she was not your usual teacher
she taught us how to think
taught us how to believe in ourselves
how to imagine our lives full of joy
school had been boring until I met her
she would not allow my boredom to close me down
we had lunch together, and she discovered the real me
I was not the person I showed to the world
I was a thinker, who had been shut down by negativity
a girl who had forgotten how passionate new ideas are
she coaxed the little shut down child of me to play with possibilities
I began to study stars, geology, artists
I began to read biographies
She opened me up to new possibilities
Taught me to be a life-long learner
She was not your usual teacher
Biographies of different kinds
Orwell with Atwood, intertwined
Old books, new books, a thousand rhymes
Keeping their words, holding those lines
Singing caged birds, sit whistling chimes
Histories, mysteries, marking time
Every volume, fixed on my mind
Lexicons, for a world we can't find
Fact versus fiction, yours and mine.
Murphy is loving her reading tower of books.
Adventures, biographies, and suggestions to cooks.
Home improvements, that she will never do.
Mysteries, picture books, and Manga too.
folktales, fantasy, fiction and non-fiction galore.
All Murphy can say is, "Please bring me more!"
As I put the card in the suit pocket,
I found another card with a short biography.
The card I put into the pocket had its own short biography.
Both cards were for the same purpose.
A few years ago, this suit
was worn for visits with the bosses.
Asking for more money or trying to sell an idea.
This suit had a purpose.
A few years later, this suit still has a purpose.
Supporting friends and families, a coming together
To celebrate wonderful lives,
Lives with a purpose.
I think I will leave the short biographies in the suit pocket,
As a reminder of those lives, those families, those friends,
But also as a reminder of having a
Life with a purpose.
Sheila loved reading about forensics and dinosaurs that once flew
She adored non-fiction, biographies, mysteries, UFO stories too
What kind of a mother will she be? Asked her cousin Strange Lou.
The kind who showed intelligence, a lifelong learner, tis true.
Her husband was amazed at how many books Sheila would read.
She studied manuals and cookbooks, as her family did feed.
Why does Mommy love books so? Her youngest asked, her name was May
It gives her excitement, said her oldest daughter, a reader, named Fay.
The family knew that Sheila would never go hungry for a book.
They were hidden in her cupboards, under the sink, and in a nook.
Sheila never stopped learning, she knew more than a PhD.
I know about Sheila because she is the woman who raised little ole me.
Baby bunny devoured books.
He read them in closets, on boats, and in nooks.
Biographies were the best, autos even better.
In the winter he read them wearing a sweater.
Aren't books boring? Asked one who knew little.
Pirate Jack kept on reading, his mouth full of spittle.
He was slashing the enemy up in pieces fine and small.
He had no idea someone was speaking to him at all
Could I have written novels
How about short stories...
Perhaps non-fiction could have been my forte
True adventures, riveting biographies...
Really, I don't think so; I'm getting old
I wouldn't succeed at those genres, truth be told
Given my shrinking attention span
It's poetry or naught for this 'minuteman'
The unborn are even now
part of our story.
Once a fictional baby
was held in the arms
of a tale,
a recreation recreated upon every instant
of an on-going biography -
one experienced through
Gods clear looking glass.
Soon that unborn child
thought itself to be a being,
it thought itself to be a person,
a character
separate from all other beings.
However its true nature
(being unlimited)
was hidden from it
by the very fictional unreality
it thought to be its own story.
One day or night;
a day or night set in a singular iota of time
it put, as you would a book,
its story down
then it was that all the biographies
that had ever been
became just windblown dust
before that face of a perfect looking glass.
There in a placeless place,
the Unborn Creator watches
forever unchanging
far and beyond any fanciful tales
told by a child to its parent.
I discovered Agatha Christie, the author, when I was eleven.
I started out with “And then there were none”
after seeing it made into a move “The Ten Little Indians”.
None of her other books seemed quite so over the top fascinating.
But, I kept reading them because she had a thrilling way with words.
And I had a love of reading mysteries and biographies.
Looking back
we miss this day.
Seeking,
we forget what we already have.
Reaching for tomorrow
we sink in the flowing stream
of these living moments.
Our biographies are fictional stories
they speak of nothing that we are now,
and yet we write,
delight in the telling of old tales
and even as we record a life
it waits on us to be experienced anew.
Shake not the dead
for they have nothing fresh to say.
We were not created to be
librarians of littering paper trails,
but that actual Tree of Life,
each leaf a green flourishing
not another dusty volume
of things never to be seen again.
The red brick stands, beckoning, where
I'm met with cool library air
A rush of hushed murmers provide
Relief from the hot, noisy outside
The graceful rounded stairway looks
On treasures in the form of books
The romance where pages begin
I know like I know my own skin
When I need heroes to believe
They call me from biographies
When I'm craving ghostly shivers
Stephen King always delivers
When perplexing murder's on the loose
Holmes and Poirot decode the clues
When my remedy's a love story
Nicholas Sparks is the man for me
When I'm seeking poetic wit
Dorothy Parker's my ticket
This, my quiet joy, is all I need
A comfy chair and something to read
7/30/22
Grandpa Rabbit sat deeply down into his cozy afternoon chair.
What to read? He had so many selections. Would it be a mystery?
He loved biographies, autobiographies, spy novels and another genre.
So many books from which to choose; he was in heaven thinking of it.
Grandma Rabbit smiled, knowing her husband well.
He would be asleep before he reached the third page.
This was part of the joy of being retired.
He could take a snooze while others painted and delivered eggs this year.
Our words are our
resumes and biographies –
one's soul does not hide
in one's statements. We
self-proclaim. Self heal
or indict. Our lyrics, our
rhymes, are reflections
of a human spirit manifest
in the sentient world of
physical reality:
How far one has come,
or if to travel well beyond,
is a reckoning for one's
heart-led being –
Let us pray...and then yield,
to Higher, and far Better
judgment, before our text
is written – Poets live and
die by the Word!
Often a country will plough over its dead.
Flowers planted; parks landscaped
over the biographies of the brave.
To read the fallen, to honor the dead and the living
we must gouge out the forgetting,
shake the roots of heaven, name the roll call
of each damnable war one hero at a time,
one loss at a time -
for each survivor there is always some loss.
Bless the memory, write down the word 'freedom'
as if we who stay at home
had always fought for it.
Carlos Ghosn makes a daring escape
It has now become Japan vs Lebanon
CEO had to literally think- Out of Box
This whodunnit as good as Mr Bond
In Japan he was in house arrest
Darling of Lebanese masses
A go getter, a family man
There is some charisma
Leaders and criminals
Dreamers and doers
Put In a tight corner
Resolve challenges
CEO was accused
Fraudulence and
Malpractices
Embezzlement...........................The Man Who Ran
Personal Gains...........................N I S S A N
The NISSAN boss
Le cost killer. Fix it
Had to shift gears!
From ‘a tight corner’
Came ‘grand escape’
Staged an unbelievable
Brazilian-French-Lebanese
Was trapped in sedated Japan
He smuggled himself out- In A Box
Maintains a corporatesque non-disclosure
Quite likely the story of the box is just an alibi
His motivation? “I did it for the love of my wife”
.
CEO’s are known to write interesting biographies
Few things they do not teach while giving degrees
A post retirement flip; a Hollywood flick; or Politics
.
Amitabh— 17-01-2020 : Visual - Text around Nissan logo.
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=djyyWlCPFd4
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