Monthly Archives: April 2017

Mother Earth Day

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by | April 22, 2017 · 1:28 pm

Settler + Education + Work = Human Right

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Quotes

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Waking With A Poem Already In My Head by Neil Leadbeater

Waking With A Poem Already In My Head

Wednesday morning, waking with a poem
already in my head, I saw
the pond-skater
pirouetting on thin ice
and knew, as I began to write,
that I had barely scratched the surface.

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George Russell: To see things in the germ, this I call intelligence by Rene Wadlow

“Are there not such spirits among us ready to join in the noblest of all adventures— the building up of a civilization —so that the human might reflect the divine order? In the divine order there is both freedom and solidarity. It is the virtue of the soul to be free and its nature to love; and when it is free and acts by its own will, it is most united with all other life” George Russell: The Song of the Greater Life

russel01_400George Russell (1867-1935) whose birth anniversary we mark on 10 April was an Irish poet, painter, mystic, and reformer of agriculture in the years 1900 to the mid-1930s. He wrote under the initials A.E. and was so well known as A.E. that his friends called him “A.E.” and not “George”.  He was a close friend and co-worker with William Butler Yeats who was a better poet and whose poems are more read today.  Both A.E. and Yeats were part of the Irish or Celtic revival which worked for a cultural renewal as part of the effort to get political independence from England.

Ireland lived under a subtle form of colonialism rather than the more obvious Empire in Africa or India where domination was made more obvious by the distance from the center of power and the racial differences. The Irish were white, Christian, and partially anglicized culturally. English and Scots had moved to Ireland and by the end of the 19th century became the landed gentry. Thus Russell and Yeats felt that there had to be a renewal of Irish culture upon which a state could be built. Yet for A.E. political independence was only a first step to building a country of character and intellect “a civilization worthy of our hopes and our ages of struggle and sacrifice”. He lamented that “For all our passionate discussions over self-government we have had little speculation over our own character or the nature of the civilization we wished to create for ourselves…The nation was not conceived of as a democracy freely discussing its laws, but as a secret society with political chiefs meeting in the dark and issuing orders.”

Read the whole article in Ovi Magazine, HERE!

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At this table by Bohdan Yuri

Reservations at eight
at our favorite table,
you were fashionably late,
a less than cherished fable.

you ordered the usual wine
I, a double blue label.
in our most best of times
we had feasted a very full ladle.

I persistently stare at you,
your eyes hide into the table.
I’m left with the most cruel view,
which makes this scene so able.

last night you gave your love to him,
pinning on your scarlet label.
the stinging hint of your lewd sin
is all too clear and inescapable.

what’s left is the tasteless discourse:

before you leave our table,
you will hear my terms in our divorce;
after which, I will dine alone at my table.

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Something from the past by Katerina Charisi

I’m getting old. I’m getting old and I feel my doors shut one by one. Yesterday I met with my childhood’s best friend, thirty years after, and I gave her my hand to shake. All I was willing to give her was a handshake! Do you get it?

mortal01_400We used to wear each other’s clothes, spent weekends together, chatting and dreaming until someone would ask us to be quiet. We shared the same lukewarm beer when we went to the beach in summer nights to meet with the boys. We even shared the same boyfriend once! I had asked her to kiss my boyfriend and tell me if he was a good kisser. All true.

And now, I gave her my hand to shake. Like she was just another neighbour I accidentally met downtown. I didn’t ask her to have a coffee with me and catch up. She didn’t ask my number when she walked away. The moment just passed and lost forever, like any of those old times ever happened. Like the life we shared was another life, not ours.

Why did I have to see her again? Why do I remember all these things now?

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