16 Apr 12
Originally posted by Grampy BobbySo questioning you is your idea of my losing my way? How strange, and cynical.
Sad to witness somone losing their way.
I'm on top of my life after beating something you know little about. Yet, you always have to assume assumed correctly, don't you?
Please tell me your agenda Bobby, after saying you were leaving and going to other forums, but yet just can't resist cynicism on this forum regarding most members. What pomp and circumstance permits you to believe you have prowess over all and sundry in RHP forums?
I'm not lost. I haven't lost my way. Far from your insinuations, I am more inline with my agenda than your narcissistic self-adulating bombastic comments about who ever you deem is weak on this site.
Shame on you, for one supposedly so rich in intelligence and reading.
-m. 😉
16 Apr 12
Originally posted by mikelomSir Mikey, here's one you may enjoy...
So questioning you is your idea of my losing my way? How strange, and cynical.
I'm on top of my life after beating something you know little about. Yet, you always have to assume assumed correctly, don't you?
Please tell me your agenda Bobby, after saying you were leaving and going to other forums, but yet just can't resist cynicism on this forum regar ...[text shortened]... is site.
Shame on you, for one supposedly so rich in intelligence and reading.
-m. 😉
The good old days at home sweet home
On Monday my mother washed.
It was the way of the world,
all those lines of sheets flapping
in the narrow yards of the neighborhood,
the pulleys stretching out second
and third floor windows.
Down in the dank steamy basement,
wash tubs vast and grey, the wringer
sliding between the washer
and each tub. At least every
year she or I caught
a hand in it.
Tuesday my mother ironed.
One iron was the mangle.
She sat at it feeding in towels,
sheets, pillow cases.
The hand ironing began
with my father's underwear.
She ironed his shorts.
She ironed his socks.
She ironed his undershirts.
Then came the shirts,
a half hour to each, the starch
boiling on the stove.
I forgot bluing. I forgot
the props that held up the line
clattering down. I forgot
chasing the pigeons that shat
on her billowing housedresses.
I forgot clothespins in the teeth.
Tuesday my mother ironed my
father's underwear. Wednesday
she mended, darned socks on
a wooden egg. Shined shoes.
Thursday she scrubbed floors.
Put down newspapers to keep
them clean. Friday she
vacuumed, dusted, polished,
scraped, waxed, pummeled.
How did you become a feminist
interviewers always ask,
as if to say, when did this
rare virus attack your brain?
It could have been Sunday
when she washed the windows,
Thursday when she burned
the trash, bought groceries
hauling the heavy bags home.
It could have been any day
she did again and again what
time and dust obliterated
at once until stroke broke
her open. I think it was Tuesday
when she ironed my father's shorts.
- Marge Piercy
- Joined
- 10 Dec 11
- Moves
- 143494
16 Apr 12
Originally posted by andrew93"More than the darkness of truth that debases us I value those lies that elevate us"
Answer me this: if you asked a really really loaded question, where to offer an honest answer might make you look like a proper knob in front of your family and friends, and be the subject of ridicule for generations to come, followed by being a social pariah and outcast from the e-community, would you really want to put yourself through that for no discernible gain?
..............- Pushkin
17 Apr 12
Originally posted by Grampy BobbyMuch better!
Sir Mikey, here's one you may enjoy...
[b]The good old days at home sweet home
On Monday my mother washed.
It was the way of the world,
all those lines of sheets flapping
in the narrow yards of the neighborhood,
the pulleys stretching out second
and third floor windows.
Down in the dank steamy basement,
wash tubs vast an ...[text shortened]... her open. I think it was Tuesday
when she ironed my father's shorts.
- Marge Piercy[/b]
Originally posted by Very RustyI've been instigating/inciting for years. However, I don't incite riots or instigate masses.
You don't INSTIGATE much by any chance?
Sometimes, you wonder why things happen in your life. ( Did I deserve this)
I've found that what you give, you get back 10 fold.
Instigation pends purely on the mentality of the inference made by the concluder, as to whether or not they engage seriously or see passive humour in the context of the instigator.
I rarely, if ever, wonder why things happen in my life. Life is such unto itself, and acceptance of events is an immeasurable way of seeing fit to one's own experiences and not having to question why.
I don't need Godly excuses, nor do I need any excuses. I go forth by the grace of me, and those around me who know the true me. I've never once thought, 'did I deserve this'. Never in my life. There is no deserving or bad deal or short straw. Those ideas are for the weak and fearful.
I embrace and enjoy all that is handed on my plate, and never question it. My plate's nutricious and a happily full one.
I also never give in the hope of receiving. I don't judge my life by receipt of what I give. Sometimes we receive unexpectedly, from those we don't expect to need to give. But then to judge of giving and receiving is a peculiar idosyncrasy needed by the fearful of being judged.
-m. 😉
Originally posted by mikelomWhat in your opinion is the essence of honesty?
I've been instigating/inciting for years. However, I don't incite riots or instigate masses.
Instigation pends purely on the mentality of the inference made by the concluder, as to whether or not they engage seriously or see passive humour in the context of the instigator.
I rarely, if ever, wonder why things happen in my life. Life is such unto itself receiving is a peculiar idosyncrasy needed by the fearful of being judged.
-m. 😉