"The deeper that sorrow carves into your being the more joy you can contain. Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?" - Kahlil Gibran

to my wife:

A dusty heart

Today I read a post in a political discussion group and was pleasantly surprised to be reminded of humor and we were all asked if perhaps as we got older we may have lost that ability to laugh and have a sense of humor.  I started thinking of my daily routine this week and found laughter there in abundance.  Unfortunately I was to taken up with debating others on the interne to see it and enjoy it.  We need to stay focused on those people we love and enjoy the laughter that can be found and enjoyed together every day.

Good Morning

By Michael Shannon

Mingled pain and ache of weariness

Along with a mind not wanting

To be birthed into another day,

Create a mental struggle to remain

Safe within the amniotic tides of dreams.

‘Til wrinkled sheets and dog’s wet tongue,

Insist on tearing me from the womb of sleep

And stumbling forth upon the rituals of the day.

I have no path or plans to plot

A course whereby the hours

Might find some inherent meaning.

Caffeine prods the body on

And glassine screens of figures

Appear to greet me with

Their tales of woe.

Some days are like this

And whether grass awaits

Or hair needs trimmed

The mind seeks refuge

From eternal choruses of

Good morning!

Whenever I sit and take stock of the writings that accumulate on the community discussion boards, I wonder whether it is really worthwhile firing off a scurge or a witty reply.  What is the point?  There are so many other things we could be doing.  We could be sitting at Starbucks discussing the beauty or lack thereof of the Baristas.  "ya know Tim, that one girl, well picture a girl that took a nosedive from the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down."  And Tim says, "yeah Mickey, she looks just like you."  Lord we laughed and I snuck 3 cigarettes that day at Starbucks and my wife never found out.  God bless you Tim.

Yesterday I sat in line at the school waiting to pick up my grandson Josh and I was typing away on my mini posting new barbs to reply to my illustrious enemies of the right.  I thought about all the boorish behavior these days by politicians , their supporters and even by TV commentators and I thought about Josh, my grandson.  Just the day before his mother was hollering at him for singing a song about poop he learned in school.  So I wrote him a little poem and later we took a walk and talked about poop, poems and promises.

Here is the poem:

Habits and "Wabbits"
by Michael Shannon

Under a fern down on a farm there lived a tiny wee “wabbit”
Each morning he licked dew from the leaves
He did it because it was his habit.

Unfortunately one night a puppy came by
And with leg cocked up he sprayed there
The night passed along and morning came nigh

From under the fern sprang our little “wabbit”
He sensed something strange gave the air a wee sniff
And quickly changed his old habit.

The moral my children is to always look out
For things that may surprise you
Be prepared like a good little scout
And be like that little wise “wabbit”.

He got the point and we had a little laugh and all in all it was great day.  I don't have much to say today other than to wish it was as simple and easy to talk to my friends and enemies on the right wing about their behavior as it was and is to talk to my grandson Josh.  Dem "wabbits" needs to be changing their habits.