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Daily Archives: July 9, 2013

My Own Cogito!


I won’t be able to think after death.
Thus, if I stop thinking, I’ll pass away.
I won’t be able to learn after death.
Thus, if I stop learning I’ll die.

People will use the knowledge I taught.
Thus, I am an immortal teacher.
People will read what I wrote.
Thus, I am an immortal writer.

I have to keep on thinking and learning to live longer.
I have to keep on teaching and writing to live forever.

© Chaouki Mkaddem

Hark Ye! Words of Motion!

Story Of The Footloose


Burning skin, soft tones speaking,

Hark the soft whispering wind,

in the land of the old dying king,

The old wise one closes her wing!

Burning lips, bitter eyes leering,

Hark the soft whimpering wind,

In the land of the young shy king,

The old wise one starts to sing,

Hark ye!

The young shall soon fade away,

For he is destined to make way,

And this is how it shall forever be,

close your eyes and you shall see.

Hark ye!

The old wise one now dances,

Let the motion speak to you,

the wind whispers louder,

How is the song ever new?

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Across the borderland

The Yogi Rock

“When you reach the broken promised land
Every dream slips through your hands
And you’ll know it’s too late to change your mind
’cause you pay the price to come so far
Just to wind up where you are
And you’re still just across the borderline
Now you’re still just across the borderline
And you’re still just across the borderline”

Ryland Peter “Ry” Cooder, born March 15 1947, is an American musician. He is known for his slide guitar work, his interest in roots music from the United States, and, more recently, his collaborations with traditional musicians from many countries. Ry Cooder grew up in Santa Monica, California. His solo work has been eclectic, encompassing folkbluesTex-Mexsoulgospel, rock, and much else. He has collaborated with many musicians, notably including Eric ClaptonThe Rolling StonesVan MorrisonNeil YoungRandy Newman

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Weekly Photo Challenge: Nostalgic


Broad graceful feathered leaves
wafting magical aromas
as plantains
stew in coconut milk

Nostalgic. Sometimes, we long for the past: for moments we want to remember or recapture. The good times. The golden years. Or perhaps we’re homesick, or longing for something — or someone — that might have been. For more nostalgic moments, check out the Weekly Photo Challenge.

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For want of a muse


For want of a Muse, I will imagine

There’s a madman standing by,

Whose shotgun he is pointing at my head.

He says if I don’t now knock out a poem

He will fire, and I’ll be dead.

Hold it right there, dear Mister Madman,

Keep that firearm aimed at me

Let it be the reason I’m attempting poetry-Not 
for love or money, nor as a bid for fame,

It’s just to keep him happy, playing his mad game.

Look it’s working, kindly lunatic!

Twelve lines already, span and spick.

Who would need a Muse, when a shotgun’s just as quick

In getting you to dish out line on rhyming line?

Yes, the thought of being shot at, seems to work just fine.

And no matter that it’s nonsense. Seeing he is mad,

Its lacking sense or reason won’t make him one bit sad.

So let this be a lesson to all attempting verse:

If you lack all inspiration, think of a loony at your side

Who says if you don‘t write a poem, this is the day you died.

Ron Gardner

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