The Quest for an Abudance in Sunshine

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Tag: drugs


When I see birches bend to left and right
Across the lines of straighter darker trees,
I like to think some boy’s been swinging them.
But swinging doesn’t bend them down to stay
As ice-storms do. Often you must have seen them
Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning
After a rain. They click upon themselves
As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored
As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel.
Soon the sun’s warmth makes them shed crystal shells
Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust—
Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away
You’d think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.
They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load,
And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed
So low for long, they never right themselves:
You may see their trunks arching in the woods
Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground
Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair
Before them over their heads to dry in the sun.
But I was going to say when Truth broke in
With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm
I should prefer to have some boy bend them
As he went out and in to fetch the cows—
Some boy too far from town to learn baseball,
Whose only play was what he found himself,
Summer or winter, and could play alone.
One by one he subdued his father’s trees
By riding them down over and over again
Until he took the stiffness out of them,
And not one but hung limp, not one was left
For him to conquer. He learned all there was
To learn about not launching out too soon
And so not carrying the tree away
Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise
To the top branches, climbing carefully
With the same pains you use to fill a cup
Up to the brim, and even above the brim.
Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish,
Kicking his way down through the air to the ground.
So was I once myself a swinger of birches.
And so I dream of going back to be.
It’s when I’m weary of considerations,
And life is too much like a pathless wood
Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs
Broken across it, and one eye is weeping
From a twig’s having lashed across it open.
I’d like to get away from earth awhile
And then come back to it and begin over.
May no fate willfully misunderstand me
And half grant what I wish and snatch me away
Not to return. Earth’s the right place for love:
I don’t know where it’s likely to go better.
I’d like to go by climbing a birch tree,
And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
But dipped its top and set me down again.
That would be good both going and coming back.
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.

_stay tuned_


You Could Be Happy

First off can I say thanks for 100 followers! There’s more to come.

The year is looking better. March associates herself with the month that sea turtles confuse city lights for the moon.  I painted this stanza on a tree stump in the garden:

“where have all the flowers gone?

The sun is melting away winter with his

Apollo axe, the coldness cracks and underneath

Are the flowers, springing to life.”

Edwardo is the ideal gentleman. I’m happy he loves me enough not to accept my perpetual mood swings. The hardest concept I’ve been battling on the inside this past week is feeling beautiful. In a world of photographers and models, artists alike, the way you look means so much. There’s even research that supports looking good earns you better salaries.  The competition always leaves me feeling excluded and like I will never have enough to offer.

These toxic emotions blur the stage that Edwardo sets with his romantic love. He’ll tell me I’m beautiful, but the first thought that fires in my brain is, well, that’s not true. You check out beautiful women on the web, and can look at me and say that. It’s gotten to the point where I blatantly call him a liar.

 Why he stays committed to me is beyond my comprehension sometimes. That is the root of my misery. I know I’m crazy, who thinks this negatively so much? Who in their right mind sits besides themselves to lash out unbearable accusations? Lately, I’m commiting mental energy to saying 2 nice things about myself for every hurtful thing I think about.  And while I should be focused on my beautiful personality he loves, I’m more concerned with my flaws.

There was an article I read in ELLE about a man who had breasts. You know how some men have too much estrogen? Well, he let this get in the way of his social relationships, his love relationships, and in the end, he realized that

no one invests as much time in your problems

as you do

In a previous post I discussed some trinkets I splurged on at the thrift store. For next to nothing, I got a book called 365 Ways to Live Happy. There’s a couple of things I’m constantly trying to improve, for example, my jealousy.

                   #4 CHANGE ONE OF YOUR FAULTS

I’m working on being less of a clutter bug too



the month of March of April are the cruelest. They always have been that way for me, ever since I can remember. This is a really important one, because lately I’ve been a wreck and letting stupid shit get in the way of my abundant sunshine.

                     #16 MEMORIZE A FUNNY JOKE & SHARE IT

don’t feel shy to follow ❤