Today is a Gift

imageedit_131_4372194938

Many people will walk in and out of your life,
But only true friends will leave footprints in your heart
To handle yourself, use your head;
To handle others, use your heart.
Anger is only one letter short of danger.
If someone betrays you twice, it is your fault
Great minds discuss events;
Small minds discuss people.
He who loses money, loses much;
He who loses a friend, loses much more;
He who loses faith, loses all.
Beautiful old people are works of art.
Learn from the mistakes of others
You can’t live long enough to make them all yourself.

Friends, you and me … You brought another friend …

And, we started our group … our circle of friends …

And,repair-1 like a circle … there is no beginning or end …

Yesterday is history.
Tomorrow is mystery.
Today is a gift.

##Laszlo Kotro-Kosztandi

 

Strangers with Common Faces

junk yards 5

I would not if I were you.

These are stark pages, delinquent places,

for strangers with common faces.

As the raven flies,

Edgar and prose, linger on.

Clutching the mystery of the dark-side with ravenous pride.

I would not if I were you.

We all know Lucifer is beauty in black and blue.

We all know righteousness is flawed.

Pride, the ice in which the sinister rain thaws.

someone else's demons 2

Bullet and Flower

So, I am impolite

I am polite.

As father was with, an open clenched kitten’s paw.

Honed to strength of aged claw.

OUR only diagnosis a home where the fishy scales dry…warm and raw

Both my father and I…a seamstress, a tailor with a dull needle. 

Tethered together…venomous spelunkers in a  dry well.

Scratched in tongues so wide and red. 

OUR bloodline canvasses a coyote grey and turquoise blue. aligned to the crimson lies we tell….

From outside a generation’s thought tanned knuckles, rosebud cheek, thorny wishes down a wishing well.

From outside a generation’s thought, I lay in a casket made of crib ribbons and no pillow for my head.

And, my mother’s resourcefulness vows to lay with the dead.

Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep

 

Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep –

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die

-Mary Elizabeth Fyre

 

 

 

Tom Thompson

Tom Thomson, one of Canada’s most influential painters of the 20th-century, was last seen alive around mid-day, July 8, 1917, when setting out alone across Canoe Lake to begin a fishing trip. He was familiar with the area, having visited there a number of times – while working in the Park as a fire ranger, a guide for fishing parties, and of course, pursuing his painting. Within hours of his departure, his empty canoe was spotted floating not far from the dock he had left from, and more than a week later, his body surfaced in the lake. His untimely death helped transform the aspiring artist into a cultural giant. His paintings are now seen in galleries across Canada, and exhibitions of his work always attract large audiences. In the last few years, paintings by Thomson have fetched over a million dollars at auction.

How Thomson died, who found his body, its condition, and even its final resting place all remain mysteries. Some propose the cause of Thomson’s death was an accident resulting from plain bad luck, while others suggest suicide, and still others point to foul play resulting from a conflict over debt, a love interest, or opinions about the war effort. To add even more mystery to the affair there are serious questions regarding whether Thomson’s body was moved from its first resting place.

Could it be that Algonquin Park, and Canoe Lake, were more dangerous than they appeared in Thomson’s paintings? As investigators began to consider the artist’s mysterious death, popular ideas of a peaceful, harmonious, natural parkland began to evaporate. The region bore the marks of intensive logging – treacherous stumps and logs lurked under the water’s surface. Could one of these have tipped Thomson’s canoe, resulting in his drowning? Could his death have resulted from something even more frightening? The abundant wildlife the Park helped protect presented a tempting target for poachers, who might be willing to go to extreme ends to hide their illegal activities. Could the trains coming through the Park, carrying troops and goods important for the war effort have attracted spies and saboteurs desperate to hide their subversion’s? The isolation of the Park might also have attracted Canadian and American men attempting to avoid fighting in the war. How far might one of these men have gone to maintain their anonymity?

top-banner-en

http://www.canadianmysteries.ca/sites/thomson

In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

    That mark our place; and in the sky

    The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

    Loved and were loved, and now we lie,

        In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

    The torch; be yours to hold it high.

    If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

        In Flanders fields.

John McCrae