Feb 1, was Brigid of Kilare, and here now it is St. Valentine's so know,
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Feb 1, was Brigid of Kilare, and here now it is St. Valentine's so know,
St. Bride Carried By Angels, a painting by Scottish artist, John Duncan, 1913.
| Virgin, abbess, inspirer | |
|---|---|
| Born | c. 453 Faughart, Dundalk,[1][2] Ireland (in modern County Louth) |
| Died | c. 525 (age 72) Kildare, Ireland |
| Venerated in | Eastern Orthodox Church Roman Catholic Church Anglican Communion |
| Feast | 1 February |
| Patronage | babies; blacksmiths; boatmen; brewers; cattle; chicken farmers; children whose parents are not married; children with abusive fathers; children born into abusive unions; Clan Douglas; dairymaids; dairy workers; Florida; fugitives; infants; Ireland; Leinster, mariners; midwives; milk maids; nuns; poets; poor; poultry farmers; poultry raisers; printing presses; sailors; scholars; travellers; watermen |
Saint Brigid of Kildare or Brigid of Ireland (Irish: Naomh Bríd; Latin: Brigida; c. 451 – 525) is one of Ireland's patron saints, along with Patrick and Columba. Irish hagiography makes her an early Irish Christian nun,[3] abbess, and foundress of several monasteries of nuns, including that of Kildare in Ireland, which was famous and was revered. Her feast day is 1 February, which was originally a pagan festival called Imbolc, marking the beginning of spring. Her feast day is shared by Dar Lugdach, who tradition says was her student, close companion, and the woman who succeeded her.
The saint shares her name with an important Celtic goddess and there are many legends and folk customs associated with her
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so knowing
i love you & am devoted to you,
to your love
to what makes you happy,
fills my heart
warms my body
ends the wars
ends the wars around me
fills my heart
warms my body
ends the wars
ends the wars around me
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the soul and the afterlife ...where so we go from here ?
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Who knows but life be that which men call death,
And death what men call life?”
– Euripides, Phrixus, Frag. 830.
Who knows but life be that which men call death,
And death what men call life?”
– Euripides, Phrixus, Frag. 830.
Souls flying back n forth/ diamond s ... onions... princesses and potatoes the godly soul the body the devoted husband..
what makes a soul happY/ Running Deer & Sitting Shiva
souls coming and going
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Death or life or life or death
Death is life and life is death
I gotta use words when I talk to you
But if you understand or if you dont
That’s nothing to me and nothing to you
We all gotta do what we gotta do
Fragment of an Agon T.S. Eliot
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Death or life or life or death
Death is life and life is death
I gotta use words when I talk to you
But if you understand or if you dont
That’s nothing to me and nothing to you
We all gotta do what we gotta do
Fragment of an Agon T.S. Eliot
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Nota Bene
the only belief i have
is in a rhizome democracy
in all senses & meanings
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that being one of,
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A little try out/ we did this last evenign in spite of my sore
that being one of many songs, what can one say? it was your heart
sprang on the night like sea came to storage with a wrench hammer
came to conquer to pillage like a blessing thieving in the night,
thriving perhaps like any common criminal running high without any license
any commons to con-create the love which seeks its name
for to say which its heart a petty fortune which opened the back woods
of any benighted forest or empty rainbow of a castle
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We worked on this for an hour or/two
it went nicely/ i didnt listen to the recording/ i let what's his name do it,
ill speak to the singer tonight/
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One of many and none of one is what you are inside
the glare of the gun
the shattering of everyone
on that scaffold holding your peace you knew her time had come
she was starting out into space
she was looking into the divine
holding out hoping she'd see something holy Veronica's face
I spit on Veronica I turned her outside in I was punished
thoroughly within for what I did I was sent to to the gallows
fed to the lions boiled in oil pilloried and chop-sueyed
I paid the price for my lady's Veronica's sacrifice
I was crucified sideways looking off into the sidereal
I am not the lord of the dance
Not the lord of the dance am I
_________
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A little try out/ we did this last evenign in spite of my sore
that being one of many songs, what can one say? it was your heart
sprang on the night like sea came to storage with a wrench hammer
came to conquer to pillage like a blessing thieving in the night,
thriving perhaps like any common criminal running high without any license
any commons to con-create the love which seeks its name
for to say which its heart a petty fortune which opened the back woods
of any benighted forest or empty rainbow of a castle
______
We worked on this for an hour or/two
it went nicely/ i didnt listen to the recording/ i let what's his name do it,
ill speak to the singer tonight/
_______
One of many and none of one is what you are inside
the glare of the gun
the shattering of everyone
on that scaffold holding your peace you knew her time had come
she was starting out into space
she was looking into the divine
holding out hoping she'd see something holy Veronica's face
I spit on Veronica I turned her outside in I was punished
thoroughly within for what I did I was sent to to the gallows
fed to the lions boiled in oil pilloried and chop-sueyed
I paid the price for my lady's Veronica's sacrifice
I was crucified sideways looking off into the sidereal
I am not the lord of the dance
Not the lord of the dance am I
_________
How we do the/ this the 2nd part will be an interesting question! call it an understudy of what went before!
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Memoirs of a theologian Memoirs of a theologian Memoirs of a theologian Memoirs of a theologian
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Memoirs of a theologian Memoirs of a theologian Memoirs of a theologian Memoirs of a theologian Memoirs of a theologian Memoirs of a theologian Memoirs of a theologian Memoirs of a theologian Memoirs of a theologian Memoirs of a theologian Memoirs of a theologian Memoirs of a theologian Memoirs of a theologian Memoirs of a theologian Memoirs of a theologian Memoirs of a theologian
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thee multitude of christ the multitude of christ the christ of multitude
christ aviator
masked goggles siting the view
singing the rue
ascending into that upward sky
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as i wrote in another poem
Christ resurrecting
Crashing through the molecules
smashing the atoms
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thee multitude of christ the multitude of christ the christ of multitude
christ aviator
masked goggles siting the view
singing the rue
ascending into that upward sky
_____
as i wrote in another poem
Christ resurrecting
Crashing through the molecules
smashing the atoms
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Aside from
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aside from that post about Miram waddington i've arrested Canadian poetry on it s potty funny spotty thing it is not tist but what tho thinkest fool !
say foool?
saith fool!
what voice which is greate without us! without us the US border order/ ordure
cant bang wings
so touch wings
match big things
work your heart then steel your nerves but no ones got 'steel' nerves you might have stellar ones,
but o.e.d. baby nobody but nobody has steel nerves, it's a contradiction in terms
Miss Lisa R Miss Liar called Not Miss lyre as I am she he who is Lyrie f nm Oprheus squire
------
last l / 3 p/ f.h.
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Though I sang
in my chains
like the sea
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last line fern hill (dylan thomas)
3 parts
this to set to music with
B & H
perhaps one bassoon
acoustic guitar
3 voices
emphasizing the 'pedaling ' of the
voice within the line in its ' 3 time ' measure ?
Nota 1st 2 phrase contain a Vowel word
whereas phrase 'like the sea ' 3 has none
this same being a like phrase (conductor line) or simile
Also note the 3 S's
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later Re ferry
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Later, we dove to the bottom of Lake V. kale away my lovelies such sweet harbingers
sewn by the seat of her pants, panties, fanny's,
that's no good, what happened to the blog of the moment in place of the revision machine?
the revision machine is captialism's best friend? O work O protestant! Oethic of cracked goon!
I remember sitting in some classes once of a famous poet
until he went off sounding oiff about the virtues of revision
as it were a sine qua non it must be,
i needed whipering on a comma,
not a bird stirring, neither hawk nor robin breasted pluck chief,
nor a darting marlet, no the apologetics of colour,
but God in all thunder dark, furrorwing black, raging , the sky dark a s a dome inverted backside a devil's make piece,
then I went down to meet Ken Deck.. r. we had a show to do, that was in early fall,
the wankers from the village were not expected as the didactic pedantic anal retentive poestryworld
could not handle music with poetry saying or suggesting at the very least that i was doing was less real or important due to it,
and we'll continue this story when i'm between your arms
We took the ferry to...
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We took the ferry to Victoria and sailed back on John's boat, he'd actually sailed once right
down to Micronesia, quite the guy, lives on his boat pretty much all year round that's how it is on the West Coast/ East Vancouver
the delight of early spring in the air, cherry trees near the trains in the culvert off Victoria &
Commercial drive
More later, on the way,
_
We took the ferry to Victoria and sailed back on John's boat, he'd actually sailed once right
down to Micronesia, quite the guy, lives on his boat pretty much all year round that's how it is on the West Coast/ East Vancouver
the delight of early spring in the air, cherry trees near the trains in the culvert off Victoria &
Commercial drive
More later, on the way,
_
'rite spit
.
spit the void
pistil mountain
sloe-eyed sherpa
Basho? hermit mud
rause a light descend
therefore navels
crystal fountain
rattle hedge to ledge
rain rain rainbows
pit void!
.
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