This is Not Just to Say
Okay. I ate the damned
plums. But it’s not my
fault you left them
sitting there on the top
shelf, so sweet, so cold,
enticing me, as only
you, or perhaps a ripe
peach, or strawberries,
or Asian pears or even
pomegranates, can do.
Besides, you need
something substantial
for breakfast. How about
donuts, or bacon, instead?
My apologies to WCW, but I couldn’t resist. You can find the original Williams poem here.
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After the collapse of the Kamakura shogunate in 1333, a warlord named Ashikaga Tokauji became a shogun in 1338. The Ashikaga shogunate, Japan’s second shogunate, was called the “Age of the Country at War” but despite the chaos, trade was encouraged and Zen-inspired art started during this period. The government collapsed towards the end of this shogunate, with the local lords called daimyos gaining the loyalty of the samurai. The daimyos got peasants for their armies and became rulers of their respective territories. The last Ashikaga shogun was forced out of office by a local lord named Oda Nobunaga but was assassinated in 1582 and was succeeded by Hideyoshi, his best general. A power struggle ensued after Hideyoshi’s death in 1598 until Tokugawa Ieyasu, another Nobunaga’s general, gained victory in the Battle of Sekigahara in 1600.
In 1603, Tokugawa Ieyasu became the first shogun of the Tokugawa shogunate which was the…
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The thing I loved the most about the Riverwalk is how you could walk along the river at all times of the day. We had been there in the morning, at noon, and even after the clock struck midnight! When it was still light, I loved looking at the brightly colored umbrellas and the flower pots lining the stairs, the details of statues the Aztec Hotel, and the multitude of people who came to see it every day.
At night its beauty is softer, mellower, but in a sense more magical. The water glinted silver under the moonlight and the streetlights glowed in globes suspended in the air, like watching will-o-the-wisps. At midnight, the stores had closed and the restaurants were cleaning up, but the river itself seemed to come alive. One could hear the crickets and the rush of water. It is a pity that we could not capture the beauty of the…
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It’s the windows down,
on a long bus ride.
It’s a four-poster bed
with French windows, and,
the beauty of a sunrise.
It’s the freckles on your cheeks,
the morning in your eyes.
It’s the moment, when,
a dream isn’t a dream anymore
and you’re free to fly…
It’s all things sorted in black and white:
The light of my life.
The dark of the lonely night.
It’s a collective memory;
the story in a dream
in it’s divine glory –
Little drops of heaven and chivalry.
Copyright, Snehal Rawal 2015.
Ancien Hippie 