Just a Note

My articulate mind has gone on an extended holiday. It has left behind a tired, more aged brain whose ramblings aren't as well versed. However, my older brain does have a spot to plant a few words, these words are just seedlings. They are quick thoughts on a rampage.

I would like to invite you to check them out until my better versed mind has returned.

http://wordbin.blogspot.com/

Blogger name: jessie

Softly Spoken

Thank you Marty

Thank you Marty (dsdiscovery)for this award. The blogsphere is full of interesting people, and I'm grateful for your reading friendship. Your blog is always a must-stop-by and read.




"The Proximade Award is given for the following reasons...

These blogs invests and believes in the proximity - nearness in space, time and relationships, they are exceedingly charming. These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends, they are not interested in prizes or self-aggrandizement! Our hope is that when the ribbons of these prizes are cut, even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers! Deliver this award to eight bloggers who must choose eight more and include this clever-written text into the body of their award.”



I would like to pass this award on to:

Butterfly Dreamer (butterflydreamer-dreamlight.blogspot.com)
Wait.What? (up4more)
All Who Wander are not Lost! (mysticallyenhanced)
A Portrait of the Human Heart (collectionofpoetry)
Yesterday, Today and Forever (ytfe.blogspot.com)

My hope is that those who stop by and visit my cyberhome, will also visit everyone I have mentioned above. If you would like some writing tips, The Literary Lab, and The Innocent Flower are both must-stop-by and read homes.

You won't be disappointed.

Smiles on the house,
Suz

Untitled VIII

When red rose petals
Fallen and dried
Depart from their stalks
Leaving only thorns;

and

Daisy white petals
Singed of age
Become fallen bodies
Headless cadavers;

What becomes of their departed petals?

Should I cover the evidence?
Allow the wind to blow their ashes away?
Mourn over seasons passing?

When all I have left are thorns and
Dried stalks,
Will you love me?