Friday, April 26, 2013





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Love—is anterior to Life—
Posterior—to Death—
Initial of Creation, and
The Exponent of Earth—


 –Emily Dickinson





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Saturday, April 20, 2013



dragonfly hunter how far has he traveled today I wonder?
~Chiyo-ni
Said to be written after the death of her son. Her only child. 
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Fukuda Chiyo-ni (Kaga no Chiyo) (福田 千代尼; 1703 - 2 October 1775) was a Japanese poet of the Edo period, widely regarded as one of the greatest female haiku poets.
From Wiki: “Born in Matto, Kaga Province (now Hakusan, Ishikawa Prefecture) as a daughter of a picture framer, Chiyo-ni began writing haiku poetry aged 7. By the age of 17, she had become very popular all over Japan for her poetry. Her poems, although mostly dealing with nature, work for a unity of nature with humanity. Her own life was that of the haikai poets who made their lives and the world they lived in one with themselves.
Chiyo-ni’s teachers were the students of Bashō, and she stayed true to his style, although she did develop on her own as an independent figure. Today, the morning glory is a favorite flower for the people of her home town, because she left a number of poems on that flower.
After becoming a nun, Chiyo took the Buddhist name, Soen.
She is perhaps best known for this haiku:
morning glory!the well bucket-entangled,I ask for water.” via wiki
Artemis: see archive or more Chiyo-ni
Image: Free as the dragonflies by Oiyee at oystudio HERE






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dragonfly hunter
how far has he traveled
today I wonder?

–Chiyo-ni
(1701-1775) Said to be written after
the death of her son, her only child.





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Thursday, April 18, 2013

love








 






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 via datura 




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Sunday, April 14, 2013


mianoti:

“Every sensitive person carries in himself old cities enclosed by ancient walls.”— Robert Walser
Interned in the sanatorium of Herisau (Switzerland), Walser used to write its ‘micrograms’, (undecipherable short texts handwritten in a nano text-size), and doing long walks. On the 25th of December 1956 he was found, dead of a heart attack, in a field of snow near the asylum.
 
 

Every sensitive person carries in himself old cities enclosed by ancient walls.
–Robert Walser

Interned in the sanatorium of Herisau (Switzerland), Walser used to write ‘micrograms’, (undecipherable short texts handwritten in a nano text-size), and take long walks. On the 25th of December 1956 he was found, dead of a heart attack, in a field of snow near the asylum.





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via vivre ! 






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Friday, April 12, 2013

when death comes






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When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse


to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle-pox:


when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,
I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?


And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,


and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,


and each name a comfortable music in the mouth,
tending, as all music does, toward silence,


and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.


When it's over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.


When it's over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.
I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.



–Mary Oliver






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Thursday, April 4, 2013




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I am not I.
I am this one
walking beside me whom I do not see,
whom at times I manage to visit,
and whom at other times I forget;

who remains calm and silent while I talk,
and forgives gently, when I hate,

who walks where I am not,
who will remain standing when I die.

–Juan Ramón Jiménez 





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image via datura




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