Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?


(By William Shakespeare, Sonnet 18)

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm’d;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimm’d;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st;
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

Good Morning


How often do we say ‘Good Morning’ without realising how good this morning is? I know I do. Today is different. I am sitting in my bed, perched up in the cushions, and am struck by the beauty of the awakening day … fill my lungs with this beautiful morning.

There is something mystical about an ancient, open window that lets in a soft breeze, gently swaying the gauze curtain too and fro. It’s floral patterns mimicking the dance of the willow tree leaves in front of the window. It’s early. The sun has just climbed above the mountain range and goes about warming up the crisp air. The old grandfather clock down stairs starts its hourly dong. It’s 7 o’clock.

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Letters From The Earl


Another short story by Ken Staley from his anthology ‘The Art of Ageing’ – pulished here with his permission.

Uncle Hugh and Aunt Emily looked like a matched set those graceful, porcelain salt and pepper collectibles that grace holiday tables. Withered and hammered by age, as long as they could reach out and touch each other, the world could crumble around them and they wouldn’t even have noticed. We could scarcely picture Aunt Emily without Uncle Hugh, her husband of more than seventy years.
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I Carry Your Heart


(I saw this lovely picture on

‘i carry your heart’ by e.e. Cummings

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)

i fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

I have never thought much of poetry. Quick paced prosa, intricate plots that kept me up till 3am in the morning, was more my thing. That has changed a while ago. I love reading poetry nowadays. This one by e.e. Commings (I have been told it’s e.e. because he hated capital letters) immediately touched me – so when I go on my journey today, I send to my family and friends that stay behind “i cary your heart (i carry it in my heart)

Watching Swans


This short story by Ken Staley is from his collection “The Art of Ageing” and published here with his permission.

Watching Swans.
I sit in this chair, day after day. Time passes, I’m convinced it must, but I take no note. The sky is always blue, the grass always new spring green and butterflies dance and chase each other from blossom to blossom. And that pond, always there, waiting. There is music here, always. Not their music, but our music. Songs, my Carol, songs you so deeply etched on my heart that those notes echo as long as I breathe, as long as my eyes can still see – you.

Oh, others stop now and then, and speak about me as though I do not exist and cannot hear them. I feel their pity and sense their shame. Words they have for each other – adult words – to salve their guilt. “Poor man – does no one come to visit?” “What does he find so interesting out that window?” “How can he sit here day after day after day?”

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Easter Sunday


(Barnett’s sculpture Broken Obelisk on display at the Museum of Modern Art, in New York,

This morning I was looking for an image for my Easter post. I had something floral, something uplifting, something modern in mind when I came across this amazing photo. What a stunning sculpture. It reminds me of the pyramid of the Louvre in Paris. The male and the female form. When they meet at that special point, that special moment when all is in balance – it becomes the most stunning piece of art.

Happy Easter to all you gorgeous people! Happy Easter to me and you!

…. What? are you still hanging around your computer? Go out and smell the roses!