Friend, Karen Weeding posted this thought provoking poem on the welcome page. For fear that it would be overlooked I thought it a good idea to start a new topic for this type of posting. If you have a favorite lyric, poem, line or thought that touches or moves you and you are willing to share it, this is the place.

I have posted Karen's poem here to kick this off.
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One of my all time favorite poets is Naomi Shihab Nye and one of my favorite poems by her is called "Famous." Tell me what you think:

Famous

The river is famous to the fish.

The loud voice is famous to silence,
which knew it would inherit the earth
before anybody said so.

The cat sleeping on the fence is famous to the birds
watching from the birdhouse.

The tear is famous, briefly, to the cheek.

The idea you carry close to your bosom
is famous to your bosom.

The boot is famous to the earth,
more famous than the dress shoe,
which is famous only to floors.

The bent photograph is famous to the one who carries it
and not at all famous to the one who is pictured.

I want to be famous to shuffling men
who smile while crossing streets,
sticky children in grocery lines,
famous as the one who smiled back.

I want to be famous in the way a pulley is famous,
or a buttonhole, not because it did anything spectacular,
but because it never forgot what it could do.

-Naomi Shihab Nye

Naomi Shihab Nye has chosen a gentler way to be famous as opposed to the fame that the media forces upon us. She wants to be famous for smiling back and isn't that powerful? Karen, what makes this poem one of your favorites?

Sue: I like the shift in perspective as to what it means to be "famous"--an unexpected meaning for what we perceive as excellent and worthy. Living in a celebrity obsessed society can begin to warp our perception about who is famous and therefore worthy of our attention. Besides, this way, if a pulley or a buttonhole has the potential to be famous, maybe there's hope for all of us. We just have to remember what we were "meant to do."

P.S. What a great line--"The river is famous to the fish."

I wish this was mine but it's not. A friend on the Utne Cafe began a poem, "My Piano is a Blessed Black Bird"

Such a nice thought, I carried it with me all that day.

I continue to hope that there is hope for me.



[This message has been edited by Tucker Bolton (edited 10/6/2003).]

I have been spending my life the last couple of weeks painting and framing, framing and painting, sleep, then paint and frame.

Needing a moment, this morning, I ground a fist full of oily, fresh, french roast, beans put on an old James Taylor CD and waited for the aroma to crescendo in concert with "Walking Man" and the final gurgle of my faithful coffee pot. Not wanting a flawed, non-painting, non-framing moment, I searched until I found my favorite coffee cup, hand thrown by my favorite potter, heated it under the faucet and filled it to the brim with the steaming, new born brew. Moments later, joined by my furry friends I sat under the blue Montana sky and contemplated the function of hollihocks. Were they only here to feed the grasshoppers and if so, Why? Glenna says It keeps them from eating the tomatos. I suppose it's true. Our tomato crop was great this year. I further determined that cosmos and sun flowers are the surfers and baseball players in the pecking order of the floral world. They are hearty and stick around to enjoy every last drop of sunshine they can before the winter winds send them away. I also like the idea that they serve as a diner for the birds and not the grasshoppers.

The dogs are growing bored, the cats want back in and I have painting and framing, framing and painting, Pai.....

STEELHEAD

The day I landed my first steelhead
from the Chehalis,
I saw a crow
zigzagging across Damitio's field like no other crow has done before. by Robert Sund (b.1926)



Thought for the day: Have you seen or felt something so wonderful that it makes you see the ordinary in an extraordinary way?

What if nothing bad could happen, unless the words were spoken!

Salli,

What a lovely thought. I fear, men exist that would love nothing better than to speak those words. Many of our elected officials come to mind. Is it ego, domination, power or something as simple as greed? My guess is fear.

How wonderful that such a thought expressed could provoke brain to function, people to share, it is the pebble in the stream. I'm confessin', I love what's happening in our city.

Just what is Arnold? the terminator? the governator? the gropinator? Calleevornia, Arnult, you can half it, ya?

Have a good thought and share random acts of kindness.

If someone should cause you hurt, write it in the sand so the winds of forgivness can blow it away. If someone performs an act of kindness, carve it in stone.

Another favorite Naomi Shihab Nye poem: (actually an excerpt from a longer poem)


Walk around feeling like a leaf.
Know you could tumble any second.
THEN decide what to do with your time.

People who accomplish big things
did small things well.
-HJB

Karen, regarding that leaf thing, I always try to remember that the journey is the destination.

Years ago, a friend gave me a book called "Open Book" by Rumi. I always liked what was written and I think the following poem is appropriate given the current thread:

An Empty Garlic

You miss the garden,
because you want a small fig from a random tree.
You don't meet the beautiful woman.
You're joking with an old crone.
It makes me want to cry how she detains you,
stinking-mouthed, with a hundred talons,
putting her head over the roofedge to call down,
tasteless fig, fold over fold, empty
as dry rotten garlic.

She has you tight by the belt,
even though there's no flower and no milk
inside her body.
Death will open your eyes
to what her face is: Leather spine
of a black lizard. No more advice.

Let yourself be silently drawn
by the stronger pull of what you really love.

_____________________________________

I'm not real good at getting deep, but I think the meaning is pretty clear.

It's hard to beat a person who never gives up.
Babe Ruth

or one that knows when to admit defeat and move gracefully on to something fruitful.

To steer clear of that sinking feeling,
never harbor a resentment.
(William Arthur Ward)

Speaking of holding on to resentment...

I once heard someone say that holding on to resentment is like eating rat poison and waiting for the rat to die.

I just read through this thread. I started "Share a poem, line or thought" as the result of reading a poem that was posted by Karen Weeding.

As I sat this morning, drinking my coffee and just perusing the new limericks, haiku and in general enjoying this fine sunday morning, I was overwhelmed with a feeling of well being and comfort in knowing that all of you are here. You, that I have met in Miles City, on milescirty.com, at the Miles City Books and News, playing music, listening to music, agreeing or disagreeing at the salon, I could go on but I regress into waxing maudlin. I had my maudlin waxed earlier this spring so I will stop and say thank you all and keep on, keepin' on.

When I read your posting, Tucker, I became alarmed. The symptoms you describe are all part of a spectrum of thoughts/behaviors that Jeff Rockwell describes as:

SYMPTOMS OF INNER PEACE

1. Tendency to think and act spontaneously rather than from fears based on past experiences.
2. An unmistakable ability to enjoy each moment.
3. Loss of interest in judging self.
4. Loss of interest in judging other people.
5. Loss of interest in conflict.
6. Loss of interest in interpreting actions of others.
7. Loss of ability to worry (this is a very serious symptom).
8. Frequent, overwhelming episodes of appreciation.
9. Contented feelings of connectedness with others and nature.
10. Frequent attacks of smiling through the eyes of the heart.
11. Increasing susceptibility to love extended by others as well as the uncontrollable urge to extend it.
12. Increasing tendency to let things happen rather than to make them happen.

Rockwell warns, "If you have all or even most of the above symptoms, please be advised that your condition of PEACE may be so far advanced as to not be treatable."

You very well may have an advanced case, Tucker, in which case you are probably stuck with this condition for the rest of your life to varying degrees!

I would stop self medicating but.......Oh! wait a minute, I've already done that. I guess I have a terminal case. I do suspect that a move back to Los Angeles or Denver might cure me.

Thanks Karen, that was a lovely thought to share.

Oh, Joe knows about "The Blues". I told him to just mark it sold and you would drop in sometime next week.

In regard to Rockwell's symptoms of well-being, I do hope they are contagious! I wouldn't seek a cure for this one. Thank you, Karen, for those thoughts. And, Tucker, for sharing your Sunday morning ponderings. Nourishment for the soul, you are.

And here's a favorite quote of mine which got me to wondering how each season would taste if I could bite into it!

Delicious Autumn! My very soul is wedded to it and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking successive autumns. by George Eliot

As Autumn bit into the plains of Montana
black, sleek, swift, starlings flew from the corners of her mouth. She (for autumn is surely a woman) breathed, quickly at first, in astonishment, sending a few of the weaker leaves fluttering to the waiting earth. Summer, Autumn's sister, relinquished her dying breath and sent a rustling of assurance over the land. "It is time to rest now, Autumn, my sister, you must annoint the land with water and caress it with with your winds. Tidy up before the blanket of winter covers our mother earth. She needs a long rest to prepare for the arrival our playful sister, Spring. Hurry, Autumn, my sister, there is much to be done."

Autumn set about her work and it was delicious.

Tucker Bolton, with thanks to Karen Stevenson

[This message has been edited by Tucker Bolton (edited 10/29/2003).]

What a Blessing. How I enjoy reading this site. I like the "rat poison" bit (I copied it to my e-mail signature). And "Symptoms of Inner Peace" now graces my refrigerator. And oh Tucker, how I miss the seasons - and you wrapped them so beautifully. I used to walk thru the fields after a new snow, and knew God had to be real, for this was no accident!

A Taste of Seasons

If I could taste the seasons
I would roll Autumn on my
tongue like a lemon drop,
letting the sweet and sour of it linger
before it is gone.

I would bite into the dark chocolate
of Winter where frosty sweetness
covers the bitter blackness
crunching the flavors
together in one stormy blast.
.
Sweet Spring candy!
I would joyfully taste
each confectionery layer
delighting in the discovery
of forgotten flavors.

I would recklessly gulp the
jalapenos of Summer
setting a controlled burn,
cleansing the landscape
of my cluttered mind.

Delicious seasons.
Autumn,Winter.
Spring,Summer.
I devour their essence
Whetting my appetite for more.

Karen,
Is that yours? How very cool!

uh...yes, it is mine. Bit timid 'bout it. (Why does posting it, making it "public",validate it?!)

Thanks, Tucker.

Wow! never, ever, NEVER! be ashamed of putting your name on such a beautiful image.

Yes Karen, Thanks very, very much for sharing, it speaks to my heart.

Karen--your image of autumn floated into my mind while I was at the playoff game yesterday. The meeting of poetry and football! In between, "Go Cowboys, Go" and "DEFENSE, DEFENSE" I was reflecting on that lemon drop. The sweet sunshine alternated with the sourness of the chilly wind and produced the quintessential autumn day--the perfect setting for a football game...or a hunting trip...or a brisk walk...or a cozy cup of coffee...or...

....or taking a bite of Granny Smith apple alternately with a bite of caramel. Thanks, Karen, glad to know that words can produce new images. By the way, I have a name for our band/singing ladies group....Coyote Sisters!! (If all else fails we could go howl at the moon!). Now we need a garage.

Hoorah!! for the "COYOTE SISTERS". Throw those arms in the air, join hands, whoop and shout, celebrate, cartwheel, dance in an ever widening circle and sing, sing, sing.

Ohhhhhh! coyote girls
won't you come out tonight
come out tonight
come out tonight
and dance by the light of the mooooooooooooooon

Yee Haahhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Karen--how warm does the garage have to be?

Hey Coyote Sisters (I like the name!) I have a warm shop, but it's 50 miles to the east. I found my ocarina that I bought in Santa Cruz years and years ago. Still works and I have a songbook....

Karen--The garage can be as hot as we make it!(Back in our college days there was a group called Dan Hicks and the Hot Licks - great music!)
An ocarina! We need to get our choreographer going on this one. Latin gyrations just might provide the heat!

Now, back to arts, literature and poetry. Here's a poem published in the Orion Magazine I think is so cool and speaks of the joys of life: (by Brian Doyle)

"Credo, Latin for "I believe", which I do,
very strongly, in a number of things.
I believe that there is a mysterious
and graceful and miraculous Coherence
stitched through this world.
I believe that this life is an extraordinary gift, a blink of bright light between vast darknesses.
I believe that the fingerprints of the Maker are everywhere: children, hawks, water.
I believe that children are hilarious and brilliant mammals.
I believe that everything is prayer.
I believe that my wife is the strongest and most graceful female being I have ever met, with the possible exception of my mother.
I believe that a family is a peculiar and powerful corporation, webbed by love, a whole ridiculously bigger than its parts.
I believe that friends are family.
I believe, deeply and relievedly, in giggling.
I believe that the coolest things on this extraordinary planet are, in no order: minks, the knees of herons, the faces of children, the breasts of women, and salmonberries.
I believe that the best of all possible breakfasts is a pear with a cup of ferocious coffee, taken near the ocean, rather later in the morning than earlier, preferably in the company of a small sleepy child still in his or her rumpled and warm pajamas, his or her skin as warm and tawny as a cougar pelt. I believe that love is our greatest and hardest work.
I believe that you know exactly what I am talking about."

yup

Karen, Karen, Jill, Salli, et al,

What do you think about a new thread, a continuance of "Credo".

I have no idea why I asked. You all know I'm going to do it so I will be looking for your input.

" Men are so accustomed to maintaining external order by violence that they cannot conceive of life being possible without violence ".

Leo Tolstoy

" The sword of murder is not the balance of justice. Blood does not wipe out dishonor, nor violence indicate possession ".

Julia Ward Howe, 1870

"Love is to be made, not made sense of."

Written by a man who shall be referred to as Pulmonade. He's been saying it for a while, but he's wondering when people are going to start listening.

[This message has been edited by pulmonade (edited 11/8/2003).]

It ain't profound but if I could write lines like the following my local history articles would be much more interesting.

"Szabo fussed with a diamond cuff link and offered his hand. His palm was hot and soft, so moist it verged on squishy. He was soft and lumpy, bald but for red-brown fuzz above floppy ears. His face was the shape of a well-bred eggplant and the nose that centered it a smaller version of the vegetable--a pendulous, plump, Japanese eggplant."

from "A Cold Heart" by Jonathan Kellerman

From the book, In a Sunburned Country:

"In the late afternoon,I stopped at a roadhouse for gas and coffee.I studied my book of maps...Then,having nothing better to do,I leafed through the index and amused myself,in a very low-key way,by looking for ridiculous names,of which Australia has a respectable plenitude.I am thus able to report that the following are real places:
Wee Waa,Poowons,Borrumbuttock,Suggan Buggan,Boomahnoomoonah,Waaia,Mullumbimby Ewylamartup,Jiggalong,and the supremely satisfying Tittybong." Bill Bryson

You have to love a author with a sense of the absurd

But it's the truth even if it didn't happen.

"Chief Bromden" narrator of "One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest" by Ken Kesey

"It just hasn't gotten strange enough for me, yet".

Hunter S. Thompson

"When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro."

Hunter S. Thompson.

he's got a lot of them.

Heres a little sign of the times from old New York Yankee, Yogi Berra....

"A nickel ain't worth a dime anymore."

About right, ain't it?

Rich

Since I'm on a Milescity.com roll this morning, I thought I'd add a little Lance Armstrong to the mix:

And how do you learn to lose? Trouble is, you're going to lose more than you're going to win, no matter who you are. Most of us overract when we lose, and overcelebrate when we win, and I'm no exception. I have a love-hate relationship with losing: it makes me brooding a quarrelsome. But the fact is, a loss is its own inevitable lesson, and it can be just as valuable as a victory in the range of experiences, if you'll examine it.

Tour de France excerpt:

What happened next was one of those instances when good luck and bad collided in the same moment. Finally, we reached the last big descent of the stage. We whirled into a corner that was sticky and slick with tar. Beloki was intent on chasing down a break by Vinokourov, and I hung back, 15 yards behind him. We came into the turn at about 50 miles an hour.
Beloki's wheel started to slide.
He tried to brake--and his wheel locked. Then it caught hard, and the bike jerked, and went over the side.
Beloki was whipsawed off the bike. He slammed onto the pavement right in front of me. Man and machine skidded across the road, tangled up together.
I tried to brake--and now my rear wheel started to lock up, too. I was losing it. I had two choices: I could either pile into Beloki, or swerve off the road. I swerved.

__________________

So what happens to Lance? Gotta read the book......





[This message has been edited by Jill Rizk (edited 11/15/2003).]

[This message has been edited by Jill Rizk (edited 11/15/2003).]

Thoughts caused by grinding on metal late at night:

Biker T-shirt wisdom: "Life is a sexually transmited fatal disease."

"Attack life, it will get you in the end."

Definition of a leader: "First lemming over the cliff."

"I have made a ceaseless effort not to ridicule, not to bewail, not to scorn human actions, but to understand them." Baruch Spinoza, Dutch philosopher (from the book you lent me; thanks, Jill)

Perhaps I should get better ventilation in my garage. I'll blame the fumes

Thanksgiving as a child in the late 40's and 50's was a time of reunion with country cousins, laughter, tag football, pie and trying to avoid being kissed by Aunt Dorothy or having Uncle Donald "pants" you in fromt of everyone.

I remember watching a football game on black and white TV not long after the advent of the instant replay. My grandfather, Joe (not accustomed to this new fangled machine) had joined the men for the event when a kick off was returned for an eighty yard touch down. The men erupted in jovial, celebration. Joe didn't get it but wanted to participate in this thanksgiving ritual. As the replay began Joe took to his feet, pointed towards the oval screen and exclaimed "Look, he done it again"

I am thankful but I miss the innocence. tb

[This message has been edited by Tucker Bolton (edited 11/27/2003).]

Happy Holidays

The road to wisdom
paved with wrinkles
sadness and joy



Happy Holidays

I drank Buddahs tears and laid in the sun
I dreamed of laughter, love, and fun
Buddahs tears will protect you and give you bad dreams

Buddahs tears will destroy you
and make you a fiend.

Those who awaken never
rest in one place.
Like swans, they rise
and leave the lake.
On the air they rise
and fly an invisible course.
Their food is knowledge.
They live on emptiness.
They have seen how to break free.
Who can follow them?

- Buddha in the Dhammapada

This is getting a little long so I will start a new Share a Lyric, poem, line or thought.

Tucker