Wednesday, August 28, 2013

The Sea

W.B. Yeats

A Crazed Girl

“THAT crazed girl improvising her music.
Her poetry, dancing upon the shore,

Her soul in division from itself
Climbing, falling She knew not where,
Hiding amid the cargo of a steamship,
Her knee-cap broken, that girl I declare
A beautiful lofty thing, or a thing
Heroically lost, heroically found.

No matter what disaster occurred
She stood in desperate music wound,
Wound, wound, and she made in her triumph
Where the bales and the baskets lay
No common intelligible sound
But sang, 'O sea-starved, hungry sea”
W B Yeats




Sunday, August 25, 2013

Wednesday, August 21, 2013



Some people walk in the rain, others just get wet.

Roger Miller

Tuesday, August 20, 2013


The optimist pleasantly wonders how high his kite will fly; the pessimist woefully wonders how soon his kite will fall.

William Arthur Ward











Sunday, August 18, 2013

Friday, August 16, 2013

Monday, August 12, 2013




I own two passions now: watching clouds and 
writing words. Hours fly courting clouds, writing 
poems in my mind, for what are clouds and words 
but poets' fuel to warm their souls upon?
Cirrus, stratus, cumulus or mare’s tail; 
in such clouds, words seem lazy, hazy, nebulous
and misty to my mind; there are no lines 
to read myself between, I can only 
go within and listen to their whispers.
Words are scudding sounds of speech when spoken, 
but silent when written, except to my
heart where they can speak in volumes, or, when 
days are sadly overcast, they hide from 
me and say nothing, nothing at all.

Cait O'Connor








Friday, August 9, 2013

I would love to live like a river flows, carried by the surprise of its own unfolding

John O'Donohue
















Morning Musings
Some things you can rely on, like the ebb
and flow of water or the phases of
the Moon. Death and taxes, love
and lust, tears and longing.  Always the day
will follow night, bringing  joy or sadness
in its wake.  Beloved birds will gather
daily at each quiet calling of the dawn;
My eyes will be drawn to fields and
trees and the clouds that frame the mountain as
they scud across an ever-changing sky.
The kettle will sing upon the hob, my
dog will gaze at me, ever-trusting in
my faithfulness.  I shall drink honey-laden
tea, and enjoy a shot of sweetness
as another day begins.
Cait O'Connor