Just my stuff

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Time is a river

Jorge Luis Borges – Image via Tumblr – Click for fullsize

In my neighborhood we have these cool little mini-libraries out on people’s front lawns where books are shared. They look like oversized birdhouses. I’m not sure if this is just a Toronto thing or if it happens all over. Maybe someone could enlighten me on that.

Anyhow, I was walking by one of these tiny libraries last summer and found a great little paperback called Labyrinths by the celebrated Argentinian writer, Jorge Luis Borges. Borges is an interesting guy, speculating on just about everything from the Bible, ancient myth, East-West philosophy and, in this quote, time.

Jorge_Luis_Borges – Wikipedia

Borges apparently never wrote much more than fragments, essays and short stories. But he’s respected the world over. This fact affords me the opportunity to voice something that I’ve been thinking about for some time: Perhaps someday people will see internet comments as a potential art form. I’m not talking about blog entries but, rather, comments.

This certainly isn’t the case today. Most people are too pedantic and regimented to think that creatively. But when you do think about it, the internet is like a huge labyrinth, with layers of not only varying degrees of visibility but also privacy. So why can’t commenting on the web be a valid art form in itself?

I think it can. But let’s let posterity be the judge.


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Love gone sour

I was in a poetry mood tonight so came up with this. Not having written verse for a while, I decided to use my old pen name from literally decades ago.

Click for larger size – background via http://spidergypsy.deviantart.com

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Emily Dickinson – Selected Poems

Nehal's World


[Emily Dickinson’s House, now a Museum]

The wind tapped like a tired man,
And like a host, “Come in,”
I boldly answered; entered then
My residence within

A rapid, footless guest,
To offer whom a chair
Were as impossible as hand
A sofa to the air.

No bone had he to bind him,
His speech was like the push
Of numerous hummingbirds at once
From a superior bush.

His countenance a billow,
His fingers, if he pass,
Let go a music, as of tunes
Blown tremulous in glass.

He visited, still flitting;
Then, like a timid man,
Again he tapped–’twas flurriedly—
And I became alone.

-Emily Dickinson – Selected Poems


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“Sonnet 18: Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” by William Shakespeare

Stuff Jeff Reads


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.

This poem marks the transition from the procreation sonnets to the romantic sonnets, and since this is still considered one of the “fair youth” sonnets, there is a strong belief that this poem and the rest…

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Light Of HopeBetween the Ticks of Time
Torn by the Wind

Clouded by Tears
Shrouded in Weeds

Abandoned by Day
Ravaged by the Night

Olde as the Halls
Olde as this Darkness

Faded by the Pillars of the Sun
House of Flesh among the Ruins

Shadows wrapped in Time
Is that which Does Not End…

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Moon-1just one wish if you could influence the stars for me when they awake in the midnight sky

in my sleep sound and deep in dreams I hold the light of the full moon in my palms

this darkened chamber shall be emptied and forgotten when the morning sun enters with a bright new day

but for tonight dear moon wrap me in your light let me hold on for just a while longer as this enchanted summer’s night will soon bring tomorrow ❤

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