Are you still going after your dreams? Are you still dreaming?
Sunday walkies.
In Memory Of My Mother by Patrick Kavanagh
I do not think of you lying in the wet clay
Of a Monaghan graveyard; I see
You walking down a lane among the poplars
On your way to the station, or happily
Going to second Mass on a summer Sunday—
You meet me and you say:
‘Don’t forget to see about the cattle—’
Among your earthiest words the angels stray.
And I think of you walking along a headland
Of green oats in June,
So full of repose, so rich with life—
And I see us meeting at the end of a town
On a fair day by accident, after
The bargains are all made and we can walk
Together through the shops and stalls and markets
Free in the oriental streets of thought.
O you are not lying in the wet clay,
For it is harvest evening now and we
Are piling up the ricks against the moonlight
And you smile up at us — eternally.
Of a Monaghan graveyard; I see
You walking down a lane among the poplars
On your way to the station, or happily
Going to second Mass on a summer Sunday—
You meet me and you say:
‘Don’t forget to see about the cattle—’
Among your earthiest words the angels stray.
And I think of you walking along a headland
Of green oats in June,
So full of repose, so rich with life—
And I see us meeting at the end of a town
On a fair day by accident, after
The bargains are all made and we can walk
Together through the shops and stalls and markets
Free in the oriental streets of thought.
O you are not lying in the wet clay,
For it is harvest evening now and we
Are piling up the ricks against the moonlight
And you smile up at us — eternally.
It’s amazing to watch someone shoot up in the sky and alight, to fulfill her potential and claim her place amongst the stars. It might take you far away from me but that doesn’t matter. All that matters is keeping that light alive. I can see it, I can feel it. And that’s more than enough.
Hymn To Her
Let me inside you
Into your room
I’ve heard it’s lined
With the things you don’t show
Lay me beside you
Down on the floor
I’ve been your lover
From the womb to the tomb
I dress as your daughter
When the moon becomes round
You be my mother
When everything’s gone
And she will always carry on
Something is lost
But something is found
They will keep on speaking her name
Somethings change
Some stay the same
Keep beckoning to me
From behind that closed door
The maid and the mother
And the crone that’s grown old
I hear your voice
Coming out of that hole
I listen to you
And I want some more
I listen to you
And I want some more
And she will always carry on
Something is lost
But something is found
They will keep on speaking her name
Some things change
Some stay the same
“Trace Heavens” is a series of gorgeous light installations by James Nizam. To create these images James painstakingly made incisions into the structure of a house to capture and manipulate sunlight into light sculptures.
To my friends going through changes, adjustments, and hard times, I am cheering you on. Don’t give up.
Swoon
(via livinginalovelierlight)
