Friday, June 11, 2010

"The Voice of Rain" by Walt Whitman

Lasting all of 15 minutes, a rainburst blew through my hometown. The sun has resumed peaking through the clouds...and now I have to write about it.

My father and I were sitting on the porch - we love rain. We heard a yelp from the garage and here this little toad fell out of a bowl my mother had picked up (it wasn't a "yelp" really - my mom's a farm girl...nothing frightens her). With a bit of assistance, we helped Mr. Toad on his merry way into the flower garden. Not sure if the rain brought the toad out the other way around.

The Voice of the Rain

And who art thou? said I to the soft-falling shower,
Which, strange to tell, gave me an answer, as here translated:
I am the Poem of Earth, said the voice of the rain,
Eternal I rise impalpable out of the land
and the bottomless sea,
Upward to heaven, whence, vaguely form'd,
altogether changed, and yet the same,
I descend to lave the drouths, atomies,
dust-layers of the globe,
And all that in them without me were seeds only,
latent, unborn;
And forever, by day and night, I give back life
to my own origin,
and make pure and beautify it;
(For song, issuing from its birth-place,
after fulfilment, wandering,
Reck'd or unreck'd, duly with love returns.)


- Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass, 1891-1892

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

To The Ditalini Press Family

I just want to express my sincerest sympathies for the loss of your Mother/Grandmother. I know that her passing touches nearly everyone who participates in this blog. May you all share some wonderful memories as you get together this week to celebrate her life experiences. Susan, my good karma muse and Eva my French ami, know that I am with you in spirit.
In love
Flutterby

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

summer (it's coming).

A glimpse of the garden at Galena's Steamboat House.

"Give me the odorous at sunrise
a garden of beautiful flowers
where I can walk undisturbed."

- Walt Whitman

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

X hates “reality television”.


There is no such thing as "reality television" - which boggles X's mind that he can hate a few choice words or phrase that theoretically don't exist. As soon as the dumb asses who choose to air their private lives for the world to see know there's a lens focused on them AND as long as there are producers, writers and directors who are manipulating the dumb asses' "reality", it's no longer "real".

In X's world, this list is no longer. And, according to X, the world grows smarter.