to happen?
Sun rises in the evening fields of Dakota,
n' in the dawn hides itself in Lake Baikal.
Be no more afraid of today or tomorrow
than you are of nothing whatsoever unknown to you.
Are you a false seer then or a misunderstood man
from this profoundly beautiful hill country?
I'm who I am; one who sees things that others don't.
Let you hair blow in the wind,
n' you too will be given to seeing,
n' even more so given to hearing things
that only the trees in the groves are given to hear.
I being of a Parzival in kind,
though much more inclined
to ask the right kind of questions, you know.
Is it true the end of the world
is now coming within our view?
Questions; questions for heaven's sake,
whenever did questions have anything to do
with answers that persuade the new flowers of spring
to be in the winter sphere?
I'm lost; you've lost me.
I no longer know which way is forward forth
or sideways over by latitude on to longitude going.
Now I can begin to tell you things,
seeing that confusion has brought you
to the threshold of your companionship with the ages.
Have you lost your mind or is it my mind
that's loosing itself in your words?
No one at all is loosing their mind,
rather you're meeting your mind as if for the first time.
Let the purple heather find itself in your deliberations
with abnormal normality,
n' scientific compromise;
they not yet being able to find
any clear pathway past their past.
Tingle tumble fanciful free are words n' phrases
that now seem to be making a whole lot of sense to me.
You're ready then, are you to take yourself to listening
beyond what you can hear with your ears?
I really don't know if I am or not;
I've forgotten who I was before I came into your presence.
Then, let's leave all things as they are,
n' go strolling in the pastures over the way.
Cows, foxes, n' rabbits teach me how to be me;
how to be a human of the sea come to land
having had first come from the sky on high.
Where with what, we came from the sky?
Isn't it obvious?
I thought; well, I thought that we were always here
in one form or another.
That's what you've got from reading cover-bounded books,
n' viewing framed screens.
Extend your reading outside covers n' beyond frames.
Come; come let's stroll in the hills
n' I'll show how to access
the sacred cache of knowledge.
I know of no such cache.
Then, let's stroll n' we'll turn
that admission into a pathway.
With listening to you, my head;
my mind is no longer what I thought it was,
for I can't seem to remember when or where I was born.
Ah, wonderful;
the pathway is already presenting itself.
Where; whereabouts?
© 14 Feb. 2012 RmSweeney
Matthias Stormberger
http://www.scribd.com/doc/33938286/Matthias-Stormberger
A sagely feminine dreamy touch
I see myself in the cosmic dimensions of taken away layers
unfolding themselves in my sanctuary.
I hold to heaven no arm save that of the unfrosted unicorn
prancing about in the fragrant fields.
Some time too soon is the beginning of a favourite tune
that laughs at the speculative rendezvous
of a flight of doves o're the domed capital.
I've an undecided opinion on the true location
of a periphery sphere that went missing
when I on visitation to over the ways.
Can't say if the hand that stirred the water bowl semi full,
n' now brimming over was of the past coming round
n' heading on off up into the future
or the future rolling on off down into the past.
Strange how the imaginings of an old man go,
n' I'm not old at all as far age in numbers go,
yet seeing things I am that need to be told so.
Last night in the middle of a sad state of affairs up ahead,
I heard read words in the corridors of my head.
Mind you I can't remember exactly what was said,
but it sounded a whole lot like:
'It's time for us to bake harmony bread.'
I'm aware that you don't think me quite the full florin,
but I've known that all this past while
that too much of the green root has a way
of loosing areas of the mind that would otherwise
be able to look out clearer into the after of tomorrow.
I've caught of late a vision of a gate,
n' it was at times swinging half open n' then all but closed.
Gates n' me go over a long ways;
in signs, hinges, n' words go we into the sacred cache.
Lift up your harp n' play upon it for me
tunes of the fourth millennium A.D. to be.
I know no tunes from the future so far taken itself to advance.
Then play me a tune of one hundred years hence.
I know none either from the future so far taken itself to advance.
How about of the week after the next two months?
No, not able to do so from the future so far taken itself to advance.
Of tomorrow morning, then?
No; no not even of tomorrow morning can do.
Has the world fallen into such a prophetic-impoverished condition?
Are there no more seers of the future;
no more messengers of the coming forth?
Not that I know of is the word that's coming to me.
Without seers how can your time move forward with confidence?
We tread it ever so slowly, but more of our going forward
I feel n' reel is of a going backwards.
Though in my day the plague of the body n' limbs
was a fierce n' frightening thing to behold,
n' even worse to experience,
but I fear, your age, alas to be more shocking to me.
Without a doctor, how can the patient be cured;
without a seer how can a community; a society,
country, n' even the world be cured?
What do you suppose will happen to the rose
when it blooms full come the 21st day of this December?
Nothing at all as I can see, but be alert for those
who will try to modify n' turn about head over heels
nature's naturalness ever rolling on along.
Baktun Thirteen will come to its natural end,
n' with the greatest of ease n' timeliness give way it will
unto the beginning of Baktun Fourteen.
Baktun Fourteen will roll forward n' come to its natural end,
n' with the greatest of ease n' timeliness give way it will
of another day unto its successive baktuns.
The Maya of old were able to see all this in full-length view;
something we from them could well learn to do.
Listen; listen a moment, a voice is coming
in out of the countryside of lost promises
making for themselves a bed in the caldera of Monte Vesuvio.
Stop; stop a moment, a history is unfolding itself
right in the forefront of my eyes.
What history is it?
See the elevation of Jabal al-Sheikh all covered with snow?
See I it in my mind's true eye but not before me can.
Look; see there it is n' about it snows are rapidly melting!
The spring is about to become an unexpected summer
spilling into the Orontes, Jordan, n' Lake Gennesaret,
before levelling itself out in the Dead Sea.
Of what time does your sight say this will be?
In an overnight, wait n' see.
What of a marvel, I've heard tell, that will present itself
in the Nine Pine grove of San Sebastián de Garabandal?
Wait long on n' long on n' of a something will be seen.
But when will this be; this sight for all to see?
When the sea is rushing about in the Golfo de México.
Your mind gets round about, so it does.
Long, long ago in the never-ending past of the future,
witnessed I a happening that I've never to memory lost.
Extend n' reach your gaze beyond my studies in the halls
of Avignon n' Montpellier, n' your eyes will be,
n' becoming they will be to see an amount
of what is that is making itself a home in me.
Go lay your head upon your bed pillow now,
for your mind is in need of a soothing massage;
a sagely feminine dreamy touch.
Sleep deep there next to her till the new dawn;
rest there till the new day.
Annotations:
Baktun - according to the Maya Long Count Calendar, a period of 144,000 days, equal to 394.26 tropical/solar years.
Jabal al-Sheikh - Mount Hermon located for the most part on the Lebanese-Syrian border.
Nehar haYarden - River Jordan
San Sebastián de Garabandal - a village in the Peña Sagra mountain range of Northern Spain.
© 15 Feb. 2012 RmSweeney
Michel de Nostredame
http://www.nostradamusthefacts.blogspot.com/
Smile in the wonder of time
Richard, you make me smile in the wonder of time.
Pleasant is the love that caresses the new moon
in the half door of the future.
Can I hold your hand; can I walk with you
in a forest of daffodils growing as high as
the oak n' the poplar?
Richard, come let the winds of time blow in our hair
as the scent of elegance passes through the valley
of long lost found coming into the sound of violins playing
in the glistening tear drops of our eyes.
I've a thought that if it were to exist in the realty without
would change the world for the greatest good.
Richard, do you ever walk along the crest of waves?
Sure, I do Natasha, all the time;
it's one of my favourite places to be me.
Oft have I strolled too on the sun drenched floating clouds
o'er the gardens n' waters of La Concepción.
Richard, do you think the world is really happening
or is it we that are happening in the world's dreams?
Most likely, Natasha it's an alternative of well-wishing
laughing full-heartedly at shimmering waters.
I know I've been here before, but before when
has always been drifting itself some ways away from me.
Richard, do you think you've been here before?
Of course, Natasha, n' we'll be again as many the times
as the stars keep reappearing in the bountiful heavens.
I imagine heaven to be here, what do you think?
Heaven is in your simile, Natasha,
n' in your eyes does it shine bright.
Richard, shall we dance; I love to dance.
Sky n' hills; shoreline n' seas
play for Natasha n' me
a magnificent Russian waltz!
Dance; dance, I love to dance,
I love to dance, dance n' dance!
Annotation:
La Concepción - The Botanical and Historical Garden of La Concepcion in Malaga, Spain.
© 16 Feb. 2012 RmSweeney
With my compliments,
Richard
Natasha Romanov: http://www.facebook.com/natasha.romanov
Balancing raindrops on your fingertips
Sitting in a railway station in the pouring rain
feeling lots of pain.
'No pain no gain.' someone said.
Not sure if such words can be true to form
when all you can think of are the faces n' smiles
of the blessed ones that are now with us no more.
Remembering I am when I was a girl,
n' thankfully in many ways still I am.
Well it was a strange time when I walked
across the line, n' peered into the future of mine.
Never thought I would become who I am this day.
Yet, my imagination had brought to my light
in the middle of a night,
that days would come when first a tiara,
n' then a crown would rest upon my head.
Little do we know when we walk real slowly
along the battlements of our minds
that the rain falling on the wide open lawns
is oft a multitude of tears;
tears shed by God the Great Beloved.
Days are like these n' nights more n' of the less too
when even the shadows themselves are reflecting
themselves in the windowpanes.
Richard, do you ever walk in corridors of pain,
n' not being able to speak it out even to the rain?
Yes, I do, Your Royal Highness,
but I love the rain for it talks to me.
What does it say to you this morn?
Well, this morn, Your Royal Highness it's telling me,
that the Kingdom of Norway is thrice blessed.
By once its charming n' dedicated Majesties,
King Harald V & Queen Sonja,
by twice His & Her Royal Highnesses;
the brave n' handsome Crown Prince Haakon,
n' his wise n' beautiful wife,
the Crown Princess Mette-Marit,
n' by thrice its sincere n' noble subjects:
the wonderful people of Norway.
I'm alone in myself, Richard, yet I'm not lonely.
I like who am n' who I am becoming.
It takes time though to leave behind
the old, n' to un-parcel the role of the new
n' to bring it more n' more into tune.
You see, Richard, I'm very stubborn.
Stubbornness, Your Royal Highness is a great gift.
How to use it well in the service of yourself;
your husband, family, country, n' the world
is the day-nightly challenge.
How am I doing so far?
Look about you, Your Royal Highness.
Your husband, your children, your subjects
greatly love you, n' are very proud of you.
And the world in time will too as you
sail ever more into your destined limelight.
Your Royal Highness, love being yourself;
love being the selves of yourself that you wish to be.
It's not always easy, Richard.
Being the selves of ourselves, Your Royal Highness
is at first never easy, that's so true,
but once you get into the swing of it,
it can be as easy as balancing raindrops on your fingertips.
One time you told me in a midday dream,
that loving being oneself is the loveliest
thing one could ever be doing for oneself.
I love this word, Richard,
n' enjoy making it my own.
Thank you.
You're most welcome, Your Royal Highness.
I'm merely a mirror reflecting a sublime queen to be.
Thank you; thank you for looking into me.
© 18 Feb. 2012 RmSweeney
With my compliments,
Richard
Her Royal Highness Crown Princess Mette-Marit of Norway
Photograph courtesy: http://www.hola.com
You were stronger than me
Tuesday, 1st June 1943
An in-flight conversation en route to the Berghof.
Herr Mc Sweeney von Irland,
what do you want from me?
I want to know why you let yourself be lost?
Lost? Rather I've been freeing n' finding myself.
You look at me as if you n' I are different.
You know nothing of me.
I know you have been responsible
for the deaths of millions of innocent people.
It wasn't me.
How do mean it wasn't you?
Are you not the one who claims to be der Führer?
There's more to me than meets your eye n' ear.
Walk in my shoes awhile n' see that my sound madness
is not found in me but of me.
You may say anything you wish,
but you're responsible for millions of deaths so far,
n' perhaps even millions more to come.
You don't know me. It wasn't me; it isn't me.
Then who is der Führer und Reichskanzler?
Gaze deep into my eyes n' you will see who.
But I warn you, that you won't like who you see therein.
You n' I are not different,
in that we both love nature n' pets;
we both love the written n' spoken word.
We're writers, artists, n' philosophers in our own right.
The only difference between you n' I is that,
when the One came knocking at my mind;
when I was in the severest pain, I answered,
'Yes, I will, if you but remove this difficulty from me.'
You answered, 'No.' when you were in pain.
In that respect, you were stronger than me.
Then, what has been all this withal
that you've been going on with since World War I?
Pay back time; pay back to the One who once
relieved me of my great pain, n' gave me a new life.
You mean to tell me, that everything you've done,
n' caused to have done, n' committed in your name
from the aftermath of the mud n' gas filled trenches
to this comfortable flight to the Berghof of Bavaria,
has all merely been some kind of a personal payback?
To who have you been paying back?
Gaze deep into my eyes n' you can meet him.
I've done nothing of my own accord; nothing of myself.
I'm still the painter that I was in my youth.
I'm occupied, n' there is no way I can get free.
And come to think of it, at this stage
I'm not really interested in such a prospect.
I've grown used to this way of life.
You can't fool me; can't fool the world.
You've been responsible for all you have done,
n' caused to have done.
Well then, if you won't gaze into my eyes, at least
go visit the depths of your own heart n' mind,
n' you will be surprised to find,
that if you were occupied as I am,
then it's most likely that you would be
a more masterful accomplisher
of the inner One's request than I could ever be.
Within a day, a year or two you may be caused
to step out of existence as you know it;
you may very well even by your own hand
step out of existence as you know it.
I know that; I've always known that.
And it doesn't bother you?
Why should it?
Whether it's today, tomorrow, next week;
in two, twenty or thirty years time,
I'll have had successfully completed the work
that has been asked of me to do.
How can you go on fooling yourself like that?
You're the maker of your own destiny,
n' the destiny of millions of other people.
Nobody either within or without you
is in anyway forcing you;
you're doing it all of your own accord.
Although my eyes are tired this hour,
won't you come n' gaze into them,
even for a moment?
No; no, I won't.
Many the gaze has been entangled in such a maze.
Well then, Herr Mc Sweeney
you know well what happened to me.
I've ways of making you wish
that you had never sat here before me;
that you had never conversed with me.
You've no idea of who you are dealing with in us.
Destruction of everything; even of ourselves
is the work of thousands of years of looping.
Ask yourself, how can there be new things
unless destruction has first done its work.
Shakespeare n' I understand human nature
better than anyone; the sweetness of adversity,
n' how to make it work for the greater good.
Greater good, you say?
Your way of thinking is so off the wall that …
Listen; listen, when we get to the Berghof,
we can talk some more.
We can talk as we walk to the Mooslahnerkopf teahouse.
Now, however, I need to nap.
But I'll leave you with this thought.
I'm none the less or the more human than you are.
You n' I are the same difference;
our capacity for destruction being endless.
And know this too, that there's no one in the world
who is above being human,
not even you, Herr Mc Sweeney.
It's the choices we make that make us great.
Now, I need to give some rest to my eyes.
© 21 Feb. 2012 RmSweeney
Adolf Hitler
The Berghof
Photographs courtesy: http://www.ww2incolor.com/german_leadership
Let Richard be great in heart n' mind
Bismillaah ir rahmaan ir raheem.
Majestic is the beauty within me,
unfolding itself to the eyes of your heart.
Open me closed; read me shut
that I may speak to your fountain of sacred oil
fragrantly brimming itself over
into your cup of sublime truth.
Open your hand in mind with your time,
n' listen to what is being spoken to your palm.
Wait for the day to walk in expectation of a peace
n' harmony like none ever to have come afore.
Blessed be the human kind in their kindness
surpassing their means.
Lift up your spirit to me, n' I will reveal to you
a thought like no other thought you have ever experienced.
Stay awhile; stay awhile n' smile into my pages.
I want to, but I know not how to read the sacred language.
Come within, n' I will reveal myself to your eyes;
eyes that don't depend upon understanding brushstrokes
or words in lettered form.
I'll show you how to read without knowing.
How is such a mystery to be?
I say, be, n' be it will be.
Let your hand read me;
move your hand over the text.
Yes; yes, I can see with my hand;
read with my palm!
What wonderment is this?
For if I'm not myself experiencing it,
I would not believe.
This day I'm seeing; I'm reading,
n' I'm understanding words n' worlds
way beyond my knowledge.
What miraculous happening is this?
Nothing there is that isn't a miracle.
You n' I are miracles in kind.
Everything is an amazement,
n' a source of gratitude to the few
who have learnt how to go beyond
the boundaries of their minds.
Now that you have entered here within,
in-joy all which is being given to you
according to your needs, n' capacity to know.
Beyond these to you nothing will be said.
May it be thus, that you will lift off their hinges
the wrought iron gates of your mind,
n' lay them up aside
against the stony hedged boundaries running wide.
Let there be an easy going through from one
field of knowledge to another
without you ever encountering a gate to open.
Why have you sought me out;
why did you call me to come to you?
The beyond of your knowledge sought me out,
n' it was in the following that you came through.
Some have torn you n' trampled upon you;
some have even gone so far as burning you.
I'm so sorry to you for their ignorance.
They think they know what they're doing;
but they don't.
And violent acts of revenge in turn
do in no way it redress, but only extend further
the days n' nights of already endless distress.
Ignorance of the ages leaves me all but lifeless.
Not alone has it burnt sacred religious works,
but works of literature, art, philosophy, poetry,
astronomy, n' medicine, but to name a few.
When I think of the all which has been obliterated
from our view; when I consider …
Oh; oh, my heart, what treasures must have held
the Royal Library of Alexandria.
All scattered as ashes n' gone up in twisted smoke;
ignorance expressing itself with one villainous stroke.
Serene; serene now there be,
n' don't be making yourself all upset.
Passionately culture yourself to compose
astounding poetry, n' powerful prose.
And better still, by your will n' skill,
bring them into one;
bring prose to poetry, n' poetry to prose,
for that is the way I've been given form.
Be fully alive; be in peace, n' love.
Let Richard be great in heart n' mind;
culture him to be in sacred knowledge,
n' with it to all to joyfully do goodness.
Bismillaah ir rahmaan ir raheem.
© 23 Feb. 2012 RmSweeney
Holy Qur'an
Photograph courtesy: http://www.columbia.edu
In the presence of ourselves
Richard?
Greta?
Riicchard?
Yes, Greta?
Riiiccchard?
Yes, dear Greta?
Do you love; do you love life?
Yes; yes, I do.
Seasons come n' go in n' out
through the shadows of my mind,
n' I know not where is or what is at times.
Seems to me you're always in time with time.
I know; I know but do you know, I oft
feel very much out of place in this time.
I wonder if my time was meant to be
in a future or even who knows in a distant past.
But you're doing marvellously well
in this our own present time.
I know n' I know that, but,
something in me is always somewhere else.
I can' t understand it.
It's as if I'm neither of Sweden, America
or even of the planet itself.
Do you love wispy clouds, Richard?
Yes, I do Greta. Most certainly I do.
I once had a pair of sky blue shoes
which had white stars in them.
Whenever I would wear them
I would feel right at home.
On set, saints n' sinners are all in the same room,
with no room for anything to do save flatter.
Pleasure surrounds me, yet, somehow
I pleasure don't myself surround.
Why talk of pleasure when pleasure you are, dear.
It's easy for you to say, Richard,
but I've stood as a queen upon the bow of a ship
n' thought to myself if I am really myself at all.
You're a queen as majestic as any of those
who are in cathedral with coronation crowned.
You're a rare jewel on the seashore of nobility.
Richard charm, what is to become of my life;
what am I to do with this frame that was given to it
the name 'Greta Garbo'?
Do with it what you've always been doing with it.
And what's that?
Giving it to the world in cinema shine.
I've trouble being myself,
for I'm never truly sure of who I am.
Unlike you Richard, who solely loves women,
I love both men n' women; women n' men.
What's wrong with that?
Nothing at all I suppose, but many I know
in secret word are making of it n' me a gossip.
Never mind them, fragrance.
Be yourself as you are, for besides n' be near,
who is there who can be you for you?
Richard dear?
Yes, Greta?
Do you love to love love?
Yes, most definitely.
Then is being love love?
Love is love; love is love
as wispy white clouds are clouds
in the high blue sky.
Sometimes, I think I'm the blue sky;
sometimes the clouds, n' even at times both.
And at times again am as heavy n' low
as any a dark cloud that is all filled with tears.
Great Greta?
Yes, Richard?
Let's stroll along a seashore of some island
in the away welcoming southern seas.
Will you stay with me tonight, Richard?
I'm here, n' here will be till come
the bright sunlight of mid morn.
Loneliness is the one thing that gives me
the greatest difficulty.
Now, I don't mind being on my own,
but it's the good for nothing loneliness
that all but gets to me, Richard.
I'm from time to time confused like this, aren't I?
No more or no less so, dear Greta than the rest of us.
There's something of me in you, Richard.
I can see it in your eyes.
And of me in yours, Greta.
May I savour, Rich your enriching words?
In the presence, dear Greta of ourselves,
we may dine as we please.
© 24 Feb. 2012 RmSweeney
Greta Garbo
Photograph courtesy: http://www.listal.com/greta-garbo/pictures//4
A passion burning within their hearts
Size over size keeps coming back to remind me
of the last time we met in ripples of the Tiber.
I hear you've been heard by an audience descending
to the chamber down the corridors long.
We have; we have n' it's truly amazing
what can n' can't be done with people's lives.
We've been standing here now with the best part
of three hundred n' eighty years
n' we've never yet shed a tear.
We suppose when the ashes of expectations
are hurdling themselves into the waters
of splashing about the beyond world,
there is little hope can come
from an all but fully empty coffer.
Be on your knees.
I've been on my knees n' it doesn't me well please.
Stand back n' be admiring what it is you're beholding.
In the underground of the altar underneath
rests a box containing something precious.
I had been taught told that beneath in gold casket,
n' enclosed in fine linen were the bones of the one of old;
the fisherman companion of the Wanderer of the Lake.
There is one below beneath it's sure
but not as you've been lead to believe
in the parochial telling of the story.
If his bones are not there within,
then whose bones rest there?
Never you mind; never you mind.
What's this state of political affairs that you've shut out
we the Voice of the world?
Are we no longer welcome in Villa Nobili Spada?
We speak of the recent strange n' totally unacceptable
act of closing your embassy to us.
I had no hand act or part in this, though
I would have wanted it closed too at the time
for the lack of sensitivity you had shown;
moreover for not telling forth the truth to the fold.
Have it reopened then if you're of the faith of your fathers.
Stand n' take your stooping on bended knee
for can't you see there over, His Holiness
Pope Benedict XVI is passing on by?
Pardon me, but you know not to whom you speak.
We know well quite the well to whom we speak.
If you did you wouldn't have spoken so.
Listen n' be with quietness awhile
for the ground is about to shake beneath your foundations.
Stand aside; stand aside the tide is about to ride way high.
You blasphemy us in your words n' by your presence.
Don't be self-illuminating your brass, n' marble;
don't be blaming it all on we the believers.
You're but materials shaped to form,
n' unto materials you will be transformed
either by nature's natural polishing n' fading
or by ignorant human demolishing.
This day's building could well be tomorrow's ruin;
tomorrow's ruin a new school built on a hill
having finer n' gentler views.
Since when n' for how so long
have you been out of touch;
be it more true to say,
removed from the original message
of the Beloved Philosopher Poet of Capernaum?
We know not of whom you speak.
All we know that who we have
here beneath ourselves is an authentic one.
So think again before a thought
dares itself forth into the misery that is going on
all by global n' diocesan round in our name.
Why do you bring so much shame
to the sincerity of the faithful believers
in the words of old spoken by him
in bright portico n' fragrant grove?
Leave from us; leave from us now
for you' re nothing more than a scum scattering
leftover from the Bubonic Plague!
Stand down or be brought low.
Remember how things turned out for Giordano Bruno.
His case n' fate, in our mind was but yesterday,
n' in away we can make it be as if it were today.
Take a stroll over the way to Campo de' Fiori,
n' while there meditate on the face in the cowl.
Let there be no sunshine on your brow;
no sun in your head.
Well tell we have told you, n' so, be as bold as you wish,
but the bowled fish who tries to swim in our trees
will quickly find himself netted on his knees.
By papal gate exit, n', oh too, take with you
the prophetic nonsense of your fellow countryman
Saint Malachy - sayings no doubt he concocted
while gawking into a bastible of something
or what other over a half quenching turf fire
in some stone beehive hermitage back on Hibernia.
You may have once given Ireland a religion,
but Ireland continuously gives the world culture;
giving n' giving it with mighty generosity,
n' unassuming self-originality.
And bringing to speaking of the far reaching
insightful words of Saint Máel Máedóc Ua Morgair,
your days n' nights may well be coming
to a conclusion, even within this very year
or in so to it within months after falling through.
Leave from us; leave from us
for you know not of what you speak!
We'll go on forever; forever we will this enforce.
I once upon a time of yesterdays believed in you,
n' even loved you as a majestic vessel
of sacred knowledge, but in these days
I cannot help but feel you're scuttling yourself.
I've no desire or need to abandon the faith
of my parents n' ancestors,
but you're making it so difficult for me
n' the like in kind, mind, n' faith
to go on walking in your shadow.
Your shadow was once for me
more akin to a finely woven screen,
but now it's more in texture n' appearance
akin to chipboard, n' a darkening abyss.
Let yourself be a museum, n' library,
n' set the faithful free to believe
as in those bright earlier days
about the shimmering waters of the lake
where with listening to his delight filling words
they were with a passion burning within their hearts;
a passion so full of love, gratitude, n' joy
to the Great Beloved who loves us so completely,
that it goes way beyond anything
we could ever dream of or even imagine.
Be a heritage centre for all of humankind.
I stand here within you as a voice
for the faithful of the world; a voice for humanity.
Be no more with forever being far removed from reality.
Stop the cunning waiting it out n' see stance.
Your days, years, centuries, n' millennia are all but done.
Much in your lengthy chronicle is most admirable,
but much more in magnitude in it is the shame
that you've been bringing on humanity.
The bright true light of the real world awaits me without,
n' I must now needs be on my way.
Ah, then grateful we are surely to be assured,
for you taking the time to drop by,
n' for letting your views be taken into our
deliberations out of view n' earshot.
You'll be hearing from us as soon as
we take care of the affairs of this new millennium.
Don't however in the meantime leave the planet,
as we may need to ask you a few questions sometime.
And ere you depart from out of our holy presence
seriously ponder this question.
Deus nobiscum, quis contra?
Seeing that God is with us,
who can possibly be against us?
Yourselves.
© 27 Feb. 2012 RmSweeney
The Papal Altar & Baldacchino
Saint Peter's Basilica centers around the Papal Altar where only the Pope celebrates Mass. Rising above the altar is the baldacchino (95ft/29m canopy), Giovanni Lorenzo Bernini's masterpiece and first work in St. Peter's. The ancient tomb of St. Peter lies directly below the altar.
Photograph courtesy: http://saintpetersbasilica.org
A community of compassion
Rwanda, Srebrenica, Fallujah, n' now Homs,
what in the name of - is going on?
Sovereignty as a right of the mighty?
Sovereignty as a responsibility of the greedy?
Shady announcements; opaque legitimacy.
Where does the likes of OPEC n' Wall Street
figure into all of this?
From São Paulo to Mumbai,
Moscow to London;
Paris to Beijing who is treasuring
all the ching ching?
Unintended consequences, you say?
Behold, wailing the mothers for sons,
Behold, wailing wives for husbands,
lovers for lovers; bawling, screaming
children for mammies n' daddies,
brothers n' sisters,
schoolmates n' teachers!
Behold, humanity!
Carte blanche is having a dance;
charades doing the parades,
pretence the defence,
n' travesty somersaults.
All in meaning the same difference;
blatantly obvious n' subtly nuanced.
R2P is probably, nothing more than a slogan;
perhaps another catchy tag for glass chats.
And all the while innocent lives are being lost;
heritages of the ages being destroyed,
n' mass beds of revenge planted.
Ah, wait a moment now, you say.
Let's, bring more clarity into play,
n' try turning your table round
the points of distinction between
legal issues on the one foot,
n' political issues in the other ear.
Knots entwining knots in an ever-ending rope
of frustration fermenting itself for manipulation.
Working, you say, you are collectively,
internationally, globally, n' even parochially
on humanitarian grounds.
Listen; listen, please listen,
whole communities of humanity
are already in the ground!
Turn around; turn around you morally weak.
Behold, wailing the mothers for sons,
Behold, wailing wives for husbands,
lovers for lovers; bawling, screaming
children for mammies n' daddies,
brothers n' sisters,
schoolmates n' teachers!
Behold, humanity!
Be the 'un' in understanding
or quickly move aside,
that a community of compassion
for all peoples may come to the fore.
I'm so tired; we're all so very tired
of your disunity, n' your inability
to resolve n' evolve.
Annotation:
R2P - Responsibility to Protect: http://www.responsibilitytoprotect.org/
© 29 Feb. 2012 RmSweeney
United Nations Headquarters
Photograph courtesy: http://www.un.org/
To be uncluttered expressions of living truth
Of a dawn in early spring, beheld I, Bijan
strolling n' chatting away with Omar Khayyam
along a shore of the beautiful Caspian Sea.
Spring floats across the countryside of my mind
as sheep contentedly grazing on the high hillsides.
Moon holds view calling itself to love in the heart
of an ancient hero born anew into our own day.
Stars by seven n' planets by five had come into line
to mark his arrival among us.
Stately n' elegant; noble n' refined,
his smiling countenance, n' velvet voice
brings to all a serenity n' a passion for life.
As sure as the waters bright bring to light
Zarathustra's burning love, does Bijan
our hearts do move to be beyond themselves;
to be uncluttered expressions of living truth.
Directing n' forgetting, forgetting n' directing;
leaving the actresses n' actors to act
their own best being, this being his forte supreme.
Fragrant are the poetic mists of time that have come
n' are playing in his silvery wavy hair;
playing there in the extensive gardens of his mind.
High to the sky, deep to the sea, n' round about eternity
is this dark rose of Marabella much beloved.
Fame, gain, n' reign he veils in a simplicity;
endearing him endlessly to his dearest friends.
Shy pilot of creativity; able aviator of new adventures
is what sets him apart, n' brings him close.
Early detector of the fourth sign;
medical imaging advanced another mile,
Ibn Sīnā - Avicenna has recorded this in style.
You spirits of ancient Persian heroes, know that
one of your own is representing you very well;
a quality person he is in the global n' local realms.
And with again viewing them on this same day;
be it now moving into eve, finding them I am
sitting next to each other on the welcoming
Caspian shore, n' in silence they in-joying away
the wonder of a glorious sunset all the more.
Zarathustra, Omar, n' Bijan raise us to new heights
of philosophical, poetic, n' artistic expression;
shine by us your magic lanterns, that upon
the worthy ways we may journey on n' on.
© 1 March 2012 RmSweeney
With my compliments,
Richard
Bijan Jouza: http://en-gb.facebook.com/people/Bijan-Artafilms/
The Art of Independent Filmmaking: http://www.artafilms.com/
"In our philosophy no project is too ambitious or too small and no place on earth too remote
for producing compelling films, documentaries …"
Needing to be painted as floating breezes
Golden morning falling falling into sunshine,
laugh to the trees in my mind all a living!
Straw hatting the sun of the heart
is most pleasing to me, Richard.
Silence is the blessing that is binding me
to the canvas n' the canvas it is that's
exploring me in the cosmos.
I once had a nuance all covered with daffodil roses
reaching way up into the blue shy.
Have you ever, Richard been to Creativity's
workshop here in Paris way?
Yes, I have, Vincent, n' have been ten hundred
of several times in past lives reoccurring
as the blazing sun in mid winter.
I'm a winter, Richard in the summer;
a spring in the autumn.
Still to be moving, moving to be still,
all motion is that natural composition
that responds to my patient brushes.
When I compose in paint colours
the poetic in me is given new insight.
I suppose, Richard it's the same for you
when you compose in paint words.
The same; the very same, Vincent.
We paint in colours; we paint in words, Richard,
but who echoes the creative spirit when the rivers
flow summit wards n' the snowflakes alight on sunrays?
It's difficult n' easy it is with saying, Vincent,
but I imagine that place n' pace play the role divine.
Divinity has oft captured me in buttons n' bows,
tables n' chairs; horse drawn carriages, n' sometimes,
n' sometimes in the invisible seen but alone to me.
Walk with me, Richard of a day along the Champs-Élysées.
I want us to feel the ages blow like wind all about
the Arc de Triomphe, n' the Fontaines de la Concorde.
Imagine, can you a party being hosted there about
for all the never noticed ones who are as of yet like me
to see the light of day?
I can, Vincent, n' I can see what brought liberty
to the first stage of a milestone that at times
carries with it a millstone about the old mill;
the old mill beneath the pretty castle on the hill.
Thirteen arches keeping it company still.
Perfection per se, Richard is it an illusion?
What's perfection, Vincent?
Perfection is a moment rather than a creation;
it's a moment when I know my painting
has all come nicely together.
Nothing further I to it need do;
No giving, n' no taking away.
But the art critic or publishing editor, Vincent
will more often than not consider our creations
to be lacking perfection.
Honestly, who cares, Richard?
We're only living in one time frame out of countless.
What about the myriad ages coming after us?
They will have a wider appreciation of perfection.
Life, Richard is for living n' expressing ourselves
as exquisitely as we can vis-à-vis the culturing
of our artistic, n' poetic talents.
I never thought of it like that before, Vincent.
It must have something to do then, Richard with
I forever seeing the wind in colours
n' colours in sun showers.
What say you, Richard of the time of your life?
I have it all the time while I'm painting my words.
And I miss it when I'm away from the canvas page.
Me too, n' I've no idea of what to do with myself
when I'm not with brush in hand n' canvas exposed.
I long for that harmony of jubilation n' sadness;
sad that I'm finished, n' jubilant that it's completed.
Nothing there is at all like that feeling.
Be still; be with a moment facing me, Richard!
Stay in just that pose, for something in your face
is needing to be painted as floating breezes.
Make gold in light in your gaze, Richard.
Think of a time in the way distant future
when we will come together again
to happily chat n' paint our colours n' words.
I'm already looking forward to it, Vincent.
Live long with the joy of care n' blessings.
Express in poetic fragrance, Richard
goodness n' truth at the tip of your quill.
I will in truth, Vincent,
I will good will.
© 2 March 2012 RmSweeney
Vincent van Gogh
{Self-Portrait with Straw Hat}
Paris, in March-April 1887
Rijksmuseum Vincent van Gogh, Amsterdam
Photograph courtesy: http://www.marshyframe.com/
Mrs. Battered of Turnkey
Richard, I desperately need to talk to you;
talk to you of my life between bladed fists.
Hold you your time in pleasantness for another day,
for this moment I need to talk to you on behalf
of the millions of women like myself the world over;
more the world under n' hidden away.
We've all but no voice, Richard;
no voice to cry out our pain save
to the stained doorknobs n' open toilet bowls.
Blood n' tears; tears n' pain, pain n' sorrow,
sorrow n' fear; no, no, no not fear
more absolute terror day n' night!
Living with them; sleeping next to them,
they are nothing more than beasts disguised as humans.
No, I'm not calling all men by such n' strangled words,
but those few malignant malfunctioning sons of stones!
Richard, we know not of each other, but I feel
I've always known you; seen you in my dreams.
Beautiful.
Why do call me Beautiful, Richard?
Whenever was a bruised face like this beautiful?
And see here too to my wrists, arms, back, n' thighs.
See here n' here, Richard.
This is what that … of a horror did to me.
I know I'm shocking you, for you are a person
who is not used to such sights of violence, n' words,
but you must look, n' must listen, n' must tell,
for we're almost not heard at all.
See here, Richard; this is a scar dating
from my honeymoon night; that being now
nine years, seven months, five days, n' three hours ago.
I'm a living record of indelible abuses.
Ah, it's no use, for I feel a curse of the God
of the Jews, the Christians, n' the Muslims is upon us.
And every Indian, n' African god, n' voodoo whatnot too
have been abusing us all with their warped excuses
that man is the superior.
And oh, no, don't let the atheists walk free either
as if they know not us; no, they know us as well as the rest
of them who down through the centuries have taken
to raping, pillaging, n' plundering Mother Earth.
Beautiful.
Why, Richard; why, dear Richard
do you keep calling me Beautiful?
My name rather should be Battered;
Mrs. Battered of Turnkey.
Beautiful, come out into the full light.
Come out to be a voice for those
who are too be benumbed to speak.
I can't, Richard; I'm too afraid.
He'd kill me to death's door if he finds out.
Let him be found out, Beautiful.
I can't, Richard, I've nowhere to go.
You can, Beautiful; you can.
Richard, Richard;
Richard dear, I'm telling you, I can't.
What of my babies?
He'll just divert his palms n' fists to them.
I know the sadistic way he thinks.
Let him be found out, Beautiful.
Do it for the So Tired I Can Hardly Go On
many throughout the world
who are very much depending on you
to overcome that sickening in your stomach fear.
Richard, will you help me?
Beautiful, you know what you must do.
Pick up the phone there n' make the call
to We Understand And Will By You Stand.
I don't have their number.
Here it is, Beautiful.
It's lovely; it's truly, truly lovely, Richard
to be called Beautiful again.
As a little girl, my daddy;
my precious n' beloved daddy
used always call me Beautiful.
And beautiful you are, Beautiful.
You'd have liked him, Richard,
n' he you, for he was one noble man.
Be your father's daughter, Beautiful.
Hello? Yes, may I speak to someone who …?
© 5 March 2012 RmSweeney
In your own mind
Light the darkness for I need to see brightness
coming forth from beneath the ocean floor.
Bend the full filling moon to me soon
as the future is hastily making its way into the past.
Seemingly false accusations against
the Land of the Aryan is causing a plan
to be mistakenly brought to a confrontation
that is as potent in consequence
as that first September night of '39
when the borders of Polska were overrun.
You may think n' think what you will,
but the similarities in confusion confessing
itself to generals in underground bunkers
is coming to your own front door;
mailed piled high on the floor.
Have you looked for a place to stay
with the Zambezi coming over the hill?
I've an acknowledgment that China is seeping
into the Sahara n' making it jade green.
How so come is the fifth of the amendments
laying itself so low this night
in the shadowy all aglow clouds?
Some have said, that some can do what
no one else in the history of ice cream parlours
can based on their own cognisance.
Golden is seeing the sun cause time
to be about itself spinning.
Make plainer the complicated;
simplify the contradiction that appears to be erupting
in the European Union having no throne
for its rightful monarch.
I fail to see the reason that's being implemented
in Palace Square of St. Petersburg
or is it a case of mistaken non identity?
It's all of what I've been telling you about
with the flooding a mile an acre
n' inundating the Rocky Mountains.
What did you mean when you said
of a belated day earlier,
that the sturdy Atlas Mountains would be
found camping in the sands of Arabia?
There's more afoot going round by the turn
of the North Wind that will cause
snowflakes to fall of a bright summer's day
upon beautiful Castel Gandolfo.
You've made an interesting point
considering the next of last week's vision
having come true in the first century Anno Domini.
I speak of many things that time has no idea of;
bringing to kings n' queens in waiting
the usefulness of making some words come true
when they've already been fulfilled.
Asia Minor in major horizontal is making for itself
the Central American divide.
Please be specific in the Pacific, for I see
tropical forests becoming green fields,
with dwellings having splendid colours n' smiling faces
remembering the heritages of races, ages, n' graces.
You've something to tell me
in the telling of being told, haven't you?
I have n' I haven't when you see
the blazing turn of events that's going to prevent
the many from getting through, n' the true
having to wait patiently for what to do.
Last night in a vision bright of moonlight
came to me the next stage of knowledge;
raising itself higher into serenity.
What say you of this vision that no one else
in insight makes mention of to the contrary?
Know that knowledge will not at all be as we
to knowledge our understanding give.
There's a knowledge coming that will be
outside us, n' visible to all with eyes for such
manifestations in the face of the central palm.
You're not in now time for me that I can be
with relating to your perspective clearly.
See you there in the unseen of that which you call
the third dimension, be it the fourth, eleventh
or the nine hundred thousand dimension?
See I nothing more than what I've been
taught to see by lonely widow in classroom small.
What is it I'm suppose to be seeing?
The beyond of all that you are familiar with.
Of all; of all that I'm familiar with?
Yes, of all that you're familiar with.
I can't imagine an imagining that has as it roots
in the spatial difference which exists when we
fold mathematics into a candy bar, n' send it
over the ways into the sky of day n' the heavens of night.
Find me the opening n' you'll have found yourself
in the blue of momentary not having been.
How can that be; how can such impossibilities be?
Be n' everything is said to be.
Stay; stay a little while longer for I want to
inquire of what there is after passing over.
I need to know.
Can't you see that it's right here before you
in the full sight of your mind?
Is there a life after the death?
More a liking to you to ask is there life
before that which you call the death.
Help me with the help of the hidden
for I want to know this to be so.
So, it is so.
There's no time when you aren't alive.
What of death then?
Life.
My mind fails me to comprehend
where it is you're coming from;
where it is you are, n' where it is you're going.
Take your time.
Knowledge becoming to know itself takes time.
Four million years is a very short time.
Take your time n' you'll be coming to know
what it is that you are able to know.
Can't I know before I know, that I may
with ease slide into its blissful place?
Time outside is our patient place.
Be with being in a full grace, n' all the love
in the all about will be with turning a leaf
to show you the selfsame of the future of the past.
Now with contentment be, n' the fortune
of necessity will be catching up with you
as have the gentle breezes of this new born spring.
Stay well till we meet again.
Stay still in motion; moving in stillness.
In-joy being the king that you are;
the legendary king that you are
in your own mind, for your mind
in kind is a mighty place.
Adieu, n' again soon we'll meet.
Yes; yes, I'd like that very much.
Adieu.
© 6 March 2012 RmSweeney
Photograph courtesy: http://www. ketiltrout.net/
Ich bin Ihnen sehr dankbar
Lay the time of absence since the when
of our first coming into each other's view.
Place the concerto of the muse in the limelight
of unexplainable humour which you must be
with the flower on the petal of the bloom
that is in tune with the communion
of the union finding its first steps.
Richard, lift your hand like so to the lamp
for the unimaginable of latest findings
is sweeping through my feverish kidneys.
Wolfgang, where's the next of the hour
settling itself into peacefulness
upon the piano keyboard?
It's I have to say, with the charm
of not intentionally calling attention
to the sideboard over by the window.
But all anew n' fresh there in readiness for
its debut is a work entitled, The Magic Flute.
Maybe there's an expectation to the conclusion
that there are such things as higher
than the highest ever low.
It's possible no doubt as much as the second hand
in the floorboards is moving about to reverse
all that we've ever known concerning
the origin of musical note, score, n' metronome.
Have you been of the afore knowledge, Richard
that can make the delight stand on end
or is it the end stand on delight?
I know much of some nothings, Wolfgang
but I've never heard of slow sweetness
taking for itself the intensity of the first
cherry blossoms managing to peer
through curtains; more draperies as heavy
as any a horse drawn carriage here in Alsergrund.
Too much darkness foreboding me;
so much so that I can't see in or out.
What's it like in the bright sunlight, Richard?
It's a refreshing paradise, Wolfgang.
Do you think I'll ever be valued for my true worth?
It seems, Wolfgang, the Schneeberg
can't perceive his own magnificence.
What's to become of my music sheets?
What's to become of my letters; my leaf edged poems?
Why concern yourself with such matters, Wolfgang?
Compose; compose n' compose.
Delight day it be night in composing
the music n' phrases of your heart.
I'll tell you, Richard, I'm worried;
I'm worried should anything happen to me
that my music sheets could be laid to sleep
in a chimney bed or flung on to a garbage heap.
Nonsense. That won't happen, Wolfgang.
You don't know that for sure, Richard.
Many in my sphere have in truth
no finesse in the art of artistic expression,
n' would sooner see my sheets
tossed with old cabbage heads into hen runs.
There are times, when I cry myself to sleep;
cry myself throughout my dreams,
only to wake with my eyes still spilling tears
over such crucial to me concerns.
If the artist's work, Richard is discarded,
then all he or she has ever strived for
is lost to time; lost to the generations ever coming.
Soundest, Wolfgang is the approval found
in silence; next in the written word,
n' then in the spoken I've heard.
You've made me feel light in heart;
content in mind, Richard.
Hold this moment, for a chime sweet
is arriving at my fingers.
A moment, n' I'll put it here before you
on golden music sheet.
Ba ba ba ba mu mu mu mu mu ba ba da da da du
du da da du du da mu mu mu mu ba ba mu
du da mu mu mu mu mu mu da da de de da mu …
There, I've got it! It's out.
Now to piano to let you to hear it.
Ba ba ba ba mu mu mu mu mu ba ba da da da du
du da da du du da mu mu mu mu ba ba mu
du da mu mu mu mu mu mu da da de de da mu …
Oh, Wolfgang it's truly beautiful;
beyond the ability of my words to express.
Richard, this I will call 'Richard ein Licht'
And here I sign it for you with my love, gratitude, n' joy.
I'll treasure it, Wolfgang, n' hopefully will too my heirs.
Richard, the heart of one artist to another
is a treasure beyond compare.
Ich bin Ihnen sehr dankbar.
And I, Wolfgang to you.
Annotations:
Ich bin Ihnen sehr dankbar - I'm very grateful to you.
Alsergrund - a district of Vienna, Austria.
Schneeberg - Schneeberg (Alps), in Lower Austria.
Richard ein Licht - Richard a light
© 7 March 2012 RmSweeney
While listening to {Piano Concerto No. 21 - Andante}
Performed by the Netherlands Chamber Orchestra.
Click on the painting to listen.
Joannes Chrysostomus Wolfgangus Theophilus Mozart
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
Photograph courtesy: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wolfgang_Amadeus_Mozart
A well kept Prussian garden
1787 En route to the Crimea.
Your Majesty, this is Richard the Celt.
Culture; culture, Richard is what gives us
dignity, pride, n' endurance.
See this great land; this mighty land?
Before I came it was starved for culture.
Making myself myself here was not as easy as it looks
with cobwebs streaming ceiling wards
in the heads of bureaucrats all mothballed in time.
When I came, I saw, I conquered, n' gave to it all
distinguishing characteristics of modernity.
It was a time; a time when strength was weak,
n' weak shallow n' leaning into a wooded past.
I bought n' had brought to this great empire
books of the ages; paintings of the masters,
n' architects of the times looking forward.
I know you've heard much of me, Richard,
n' all of it is true, n' as true it is as the embers
in the hearth of the next morning do I still have
potential n' ability for greatness; greatness
for myself, n' for my beloved Russia.
Something tells me we've met before, Richard;
met somewhere, but I can't bring it to mind.
Remember, Your Majesty of a day when You were
but a Princess of nineteen, n' of that same day,
it being in the afternoon, n' You were with maids
strolling along by a shimmering summer stream,
when there sauntered your way
one mounted on a chestnut horse,
n' he was with reading away nonchalantly?
And Her Royal Highness being curious to know
of this wanderer, asked him saying,
'You, there on the horse? What is it you're reading
with such an intensity n' delight?'
And the answer that came was,
'{Roman de la Rose} written by
Guillaume de Lorris & Jean de Meun.'
Remember, Your Majesty?
Yes; yes, now I recall!
That was you; that was you, Richard?
Yes; yes, it was, Your Majesty, n' still is.
Oh, what a precious memory ever has it been
in courtly colonnade n' bedchamber's dream.
Destiny, Your Majesty is ne'er deprived
of her favourite theme.
Where now though is there pleasure in your heart
for one so advanced in years as me?
Your Majesty is my senior but by two years.
But, Richard you're of such a youthful mien.
And, Your Majesty is in full likeness
to that same afternoon when first I beheld
Your charming eyes by the shimmering stream.
Don't you realise I could have you cast away
to the farthest northern regions for making such
a delightfully hinting comment to me?
I well realise it, Your Majesty, but why would
Her Majesty cast someone away who speaks
so truthfully of the truth?
And what more upon this honeyed tongue of yours
is there that wishes to me to speak?
Her Majesty's voice is of the dawn singing
of the Caspian seashore.
Her Majesty's smile is of a charm that I've not
in another woman seen afore.
Her Majesty's physique though all a clothed
indicates a well kept Prussian garden.
Her Majesty is all n' all a beautiful woman.
Richard of the Celtic Isles, I've not been
referred to as a woman in quite some time.
This role; this empress role has become the me alone
that the Russian people n' the world imagine me to be.
They don't see me the woman.
But, I'm a woman first, n' the empress second.
Your Majesty Woman, would You like
to stroll n' chat aways with me?
You're of a daringness that's quite charming;
reminds me so very much of me.
I've a comely dacha over the way,
so let's stroll n' chat as you say,
n' see how this spring day appeals itself
to our sensibilities, shall we?
Let us be with spring be, Woman Your Majesty.
Your style, Man Richard the Celt is something else.
Tell me, are all Celtic men like you?
Being myself I am, merely, Your Majesty.
Well, in me it certainly has found itself a welcome.
© 8 March 2012 RmSweeney
Sophie Friederike Auguste von Anhalt-Zerbst-Dornburg
Empress Catherine the Great of Russia
Photograph courtesy: http://en.wikipedia.org
All any man
Richard, by, Bismillaah ir rahmaan ir raheem,
do I begin n' end everything I do.
Desert breezes give me the greatest of mind ease;
sitting in the wide open spaces without ever
reaching an end to my view.
The Arabian Desert is my home; Mount Hermon
n' all the way down to Byblos is also my home.
Praise is fitting, Your Royal Highness
for one who is in love with living life fully
for the enrichment of humanity.
It seems, Richard that all I have to do
is breathe my breath into the morning awakening
n' the blessed fragrance of Allah is in it.
I call n' the world comes to me,
but I answer to a greater call.
Day night does Allah have my ear.
There's nothing that I have had, have, n' will have
that won't be from Allah to me given.
How did you like our Jeddah, our Saudi Arabia?
I loved it greatly, Your Royal Highness.
Of the three n' the many things that touched me,
the most was the warmth n' sincerity
of the people's trust in Allah;
the beauty of the desert,
n' the sunsets in the Red Sea
out by way of the Blue Mosque.
Seeing the green sheen in the desert in spring
was like being in a world beyond the ordinary.
And what of Lebanon, Richard;
the much beloved homeland of my dear mother?
Forever it seems, Your Royal Highness,
have I been in love with Lebanon;
in love with the survival spirit of her people:
that independence of thought n' expression,
n' the all seasons sheer beauty of her landscape.
I've an opportunity to be extraordinary;
in an extraordinarily wondrous way, Richard,
n' I'm wondering should I accept it.
What do you think I should do?
You n' I, Richard have been of the same duration
in the world; year for year have we been here.
Follow your heart, Your Royal Highness
for closest to our destiny is the heart.
Sometimes; no, more oft than not, Richard
there are so many things dragging at me;
so many issues wanting my attention.
Though I delegate n' delegate
people still keep on coming to my gate.
Everyone wants a piece of me;
a piece of my wealth.
I give n' give but still more is ever been asked of me.
Saying, 'No' comes not easy to me.
Should I give it all away, n' go sit n' happily pray
by a pillar in Al-Masjid al-Harām in Makkah?
If Allah, Your Royal Highness wanted you to do so,
you would know it in your heart,
n' naturally would be accordingly.
Be who are, n' not be worrying yourself
over who to give to or not to give to.
Keep on being who are, n' that is itself
a giving beyond compare;
an extraordinary prayer.
In essence, our material wealth is not what defines us
in the sight of humanity, in the sight of God;
in the sight of Allah, but the quality of our intentions;
the sincerity of our words, n' the richness of our actions.
There are times, Richard I can hardly believe
that I am who I am; that I was born into
such a family n' faith, in such a holy land,
n' am by Allah ever being blessed;
ever being blessed so abundantly I am by Allah.
Grateful ever grateful I am.
The love of my life is my wife n' family.
All any man can ask for, Richard is a good woman
who places her trust in Allah, n' is a brightness
n' comfort unto her husband; an understanding
n' joy unto their children, n' a balm
unto the local community, n' the world.
And twice over is such a man n' woman blessed
if their children grow from their heart
in the love of Allah n' humanity.
Richard, we've been who we were by a blessing,
we are who we are by a blessing,
n' we will be who we will be by a blessing.
Your Royal Highness we were, we are,
n' we will be by a blessing.
By, Bismillaah ir rahmaan ir raheem, Richard
do I begin n' end everything I do.
© 9 March 2012 RmSweeney
With my compliments,
Richard
HRH Prince Al-Waleed bin Talal bin Abdul Aziz al-Saud
Photograph courtesy: http://www.kingdom.com.sa
Integrity n' finesse
Buenos días, Bonjour, n' How do you do,
are the most pleasing of salutations, Richard
when I'm with meeting my clients.
I'm the first real estate they will see;
the first impression of what is to come
begins with the person of me.
From Santiago de León de Caracas to
Sunset Strip to Beverly Hills, n' on to
Paris n' Monaco, am I at home in the world.
Prestige real estate is what's making me
who I am becoming; becoming I am a person
of comfort for those in search of the truly exquisite.
Coldwell Banker Previews International being
my enrichment n' fashioner of my trademark finesse.
When I enter through doors of beauty n' elegance
my mind is already dreaming the reality n' suitability
of place to client, n' client to place.
I speak to them that which alone is in my heart.
It's for this n' in kind reason that I culture myself
to be the utmost of honesty n' integrity;
make myself to be with as much knowledge
as the sea of details n' specifications will afford me.
But there are days, Richard even when I've
prepared all things well, n' every contingency
has been gone over n' over, do I feel the need
to stand back from it all, n' give myself some
quiet moments of familiar reflection
gathered from the strength of my upbringing.
I'm my own courage, determination, n' constancy.
With anticipations of goodness do I daily make my way
to Le Triangle d'Or in the heart of the Champs-Elysées.
With serenity, gratitude, n' joy do I there make my day,
n' come eventide do I party with the bright lights;
the likes n' charms of Michel, Héléna, Bruno, n' Sylvana.
Beautiful people n' beautiful buildings are in my world,
n' in a very real sense they have become one n' the same to me.
I see myself as an introducer of beautiful people
to beautiful dwellings; beautiful dwellings
to beautiful people.
I know, n' I'm well aware, Richard that there are
people in the world who haven't great characters,
n' dwellings that are anything but beautiful.
And that there is in the world the most appalling
living conditions for many people, n' where there
is little or no educational opportunities.
Education being the highway to a better future.
And I know, n' I'm well aware that there are huge
distances between the living standards of peoples
even in Beverly Hills, n' in the Parisian metropolis.
But I always take heart in this saying:
'You'll always have the poor, but you won't always have me.'
Well I think also the same in my own way, in that
we'll always have with us the wealthy, but they
won't always have someone like me who is not out
to take advantage of them or flatter them oversweet.
Therefore, do I strive to live with the greatest of integrity.
I'm by my name one who makes openings
in the walls that separate people;
that separate people from their dreams.
I'm as the new day or the new night, the firstborn,
n' in living with such a responsibility am I
at one with myself, the world, n' Nature.
My heart is as Daisy running in green fields.
We live to bring beauty n' charm to the world.
No one at all was ever meant to be living
in desperate conditions, that's for sure, Richard.
Everyone is meant to live the beauty of the times.
We're a long stretch from achieving that as of yet,
but we're on the road, n' on the road together.
And it's in the giving of our best; my best to the world
even with its many problems, that I can bring it
to its true destiny; its ultimate destiny whereby
everybody is dwelling in houses of finest beauty.
The same rain falls on all in the city of Paris,
the same sun shines on all in Monte Carlo,
n' the same sea breezes blow on all in Beverly Hills.
This day am I contented, for I've found
some of what I've been searching for,
n' that is the precious person Ruben Perez.
For a long time; a long time now, I'd been
only looking to n' seeing others, but this day
I can see myself, n' I like who I am,
n' I like who I'm becoming.
From strength to strength; from integrity
to integrity is who I am.
Yes; yes, I like who I am, n' the am
of who I am is becoming.
It's a new day, n' I'm in it;
a day to introduce beautiful people
to beautiful properties;
beautiful properties to beautiful people.
Thus must I be away, Richard.
We will to talk another day.
Muchas gracias.
You're most welcome, Ruben.
The world n' Coldwell is blessed
by your integrity n' finesse.
© 12 March 2012 RmSweeney
With my compliments,
Richard
Ruben Perez: http://www.facebook.com
In the playgrounds of time
Trees in the golden breeze are calling me
to a sacred isle of the sea.
Fair be the charm that delights in giving love
to the surrounding heavens of my heart.
Once upon a time of waterfalls n' gardens
caught myself in a smile for a hundred days,
n' on over into a thousand nights.
Light is the height of warmth that can be reached
with colourful gondola balloons floating away
above Washington State n' on out o'er the sea.
Of Ballard, Richard in northwest Seattle, I am myself,
n' save so for a time in Hawaiian n' Cleveland climes
have happily been in Seattle all of the time.
Richard, been through horizons of difficulties n' chimes;
making life divine with the help of my friends ever true.
Saw myself the other day in a parade
of glittering mermaids in a blue sea.
Couldn't imagine myself to be in such a wondrous
company, yet, there I was for myself to see.
Love I do nature with a love most natural n' free.
Richard, have you ever walked along the shores
of a world you've never visited, yet you do know by once
or more in seasons have been dwelling in same?
Same in same, Kathleen have I been,
n' am now I do believe in such a one.
Ah, Richard the days n' nights are forever young;
forever youth filling joy filling my heart.
I recall though a slight fall I once had into mindlessness,
but then again can't say for sure if it were not just
pancakes in the frying pan going all golden n' lovely.
Worlds within worlds of words, Kathleen.
Make me a day, Richard where there's something
special ever special wanting to reveal itself to the ages.
I was born; I was born on the much beloved
sacred day of Saint Patrick of Ireland.
Perhaps, I should have been called Patricia.
But then again, Richard, how lovely the name Kathleen is.
There is, Kathleen much of Ireland in Kathleen,
but greater by far in brightness n' joy is there
to be found in the Kathleen of Seattle.
Richard, children at play are calling me from you away.
Hope you don't mind, n' with understanding will find.
Found n' fine I am, Kathleen, for aren't the voices
of the new generations too in need of our presence,
our smiles, n' words of wisdom?
Yes; yes, indeed they very much are, Richard.
And, anyway, we can ever be in chatting be can't we
in the playgrounds of time?
Yes, in the playgrounds of time, Kathleen
of the lovely heart n' enchanting mind
can we ever be chatting away contentedly.
© 15 March 2012 RmSweeney
With my compliments,
Richard
Kathleen Bailey: http://www.facebook.com
Rain droplets on the clothesline
Rain droplets on the clothesline
always make me smile, Richard.
Love gardens; love clotheslines in gardens.
Something about them gives me
a wonderful feeling about life.
The fresh smell of newly washed clothes,
n' the lovely fragrances of a garden
after a misty shower fill me with childlikeness.
Richard, I would have been delighted
if you had been elected President of Ireland.
You are a gardener I would have enjoyed working with.
Loved immensely what you said in Nás na Riogh
to Kildare County Council, on Monday afternoon,
the 26th September 2011.
"A dhaoine uaisle, do the right thing,
be of a spirit and the courage to nominate
the ideal all-party candidate in order to
free up the future, and let Ireland and the World
have one marvellous breath of fresh air …
for I am consistently a person of independent thought,
and who comparable to the sun,
though independent of all, greatly benefits all."
How; how do you know, Madam Chancellor
of what I spoke of on that day on the campaign way?
I had my eyes n' ears with you, Richard
wherever you spoke throughout the land.
Richard, you n' I share the very same birthday
save we're by one year in difference to be found.
I feel we understand each other.
Would that we could work together
for the betterment of our two nations;
the betterment of Europe, n' the World.
This day here in time standing still, Madam Chancellor
are we working for the betterment of all.
Richard, I worry about my Deutschland;
I worry about Europe, n' the World.
To be the de facto leader of such a huge region;
of such diverse though seemingly similar cultures
oft keeps me awake well into the night.
Madam Chancellor you're doing a wonderful job.
Keep being strong; keep on being the strength
that you are n' the goodness will prevail.
I know it seems, Richard that I am being perhaps
over tough on your beloved Ireland,
but in truth I am not.
Ireland like my Deutschland; like any other country
in the Union is entirely responsible for its own blessings.
If we don't act responsibly with our blessings,
they are by some means or another quite literally,
n' in no time at all taken from us.
Madam Chancellor spring gardens do not happen
of their own accord; preparatory work has to be
carried out before the first shoots come out,
n' continued caring must take place for the blessings
of the summer n' autumn to fully appear.
Foresight is the true gardener's second sight.
Richard, have you some time on your hands now?
Yes, for you, Madam Chancellor of course.
Then let's go out into the garden where we can
resume our conversation on our beloved countries;
on Europe, n' the World.
I would like that very much, Madam Chancellor
for it's not everyday I can make a significant
difference in the World.
And for me too, Richard to have some time to chat
with someone who has an akin way of looking at life:
that sees the beauty of rain droplets on clotheslines.
See that shrub there, Richard, well, I've had
a continuous relationship with it since my childhood.
I brought a twig of it with me from my childhood garden.
And come July; come our birthday time, it will be
in wondrous bloom, n' having a fragrance
that only can be described as heavenly.
Wonderful, Madam Chancellor.
Richard; Richard here in the garden
please call me Angela.
This is my inner world.
Angela, in my garden this spring
has come a blackbird to nest.
Daily I watch out for her.
Oh, that's a great blessing, Richard.
There's an old shed over there, n' every year since
I've been in office, a swallow has come n' nested there.
There's something otherworldly, Richard, isn't there,
about a garden, n' its visitors of the walls n' air?
As much, Angela there is n' more to its courteous gardener.
Richard, you've a chivalric way with the words.
Words n' me, Angela are best friends for life.
You would have made a great gardener, Richard
of your lovely garden isle of the western sea.
It was not meant it seems to be, Angela.
Oh, but it was meant to be, Richard,
however, not even God can stop the trickery
of those who are out to block our way.
You know what, I mean, don't you, Richard?
Yes, Angela, I know precisely what you mean.
God could, but God does not work that way;
God unlike we humans does not force the issue.
So right, Angela, so very very right.
If a people can't recognise, Richard, n' welcome
that which would be clearly wholesome for them,
then that wholesomeness is not given to them.
It's simply that simple.
This is a great insight, Angela.
It's a truth of the ages, Richard, but very few see it.
See over there; observe through the archway
to the clothes waving away on the clothesline.
Isn't it an ever-refreshing nostalgia, Richard?
Yes; yes it is Angela.
Nostalgia is an investment for the future.
I like that idea, Richard, it rests with me well.
And speaking of well, let me show you over here
the well of the garden.
It's said to date from the Bronze Age.
Sometimes I believe I hear sweet singing from it.
Now history n' nostalgia ever flowing, Angela
make for a fine doubling of investments.
Would Richard; would Richard that a country
could be run like a garden.
And not alone a country, Angela, but the World.
And that each n' every gardener be a custodian;
a noble keeper for the coming generations.
I think, Richard it's time for some midmorning refreshment.
How about some freshly squeezed orange juice or lemonade?
Orange juice would be delightful, Angela.
Then so it shall be.
It's good that you've come visit me, Richard.
It's fragrantly good to be in your presence, Angela.
We've got a nice chemistry, haven't we, Richard?
A lovely poetic we have, Angela.
A rosemary n' thyme, Richard.
A rosemary n' thyme it is, Angela.
© 20 March 2012 RmSweeney
With my compliments,
Richard
Chancellor Angela Dorothea Merkel
Photograph courtesy: http://www.en.wikipedia.org
Too noble n' dignified
Confucius confusions, n' first create the illusions.
Summer in Shanghai, high in the Swiss Alps
calls me a delusion coming through
on the east side of the Danube.
Make further recall to confirm on which side
of the Atlantic the Pacific is located.
I've taken to measuring placards, n' for a certainty
I can't say that marshmallows have a way
of fashioning the hulls of ships on the floor
of the deepest sea in the galaxy.
Where have you been that you have such
splendour n' harmony tucked away
inside the lightening bolts of space travel?
I've an imagining that if it were known
to the public reeling around in laughter streets
it would create an alarm in the barns n' silos.
Industry insiders are all outside, n' whitewashing
painted over billboards they are; trying to explain
the taking place or what is in the making of going to be.
Carnival season in Europe.
More session though it is than recession.
And that's wonderful.
Thinking of a time in the bottom of the morning
of tomorrow's late afternoon, when the first thing
you'll see will be the most beautiful appearance
of a Jupiter like orb coming in from the northwestern hills.
Not here in the northern hemisphere, the eastern?
The western; coming in along o'er the River Shannon.
China today is not Cathy, n' Cathy is not
what you might think it to be.
Many railway lines being laid down low
from Morocco to Lesotho; Senegal to Somalia.
Wonder which way is the ever coming future
going to reveal itself; more to unfold itself.
With all this distraction going on,
something else is taking place right across our fields.
Have I not told you of the longboats disguised
as trade missions, n' of talks to create talks
only to find ourselves of a day in the future
in more dis-common unity: our individualism
as we know it all washed up on the shore?
Stand up straight ere you'll be made to kowtow,
n' carry all the barely, coals, n' gold
to the doors of Beijing.
I've my China, n' the World has its own.
Mine is of the Book of Changes
Mine is of Lao-Tzu, n' Chuang-Tzu.
Mine is of the Canon of Mountains n' Seas
Mine is of Confucius, n' Mencius.
Mine is of Classical Chinese.
Mine is of the sun, mountains, hills, valleys,
rivers, streams, crane, carp, dragon,
moon, pine, bamboo, phoenix, magpie,
plum, peach, deer, tortoise, n' like n' like
such symbols of life n' prosperity.
Mine is of traditional poetry, art, music, n' song.
Its China is of the 19th n' 20th centuries.
All but empties me it does of inspiration.
Oh, land of China; mysterious n' beautiful you are
by far, but what say you your rulers of the rights
of those forcibly brought within your sphere?
Return to those what you have taken,
n' give to those who are in need of their dignity.
I know, n' well aware I am that there is
much about you I know not, n' I may be talking out of lot,
but you've got to understand that I'm an Irishman;
a European man tending ever more strongly
to becoming a fully-fledged citizen of the World.
I can' t accept the crushing low of the individual.
It's just not on in my nature, n' culturing.
In this lovely season of spring, let spring into life
the individual; the individual flowers,
n' let them be a fragrance unto their families,
their country, n' the World without they being
deprived of their worthiness.
And what is the worthiness of an individual, you ask.
It's being oneself in a way that allows
everyone else to be themselves in harmony.
And that self n' selves is a person, n' a common unity
of dignity, integrity, virtue, n' love.
Your communism; that system for denying the individual
is not for me or those of an akin liberty of mind n' body.
We here on our sacred isle don't need your
chameleon factories; take them away.
Yes; yes, we are a bit stuck for monies at the moment,
but the nice thing about a moment is that it's only a moment.
Change is happening, n' we are happening with it.
Sovereignty n' individuality
are two of our most precious treasures.
We're not a backdoor into Europe!
If the only thing you have to offer to us; to offer Europe
is your money, then we don't need you.
We are a domain rich in culture, n' that culture
is firmly established on the individual;
individuals freely n' nobly expressing themselves
for the betterment of themselves, their families, hamlets,
villages, towns, cities, n' the World.
Yes, in reality we have not got there yet,
but we are making progress, n' that progress is at times
in leaps, n' at more times in strides,
but we are all of the time moving in the right direction.
We have issues of our own to contend with, that's for sure;
perennial issues that seemingly never get resolved,
but we are getting there, that's certain.
What we don't need however is to have the very
foundation of who we are undermined.
We're established on the dignity, right, n' life
of the individual, n' anything that threatens this
nonnegotiable will be opposed.
Laughable! For you're but a lone quill, no sword you are.
How can you stop our relentless advancement?
That's the tip; I'm a lone quill, but then again
ten lone quills will be a strength, a hundred a force,
n' a thousand to millions a powerhouse.
Keep your silk threads of suzerainty as we've
no need whatsoever for another colonization.
Seven hundred years was quite enough
of that kind of undignified existence.
Have a good day now, you all.
Ah, let's go find an easer mass,
for these Irish will never give in;
too noble n' dignified a people, they are.
© 21 March 2012 RmSweeney
Members of the Chinese Communist Party leadership
Photograph courtesy: http://www.spiegel.de
Continued on Wiseoneder 2
