The Essence of Another

The Essence of Another Sophie always found it peculiar how others were fixated on discovering what the essence was of another person. She never understood or accepted the reason some gave: that it was a way to connect and thus form a meaningful relationship. She on the other hand regarded the reason to be the enquirer’s own need to feel comparable, if not better. Navel gazing about one’s life was one thing – a nice pastime when pursuing a life altering change. To make a personal open declaration about this, however, Sophie, deemed it entirely a different matter. Distasteful.  Having
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Categories: Musings.

Two Women

Two Women Explaining religious cosmogony, as to how the act of creation of the world was developed is common among many cultures. Out of nowhere, or perhaps by way of the Big Bang, or by some all-powerful deity, or more likely through the inspired imagination of past scholars, two alternate universes are described in the ancient testament. There are commonalities. In the beginning, there was nothing. From that, the omnipotent deity began to fashion all manner of life. In the first creation story, he commands and all things are formed, the last being man and woman. In the second creation
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Categories: Musings.

It is what it is

It is what it is How one reflects upon the past in relation to the present is based on personal perception and philosophy. From another standpoint, the matter is also about temporal reality. Regardless, whatever life one lives, at the time, it is what it is. As a child in Hungary, I didn’t know anything about owning a telephone, a television, never mind an automobile. Nor did I know that there were other races in my world besides people who cared about me; that included the man who had black skin and was the porter at the railway station. Yet,
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Categories: Musings.

Seeking a new dwelling

Seeking a new dwelling   Falling, falling, falling … Hurling through the cosmos, His ineffable wings unfurl to catch the wind As he searches with radar eyes For the perfect place To unearth his new dwelling.   Lower and lower he descends Overlooking the ancient structures of worship: First being Gobeldi Tebe near Sanhurfa. Then onto the Palace of Knossos in Crete, And the Temple of Amas in Nubia. Soaring onward to the Ggantija Temple and the Megalithic Hagar Qim of Malta He next heads off to the Temple of Hatshepsut Beneath the cliffs at Deir el-Bahri of Egypt  –
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Categories: Poetry.

Her Story

Her Story If you were to journey to her haven, far from the city gates, what questions would you ask of her?  And if she were to look deep into your eyes with her piercing dark ones and respond with that enigmatic smile, how could you be satisfied with her words, “It was long ago. It no longer matters.” Instead, I believe you would persuade her with other questions, until she would finally relent and tell her tale: I was born in a fishing town where my father held a prominent position. Being the only child, he encouraged me to
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Categories: Marlie Stories.

In the Tall Grass

In the Tall Grass     Stretched long in the tall grass Embraced by yellow dandelions And wild purple violets flown from Grandmother’s heavenly garden ˗ His Cat nose sores high To sense the lilac scented breeze While his green Cat eyes Survey his tame domain.   The creak of a near-by opening door Distracts his Cat ears ˗ Searching for the gay women And the two young girls Home schooled, Playing in mid-day alone On unsteady roller blades Along the lazy street.   Echoing through the cacophony Of whirls and shouts and giggles The man in the balcony spews
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Categories: Poetry.

Fear

Fear She used to love old black and white films: especially the horror ones, produced in the late thirties and forties. By the time they were released for television, the sound was slow and eerie and the character movements were jerky and mechanical. The most intriguing, scary aspect of these films was the interaction among the various ranges of the colour spectrum – from white to grey to black. All these traits were precisely part of the attraction. When the production worked most effectively, with hovering, menacing shadows and piercing shrieks that penetrated her entire nervous system, she would grab
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Categories: Marlie Stories.

Wandering

Wandering   The climb through meandering rocky paths In open sandals for forty days ˗ Who does that? And why? I ask siting in his rose patterned wing back chair, Now my chair. Here, I expect messages of consolation. The dark nights of the soul on sunny mornings Are incongruous. Can’t get beyond the desolate brown hills Without greenery – Even my green walls give a sense of serenity But the image on the projector screen in the bare church hall, Of the Wanderer, Does not give comfort – only questioning….   Oh, these days we are far more enlightened
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Categories: Poetry.

March Snow

March Snow   White cotton clumps clung on the tree branches beside Her new place, in her new life. The snow had come ˗ again ˗ Unexpected Just as he had come ˗ the evening before, With only the words: and so it goes, And ready for bed …. Not their long bed at the other place But a normal length one in this her place His feet dangling at the base ˗ His lingering arms wrapped round her until she slept ˗ Only woken to the affable aromas: Of eggs sizzling in the blue porcelain-lined frying pan, Of rosemary
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Categories: Poetry.