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That Other Sunday In Spring

It is now the seventh Father’s Day that has passed since my dad died. In those intervening years I have not been prone to brooding too frequently or deeply about his passing, or the complicated way we in which we were connected, but I find myself thinking of him quite a bit today. 1,204 more words

Musings

Plumage

her talk whimpers
elvis style
over her forehead

her hair craves
over our bodies
such graceful irony

her mouth curves
down, hissing
into softening skin… 17 more words

Poetry

Piha rescue: Confronting the agony and ecstasy of isolation

I drove to the beach alone, to photograph the sunset. Alone. And as the sun dipped behind the rocks and its brilliant light squeezed through the gap to illuminate the surf spray like bedroom dust on a moonbeam piercing the tiniest gap in the curtains, it was the aloneness that made the greatest impression. 1,262 more words

Writing

Silence and Connections

It was a wonderful time of silence

Time spent with Our Lady

Time spent with Our Mother

Time spent with you, Mother of our Lord… 74 more words

Photography

Gladys Peels

She said, I can’t see how anyone would like you

Few people have liked me throughout the course of my life

Yeah well I’m not one of them… 30 more words

Writing

Dard

दर्द से पता नहीं क्यूँ डरते हैं हम,
दर्द से ही तो बनते हैं हम|
दर्द के दर्द को समझो,
उसे इस्तेमाल करो,
और आगे बढ़ो| 55 more words

Poems

When does being honest tip over into being rude?

You hear people say all the time that they are ‘upfront and honest’, they ‘tell it like it is’ and then ‘at least people know where they stand’. 762 more words

Thoughts