Flag
Fluorescent orange flag
At the top of the hill
screams for attention:
“I am dying!”
We glance
But no sooner we see it than
The flag has only its stem
Spokes of bones;
When it has disrobed its life
draped on the ground at its roots
10/91
Sleepy Day on the Water
I let
The boat
Rock me
To a
Dream state
When you
Caught fish
I woke
To see
Your smile
Think of
The tap
Of waves
On hull
Or beach
To help
Sleep now
Tonight
7/16/02
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Saturday, January 21, 2006
A poem by a friend of mine - reactions?
Everything and nothing
Talk. Talk. Talk.
Comfortable silence holds the sting
Of love
Awkward and elegant at once
They fumble for words best left alone
Just a touch, nothing more
It can speak more than a library of books
And it's that couple that draws the envious looks
They enshrouded in their invisible bliss
Their hearts carry others' hopeful hooks
That they will also know such love and not miss
Talk. Talk. Talk.
Comfortable silence holds the sting
Of love
Awkward and elegant at once
They fumble for words best left alone
Just a touch, nothing more
It can speak more than a library of books
And it's that couple that draws the envious looks
They enshrouded in their invisible bliss
Their hearts carry others' hopeful hooks
That they will also know such love and not miss
Some more poetry
Fog
Fog lay high over the road
A bridge for the ghost pets
So they can be safe crossing
Turtles, frogs,
Cats, dogs
Even the snakes
Saunter over and disappear
With the sunlight
10/11/05
sme
In-between times
Stars still twinkling
Moon shining bright against the black center
But twilight sky has edges of palest pink
That hopes to become peach, then light orange
Morphing into the full arching
Warmth and blue of day
Sunset sky grays the light
Cools the air and brings up wet smells
Browns the earth
Gradually becoming blackness of evening
You and I live in those in-between times
A few minutes out of the twenty-four hour days
When the light on the horizon pushes the stars away
When the dark holds the moon until it is overwhelmed with sun
You can’t watch the twilight leave
Or the sunset come
It’s constantly moving, faster than we can see
sme
10/18/05
Fog lay high over the road
A bridge for the ghost pets
So they can be safe crossing
Turtles, frogs,
Cats, dogs
Even the snakes
Saunter over and disappear
With the sunlight
10/11/05
sme
In-between times
Stars still twinkling
Moon shining bright against the black center
But twilight sky has edges of palest pink
That hopes to become peach, then light orange
Morphing into the full arching
Warmth and blue of day
Sunset sky grays the light
Cools the air and brings up wet smells
Browns the earth
Gradually becoming blackness of evening
You and I live in those in-between times
A few minutes out of the twenty-four hour days
When the light on the horizon pushes the stars away
When the dark holds the moon until it is overwhelmed with sun
You can’t watch the twilight leave
Or the sunset come
It’s constantly moving, faster than we can see
sme
10/18/05
Sunday, January 08, 2006
Essay on being short
I wrote this many years ago and after looking at it today, it made me laugh. But it's still true. So enjoy, and viva las short people! - Shannon
A SHORT EPIC
I looked up at The David. The muscled marble towered fifteen feet above me. One oversized hand drooped gently on his leg, while the other hand sagged over his shoulder, holding the stone that would kill the giant. I marveled at the artistry for a moment. Then my gaze came back to the other tourists standing near me, and I smiled in satisfaction that everyone had to look up to the statue. They were all experiencing what I must every day - being short.
I was born 16 inches long, six pounds, four ounces. Dad could place my head in his palm while my feet barely brushed the inside of his elbow. My mother and aunt had to buy doll clothes for me, because there weren't any infant's clothes small enough.
Elementary school was difficult for me. Every day in second grade I remember running in from recess crying, because someone had been teasing me about my height. I could never think of anything horrible enough to say back to them, so I just cried. I didn't think there was anything I could do about being shorter than the rest of the class.
It wasn't until junior high that I finally got defensive about derogatory comments regarding my height. It had been so frustrating for so long that suddenly all I could do was strike back. I developed a stunning repertoire of smartass comments that always shut people up. Though I don't remember any of these comments now, I recall that they usually consisted of an inventive rumor about the object of the insulter's desire, some habit of their mother's, or a remark about the way they dressed. It was junior high. Insults didn't need to be fancy then - just very embarrassing.
In high school, I dreamt one night that I was tall – about 5'10" or so. I was the tallest girl in my class. My shoulders were wide, proportional to my waist and hips, but my head was the same size as when I was short. In the dream I was hanging out with friends by some lockers, and they were all ignoring me because I was towering above them, and they couldn't look into my face to talk to me. I was hideous. I vowed from then on to love being short, accent being short, even, because if I didn't, I might wake up one morning tall and horrendous. If I'd been fat during high school, I probably would have seen the dream as a positive sign, but as it was, I was a bony, shapeless 15-year-old. Being tall and thin would have been a living nightmare.
Worse than anything else are the questions I get. I'm so tired of answering the same old questions all the time. I think I'll have a t-shirt printed up that says, "I am five feet tall, and I weigh 100 pounds. I wear a 6 1/2 shoe, and no, I don't buy clothes at children's stores."
Some of the worst questions are, "Are your parents short, too?" (Not when I need money, they aren't). One thing I hear a lot from people of average height is, "I feel tall when I'm around you." I usually respond with something creative like, "So?" I also get a lot of, "So, have you ever gone out with a tall guy?" Yes, I have. It was hard to kiss him but we got over it. "Shorty" has been my obvious nickname ever since I can remember, along with "little woman," "midget," "welchkin," (when it was found out that I am of Welch ancestry) and the ever-popular short shit." But the worst statement of all is, "Boy, are you short!"
It was only recently, in an Dear Abby column, that I learned an appropriate response to "Boy, are you short!" A woman wrote in saying she was 200 pounds overweight and she liked herself that way. When people asked her why she didn't try to lose weight, she'd reply, "I just lost 20 pounds." That shut 'em up, she said. And to the really rude people who said to her, "Boy, are you fat!" she'd reply, "Boy, are you rude!"
I've never used this reply, but I did have the opportunity to a few months ago. While waiting in line to talk to a professor I knew, a guy I'd never seen before, walking in the hallway, stopped next to me and gasped, "Boy, are you short!" The fat woman's reply popped into my head, but I didn't say it for some reason. Instead I rolled my eyes (which someone told me I do professionally). The rude guy turned to Kurt, a friend of mine standing in line, and said, "That probably wasn't the right thing to say, was it?" Kurt shook his head, bugging his eyes in amazement at this guy's audacity. Apologizing and introducing himself, ironically, as David, the rude guy, tried to make it better by telling me I was very cute - for a short girl. Over his shoulder, I made a furtive face at Kurt that said, "Help me get rid of this guy!" Kurt only shrugged.
However, I defeated the giant by throwing the rock of superiority in his face. Just then, it was my turn to see the professor, so I went in, chatted with him, and got a favor out of him because we were old friends. I made sure all of this conversation was just loud enough for David to hear. Poor David had to wait in a very long line to see this professor, whom he didn't know, and who probably wouldn't do him a favor, when I only had to stand in line two minutes and got exactly what I wanted. That was sweet enough revenge for me.
I have found some definitive advantages in being short, however. No one ever asks me if I play basketball, or encourages me to do so. I don't have to worry about hitting my head on doorways. And I thank fate that adjectives like "lanky," "gangly," and "ungainly" cannot apply to me, nor can the nickname "beanpole," or the phrase "You've grown like a weed." I revel in the fact that my younger sister and my friends can no longer borrow my clothes or shoes, since they're all at least two sizes larger. I win limbo contests. I love singing "Kiss Off" to people who sing me the song “Short People Ain't Got No Reason." Ten bucks can usually get me drunk, no matter what type of alcohol I buy. I hardly ever use the whole towel to dry off with, and I can fall asleep - horizontally - in a recliner quite comfortably.
But I smile widest when I see someone taller than me grabbing a chair to reach the top cupboard in the kitchen. No one can say they have never come up short at some time in their lives.
A SHORT EPIC
I looked up at The David. The muscled marble towered fifteen feet above me. One oversized hand drooped gently on his leg, while the other hand sagged over his shoulder, holding the stone that would kill the giant. I marveled at the artistry for a moment. Then my gaze came back to the other tourists standing near me, and I smiled in satisfaction that everyone had to look up to the statue. They were all experiencing what I must every day - being short.
I was born 16 inches long, six pounds, four ounces. Dad could place my head in his palm while my feet barely brushed the inside of his elbow. My mother and aunt had to buy doll clothes for me, because there weren't any infant's clothes small enough.
Elementary school was difficult for me. Every day in second grade I remember running in from recess crying, because someone had been teasing me about my height. I could never think of anything horrible enough to say back to them, so I just cried. I didn't think there was anything I could do about being shorter than the rest of the class.
It wasn't until junior high that I finally got defensive about derogatory comments regarding my height. It had been so frustrating for so long that suddenly all I could do was strike back. I developed a stunning repertoire of smartass comments that always shut people up. Though I don't remember any of these comments now, I recall that they usually consisted of an inventive rumor about the object of the insulter's desire, some habit of their mother's, or a remark about the way they dressed. It was junior high. Insults didn't need to be fancy then - just very embarrassing.
In high school, I dreamt one night that I was tall – about 5'10" or so. I was the tallest girl in my class. My shoulders were wide, proportional to my waist and hips, but my head was the same size as when I was short. In the dream I was hanging out with friends by some lockers, and they were all ignoring me because I was towering above them, and they couldn't look into my face to talk to me. I was hideous. I vowed from then on to love being short, accent being short, even, because if I didn't, I might wake up one morning tall and horrendous. If I'd been fat during high school, I probably would have seen the dream as a positive sign, but as it was, I was a bony, shapeless 15-year-old. Being tall and thin would have been a living nightmare.
Worse than anything else are the questions I get. I'm so tired of answering the same old questions all the time. I think I'll have a t-shirt printed up that says, "I am five feet tall, and I weigh 100 pounds. I wear a 6 1/2 shoe, and no, I don't buy clothes at children's stores."
Some of the worst questions are, "Are your parents short, too?" (Not when I need money, they aren't). One thing I hear a lot from people of average height is, "I feel tall when I'm around you." I usually respond with something creative like, "So?" I also get a lot of, "So, have you ever gone out with a tall guy?" Yes, I have. It was hard to kiss him but we got over it. "Shorty" has been my obvious nickname ever since I can remember, along with "little woman," "midget," "welchkin," (when it was found out that I am of Welch ancestry) and the ever-popular short shit." But the worst statement of all is, "Boy, are you short!"
It was only recently, in an Dear Abby column, that I learned an appropriate response to "Boy, are you short!" A woman wrote in saying she was 200 pounds overweight and she liked herself that way. When people asked her why she didn't try to lose weight, she'd reply, "I just lost 20 pounds." That shut 'em up, she said. And to the really rude people who said to her, "Boy, are you fat!" she'd reply, "Boy, are you rude!"
I've never used this reply, but I did have the opportunity to a few months ago. While waiting in line to talk to a professor I knew, a guy I'd never seen before, walking in the hallway, stopped next to me and gasped, "Boy, are you short!" The fat woman's reply popped into my head, but I didn't say it for some reason. Instead I rolled my eyes (which someone told me I do professionally). The rude guy turned to Kurt, a friend of mine standing in line, and said, "That probably wasn't the right thing to say, was it?" Kurt shook his head, bugging his eyes in amazement at this guy's audacity. Apologizing and introducing himself, ironically, as David, the rude guy, tried to make it better by telling me I was very cute - for a short girl. Over his shoulder, I made a furtive face at Kurt that said, "Help me get rid of this guy!" Kurt only shrugged.
However, I defeated the giant by throwing the rock of superiority in his face. Just then, it was my turn to see the professor, so I went in, chatted with him, and got a favor out of him because we were old friends. I made sure all of this conversation was just loud enough for David to hear. Poor David had to wait in a very long line to see this professor, whom he didn't know, and who probably wouldn't do him a favor, when I only had to stand in line two minutes and got exactly what I wanted. That was sweet enough revenge for me.
I have found some definitive advantages in being short, however. No one ever asks me if I play basketball, or encourages me to do so. I don't have to worry about hitting my head on doorways. And I thank fate that adjectives like "lanky," "gangly," and "ungainly" cannot apply to me, nor can the nickname "beanpole," or the phrase "You've grown like a weed." I revel in the fact that my younger sister and my friends can no longer borrow my clothes or shoes, since they're all at least two sizes larger. I win limbo contests. I love singing "Kiss Off" to people who sing me the song “Short People Ain't Got No Reason." Ten bucks can usually get me drunk, no matter what type of alcohol I buy. I hardly ever use the whole towel to dry off with, and I can fall asleep - horizontally - in a recliner quite comfortably.
But I smile widest when I see someone taller than me grabbing a chair to reach the top cupboard in the kitchen. No one can say they have never come up short at some time in their lives.
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
Reflections on a year of change
A year ago I was miserably unemployed, heading into my last semester of graduate school with no clear idea of what I wanted to write a thesis about, wondering if I would ever be truly happy again. I am glad to report that I've made the necessary changes in my life to get past all of that, and I am well on my way to a life that I love to live. There are things that are still to be wrapped up but most of it is good and I am grateful for people who take a chance on me...grateful for new friends, old friends, supporters and a little faith thrown in for good measure. As I sit here looking over the bills I have due, I am actually not overwhelmed for once, and I can count on several people who I could call right now who would be happy to hear from me. I have a closetful of clothes which at the moment are all clean, the house is not a wreck, my roommate and I are quietly communing with each of our computers and I actually worked out today for an hour. I had a relaxing weekend with my new computer and about a half dozen movies...along with meeting new friends and enjoying the company of those I have known for years. I have a long way to go still and I am a work in progress. But that's okay, I always have been.
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
The essence of perfection
The essence of perfection
I know a lot of people who call themselves perfectionists. Yet they try to perfect things that don’t matter.
I’ve worked in advertising, sales and marketing for a while now. One of the things we have to do quite often are presentations. I can’t tell you how many weekends, evenings and special occasions have been ruined, when I’m at a party or a social gathering of some kind, because I end up listening to some boor tell me at length about a work-related presentation . . . either one they heard, developed, stole, are still working on. They’re trying to get it perfect. I admit, I’ve been the boor myself on occasion, but I can’t imagine why it might have ever been that important; that I spent that much time on it.
Because truly, when you’re looking for perfection, you spend a lot of time doing it. Hunting it down seems to encompass large blocks of time, entire days or weeks or even years. But it doesn’t have to. Perfection has to have the perfect environment in which to happen. Much of the time it eludes us because it can’t be created. It just IS.
Perfection is just being with your friends and not having a time limit on hanging out together. For example, when I’m going out for the evening with some girlfriends. While we’re getting ready, we’re talking about the best moisturizer, the perfect outfit, the greatest shoes etc. But none of that is what the evening is about; we don’t talk about what the evening is really for. Even the process of getting ready is what the point is -- we’re spending time together. If anyone asked what we were doing Friday night, we’d say “We’re going out to have a few drinks and get loose. We’re going to have girl time, go dancing, eat food that normally we would shun during the week, check out some men.” But what we’re really doing is pursuing perfection. Perfection in that environment is having something funny happen or said that night that we remember always and retell the story of, for many years.
Perfection is a smile or laughter shared with a stranger and the uplifting feeling you get from it the rest of the day.
Perfection is entwining yourself in your lover’s arms, finding that exact place to lay and utterly relaxing into sleep without the benefit of alcohol, drugs, or any limbs going numb.
Perfection is music that gives you chills every single time you hear it, even if it’s a song you’ve heard for years.
Perfection is finding something unexpected – the leaf that falls on your car’s window when you’re parked nowhere near a tree.
Perfection is an innocent question from a child. Or an astute observation from them.
Perfection is that inner feeling of “yes, all is right with the world.” Meaning the world you live in; not the entire earth. It’s all fitting into place, it’s all happening the way it should. It’s the disappearance of that gut-wrenching “this isn’t right” in the stomach feeling, replaced with the feeling of excited butterflies, because good things are coming
Perfection is a great first date – conversation flows, you feel sexy, you look good, laughter flows without being forced, there’s mental and physical attraction, but you don’t feel any pressure to make any move. And you don’t want to go home, you just want to spend more time together.
Perfection is waking up in the morning and actually feeling rested and refreshed.
Perfection is finally removing something toxic from your life and having that first-time-in-a-long-time clean feeling. From the soul out.
Perfection is checking in with your friends and hearing that nothing out of the ordinary is happening to them.
Perfection is spending an entire day without working at anything at all. Just doing what you like, being who you are. Without any justification to anyone.
Perfection is hearing from a customer or a friend or a salesperson: “Your timing couldn’t be better.”
Perfection is giving something to someone as a surprise, and seeing the grateful look on their face before they say the words, “Thank you.”
Merry Christmas.
I know a lot of people who call themselves perfectionists. Yet they try to perfect things that don’t matter.
I’ve worked in advertising, sales and marketing for a while now. One of the things we have to do quite often are presentations. I can’t tell you how many weekends, evenings and special occasions have been ruined, when I’m at a party or a social gathering of some kind, because I end up listening to some boor tell me at length about a work-related presentation . . . either one they heard, developed, stole, are still working on. They’re trying to get it perfect. I admit, I’ve been the boor myself on occasion, but I can’t imagine why it might have ever been that important; that I spent that much time on it.
Because truly, when you’re looking for perfection, you spend a lot of time doing it. Hunting it down seems to encompass large blocks of time, entire days or weeks or even years. But it doesn’t have to. Perfection has to have the perfect environment in which to happen. Much of the time it eludes us because it can’t be created. It just IS.
Perfection is just being with your friends and not having a time limit on hanging out together. For example, when I’m going out for the evening with some girlfriends. While we’re getting ready, we’re talking about the best moisturizer, the perfect outfit, the greatest shoes etc. But none of that is what the evening is about; we don’t talk about what the evening is really for. Even the process of getting ready is what the point is -- we’re spending time together. If anyone asked what we were doing Friday night, we’d say “We’re going out to have a few drinks and get loose. We’re going to have girl time, go dancing, eat food that normally we would shun during the week, check out some men.” But what we’re really doing is pursuing perfection. Perfection in that environment is having something funny happen or said that night that we remember always and retell the story of, for many years.
Perfection is a smile or laughter shared with a stranger and the uplifting feeling you get from it the rest of the day.
Perfection is entwining yourself in your lover’s arms, finding that exact place to lay and utterly relaxing into sleep without the benefit of alcohol, drugs, or any limbs going numb.
Perfection is music that gives you chills every single time you hear it, even if it’s a song you’ve heard for years.
Perfection is finding something unexpected – the leaf that falls on your car’s window when you’re parked nowhere near a tree.
Perfection is an innocent question from a child. Or an astute observation from them.
Perfection is that inner feeling of “yes, all is right with the world.” Meaning the world you live in; not the entire earth. It’s all fitting into place, it’s all happening the way it should. It’s the disappearance of that gut-wrenching “this isn’t right” in the stomach feeling, replaced with the feeling of excited butterflies, because good things are coming
Perfection is a great first date – conversation flows, you feel sexy, you look good, laughter flows without being forced, there’s mental and physical attraction, but you don’t feel any pressure to make any move. And you don’t want to go home, you just want to spend more time together.
Perfection is waking up in the morning and actually feeling rested and refreshed.
Perfection is finally removing something toxic from your life and having that first-time-in-a-long-time clean feeling. From the soul out.
Perfection is checking in with your friends and hearing that nothing out of the ordinary is happening to them.
Perfection is spending an entire day without working at anything at all. Just doing what you like, being who you are. Without any justification to anyone.
Perfection is hearing from a customer or a friend or a salesperson: “Your timing couldn’t be better.”
Perfection is giving something to someone as a surprise, and seeing the grateful look on their face before they say the words, “Thank you.”
Merry Christmas.
Monday, December 19, 2005
Second and third poem posting
I didn't post further poetry this weekend as promised, so here are two of my poems today. Enjoy, comment, post your own stuff, whatever! - Shannon
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Grandfather Tree
Wrinkled leathery skin and reaching arms
Stooped over in the twilight
Bent towards the slick road
Patting my rear windshield
Cautioning me to be well and happy
-12/5/92
Children
That’s the color you are when you walk on it.
Hello, friend for today.
They said, “Goddamn snow Lutherans up on the hill.”
Unencumbered.
Strata of sedimentary ice cream.
Tap dancing slowly on the stone decorator steps.
Rubber boots with decals.
Green tile.
Unstable stables, horsing around.
Spinning off, and away.
But?
When you look at it with one eye squinted, it’s much nicer.
- 1/21/92
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Grandfather Tree
Wrinkled leathery skin and reaching arms
Stooped over in the twilight
Bent towards the slick road
Patting my rear windshield
Cautioning me to be well and happy
-12/5/92
Children
That’s the color you are when you walk on it.
Hello, friend for today.
They said, “Goddamn snow Lutherans up on the hill.”
Unencumbered.
Strata of sedimentary ice cream.
Tap dancing slowly on the stone decorator steps.
Rubber boots with decals.
Green tile.
Unstable stables, horsing around.
Spinning off, and away.
But?
When you look at it with one eye squinted, it’s much nicer.
- 1/21/92
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Travel mug gripe
Can someone please, please please, invent a travel mug that:
- does not get screwed up in the dishwasher
- actually keeps hot things hot for a while
- doesn't leak after owning it for like, six months
- actually holds more than one 6 oz. cup of beverage?
Seriously, people.
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
More cool websites to visit
Not that I want you to stay away from my Blog. But these are some neat things I've found, out on that Wacky World Wide Web.
www.AMFJ.com - This is my "baby" brother's website. He keeps it updated each week and usually has some pretty hilarious stuff on it. Go ahead, ask him what AMFJ means. And ask him what color his mohawk is this week.
http://snltranscripts.jt.org - This is the unofficial Saturday Night Live transcripts website. If you miss the show, you can read all about it here. Usually takes 3-4 days to update from the previous week's show.
www.imdb.com/title/tt00933779/quotes - This is the Memorable Quotes from The Princess Bride movie website - totally unofficial of course. Deadly accurate and brings back lots of funny memories of the movie.
www.uppityblueswomen.com - This is the site of one of my favorite bands of all time. Saffire, The Uppity Blues Women will rock you, if you're ever at one of their many gigs around the east part of the country. Buy one of their CDs if they aren't coming to your neighborhood, I promise you won't be disappointed.
I promise some more poetry before the weekend!
www.AMFJ.com - This is my "baby" brother's website. He keeps it updated each week and usually has some pretty hilarious stuff on it. Go ahead, ask him what AMFJ means. And ask him what color his mohawk is this week.
http://snltranscripts.jt.org - This is the unofficial Saturday Night Live transcripts website. If you miss the show, you can read all about it here. Usually takes 3-4 days to update from the previous week's show.
www.imdb.com/title/tt00933779/quotes - This is the Memorable Quotes from The Princess Bride movie website - totally unofficial of course. Deadly accurate and brings back lots of funny memories of the movie.
www.uppityblueswomen.com - This is the site of one of my favorite bands of all time. Saffire, The Uppity Blues Women will rock you, if you're ever at one of their many gigs around the east part of the country. Buy one of their CDs if they aren't coming to your neighborhood, I promise you won't be disappointed.
I promise some more poetry before the weekend!
Friday, December 09, 2005
"These are a few of my favorite links...la la la"
I'm trying to do my best Julie Andrews impersonation...anyway. Here's a few websites I visit quite often.
Amazon - great used books in good condition. www.amazon.com
Ebay - great everything for sale, used, new - you can't find it here, make it and sell it yourself. www.ebay.com
Famous Footwear - nice shoes, prices can be a little higher but good quality stuff. www.famousfootwear.com
Sierra Trading Post - great deals and nice gifts too - www.sierratradingpost.com
Petfinder - though I am petless for now, I visit this and its local links to oooh and awww. They've done a fantastic job helping out with lost or abandoned Hurricane Katrina pets. www.petfinder.com
Doug FM - this is not an online station but a local one; I listen to most of the time to this. Their slogan is "We Play Everything" and they ain't lyin'. www.931dougfm.com
Mlive - a very busy site with all things Michigan on it, local and state stories. www.mlive.com
Amazon - great used books in good condition. www.amazon.com
Ebay - great everything for sale, used, new - you can't find it here, make it and sell it yourself. www.ebay.com
Famous Footwear - nice shoes, prices can be a little higher but good quality stuff. www.famousfootwear.com
Sierra Trading Post - great deals and nice gifts too - www.sierratradingpost.com
Petfinder - though I am petless for now, I visit this and its local links to oooh and awww. They've done a fantastic job helping out with lost or abandoned Hurricane Katrina pets. www.petfinder.com
Doug FM - this is not an online station but a local one; I listen to most of the time to this. Their slogan is "We Play Everything" and they ain't lyin'. www.931dougfm.com
Mlive - a very busy site with all things Michigan on it, local and state stories. www.mlive.com
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
First poem posted
This is one I wrote in March 1995, not sure where I was in life emotionally. I think this just reflects a play on words more than anything.
THAT’S IT THEN
The sky was gray white that day
No difference between the sky and the ground
It seemed like it
And that seemed like that
But nothing is what it seems
Nothing can be everything
Nothingness is everything-ness
When all is lost
One for all, all for one
It’s all over now
Over and done with
Well done
Well, here we are
Here and there
Over there
Over and over
Overall
THAT’S IT THEN
The sky was gray white that day
No difference between the sky and the ground
It seemed like it
And that seemed like that
But nothing is what it seems
Nothing can be everything
Nothingness is everything-ness
When all is lost
One for all, all for one
It’s all over now
Over and done with
Well done
Well, here we are
Here and there
Over there
Over and over
Overall
Monday, December 05, 2005
Best Hallmark card I've seen in a while
Seen in the local Rite-Aid:
Front of card shows a woman walking through the grocery store, full cart. A flasher stops in front of her and opens his trenchcoat. Her response: "Thank you for reminding me, I need to get baby carrots."
Front of card shows a woman walking through the grocery store, full cart. A flasher stops in front of her and opens his trenchcoat. Her response: "Thank you for reminding me, I need to get baby carrots."
First posting
Hello world.
I've finally entered the world of the Blog, took me long enough. I guess I was just too lazy to maintain my own website before.
Any-hoo, here I am, my writing will be posted regularly (probably once a week or so) and anyone is free to comment, suggest, ask questions, tell me good blonde jokes or what have you.
You can also email me privately at sjwriter@yahoo.com if you don't want to post things for other people to read. But know that if it's a really good email, I might post your email to the blog (with permission).
Thanks,
Shannon
I've finally entered the world of the Blog, took me long enough. I guess I was just too lazy to maintain my own website before.
Any-hoo, here I am, my writing will be posted regularly (probably once a week or so) and anyone is free to comment, suggest, ask questions, tell me good blonde jokes or what have you.
You can also email me privately at sjwriter@yahoo.com if you don't want to post things for other people to read. But know that if it's a really good email, I might post your email to the blog (with permission).
Thanks,
Shannon
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