So here’s the thing . . . these past two weeks have involved (what could be perceived as) a voodoo-type tech curse. My newish phone suffered an early death, my computer’s LCD screen was stabbed by a pointy, metal object (rendering it nearly useless), and, today, while in the midst of progress, my mini-voice recorder decided it was time to hit the grave. Nice. Not. I have said before, no techie here. Just for fun, I googled “voodoo dolls” and I discovered that, for the inexpensive fee of just $600 bucks, I can pay for the voodoo curse to be lifted. Unfortunately, I’m short on cash. Being Catholic, however, has some nice perks like free blessed salts, candles, water, and, of course, novenas. Let the sprinkling of holy water from the Jordan river begin and (since there is no saint of broken things), I’m asking Job to put in a good word for me to the big guy upstairs.
Tag Archives: postaday2011
Hidden Treasure
I’m a “quotes” person. I love quotes from people who have climbed rungs of the highest ladders, who have tripped and fallen face down in grime, who have cleansed themselves by splashing about in rain puddles, who have soared on the wings of ecstasy, who have teetered on rocky precipices, who have cradled a little person close to them and inhaled that baby’s sweetness, who have scratched art into existence, who have loved, hated, accomplished, failed, thrown in the towel, swam with rip tides until they broke free. . .who have LIVED.
“The most important things are the hardest to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them — words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they’re brought out. But it’s more than that, isn’t it?
The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you’ve said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That’s the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within, not for want of a teller, but for want of an understanding ear.”
~Stephen King (Different Seasons)
Atomic Self
he a nuclear
fission exploding
uranium 235
shockwaves
traveling to his
core compressing
then the blast
self’s death
and burning
disintegration
© Pamela Rossow
Pitch
staccato notes swirl
round two hiding
between bar lines
attempting a grand
staff she a trembling
treble he a bold bass
together no rests just
a half note plus a half note
trying to make a whole
© Pamela Rossow
To Be
the forest spoke to
her hushed voices
murmuring of frigid
cascades and still
blue-green pools
the forest spoke to
her beckoning voices
enticing her to repose
upon fragrant blankets
of pine needles
the forest spoke to
her enchanting voices
entreating her to peel
away papery bark
and just be
© Pamela Rossow
6 inches
One of the best motivational, sports/life speeches ever by Pacino in Any Given Sunday. My buddy, Pete, listens to this every morning before starting his day. I watch it when I need to kick a$$ and take names. The six inches is in front of YOUR face! What are you going to do today to grab them????
Panthers’ St. Patty’s Puctacular!
Oh, yeahhh! I’m on a hockey high. My boys, Weiss and Santorelli played well tonight and Clemmensen rocked the net up close and personal 
!!! So exciting to witness a 4-0 shut out against the Maple Leafs! Maybe a wee bit of Irish luck but mostly great ice time. The night was complete (according to my son) because of the couple fights that broke out (on the ice of course). Family, hockey, yelling, and dancing? Who could have asked for a better way to spend St. Patty’s night! Go Panthers!!!!
This Friday Moment
{this moment} – A Friday ritual. Photos – no words – capturing moments from the week. Simple, special, extraordinary moments. Moments you want to pause, savour and remember. “This Moment” is a ritual found on Life inspired by the Wee Man which I then kidnapped from Almost there by Sarah-Jane.
Feel free to leave a link to your Friday Moment in the comment section!!!
Gray Day Musings & Neruda
 I am sitting at my desk taking a break from working. My heavy, thick glass window to the world is open. Life filters in. Jays screech about their dampened feathers, a male cardinal calls his absent mate, the wind blusters about, enters my room, restlessly rustles my papers, chills me. The sky is steel. An overt warning of hair raising, electric flashes and deep, shuddering anger that booms and bellows while raging torrents pummel. I am swept up in the emotions of this gray afternoon. Poetry fills deep voids, gaping hollows with substance, meat, food. Then, I receive bad news. Perfect day for those pained, hurting. Falling tears may be disguised as precipitation. Poetry is needed, read, to shake the shadows of the Grim Reaper, so close, so near my friend’s family. Attempts at poetic therapy, self-medication. The following distracts me, a selection from one of my favorite poets filled with such passion his words often drip with seduction. |
It’s good to feel you are close to me
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Death
I sit living
breathing oxygen
deep into sinewy
recesses.
You sit dying
choking on
carbon dioxide
clouds.
I feel
heavy because
of your shortened
fuse.
You feel
shaky wobbly
raspy not yet
ready.
I sit living
as the irreverent
snuffer puts out your
light.
© Pamela A. Rossow
