Archive for Words

Sometimes

Posted in Feelings, Love, thoughts, Words with tags , , , on August 17, 2009 by moragglimmerwitch

smallsnr

Sometimes late at night, when the world is quiet and I am finally alone with my thoughts, I realize why it is I cannot find the words to write for others.  You are the one who makes the words happen for me, you always have been. Why that is I cannot say for sure, but you bring this part of me alive like no one else has ever done.  I have not written here as much of late but the thoughts are still there.  My longing to share them with the world is somewhat uncertain these days,  but the feeling behind them is not. Sometimes late at night I realize all I want is to share them with you, my thoughts, my heart, all the parts of me I cannot seem to put to the page.  It is night here, the moon and stars filling the sky, while you greet the light of day and all it will bring.  May it bring only good things to you and may you, for a moment, hear some of those words whispered into the night as I drift to sleep.

Advertisements

Mary Oliver

Posted in Mary Oliver, Poetry, Words with tags , on August 11, 2009 by moragglimmerwitch

One of my favorite poets

In Blackwater Woods

Look, the trees
are turning
their own bodies
into pillars

of light,
are giving off the rich
fragrance of cinnamon
and fulfillment,

the long tapers
of cattails
are bursting and floating away over
the blue shoulders

of the ponds,
and every pond,
no matter what its
name is, is

nameless now.
Every year
everything
I have ever learned

in my lifetime
leads back to this: the fires
and the black river of loss
whose other side

is salvation,
whose meaning
none of us will ever know.
To live in this world

you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it

against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.

~ Mary Oliver ~

(American Primative)

Posted in thoughts, Words, Writings with tags , , on August 8, 2009 by moragglimmerwitch

mary_pickford

I had a dream that I was lost in a library; it had spiral staircases and tiny ladders with goblins wearing spectacles, they were dusting the highest shelves. I sat in a big red velvet armchair reading every book that I could find about myths and tales, until the guard told me that it was closing time,

I am not a believer in hope but it sometimes comes in wisps and strays, I am going to begin a pebble jar, and maybe one day it will become full of mermaid tear pebbles.

I want to see Paris lit up at night time, sit with my sketchbook in the Mus

Visit Glastonbury with its pretty bookshops, and abbey and gardens, make my hair the colour of the palest moons, and my best friend and I will travel to London in September and dress as Viking girls for the band, and look around art universities. I want to take the bus to Portobello road and buy vintage black lace and antique books, we can hide our hearts for just one day, and tomorrow when the sun wakes up I will go for a walk with my camera on the lonely five a m roads.

Wild Thoughts

Posted in Quotes, Rambings, thoughts with tags , , on August 5, 2009 by moragglimmerwitch

tn_FreeVintageImagesofVictorianScrapbookClipArt12_jpg

To return to our senses is to renew our bond with wider life, to feel the soil beneath the pavement, to sense — even when indoors — the moon’s gaze upon the roof.
David Abram, The Spell of the Sensuous

It began in mystery, and it will end in mystery, but what a savage and beautiful country lies in between.
Diane Ackerman
, A Natural History of the Senses

When we deliberately leave the safety of the shores of our lives, we surrender to a mystery beyond our intent.
Ann Linnea, Deep Passage

Writing Pages

Posted in Words, Writings with tags , , on February 23, 2009 by moragglimmerwitch

The other night, when it was so warm, I started a private journal. I sat by candlelight trying to conserve energy and started filling the pages of one of the many blank journals that fills my bedside table. It’s just a plain journal with its dark blue cover, nothing with a golden binding or a beautifully designed cover. I had hoped to find something beautiful for the words, but then I suppose the words inside are what matter. As in all things, the real beauty is not on the surface but in this case, within the pages.