Wednesday 14th November, 2007

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Thought for Today

Every day a new door opens. The old ones never close unless you want them to.

 

This One Does It For Me!

Hi Ken.

I know that the below isn't something that would normally be included in a Daily Flight Plan. But I also know how CARING McKuen readers are. And although I'm not in favor of any war, I think that the below is a REALLY nice idea.

Most Sincerely,

Debra L. Kutchera

When you are making out your Christmas card list this year, please include the following:

A Recovering American Soldier
c/o Walter Reed Army Medical Center
6900 Georgia Avenue, NW
Washington, D.C. 20307-5001

If you approve of the idea, please pass it on to your e-mail list.

Although it's a tad frightening to be thinking of Christmas already, Debra, I completely agree with you that this is a wonderful idea.

I'll be sending a card and I hope all our readers will be too.

Thank you for passing this one along.

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notable birthdays St. Augustine o Travis Barker o Stephen Bishop o Charles, Prince of Wales o Aaron Copland o Rosemary De Camp o Chris Demetral o Johnny Desmond o Mamie Eisenhower o Robert Fulton o Nina Gordon (Smashing Pumpkins) o King Hussein of Jordan o Barbara Hutton o George S. Kaufmani o Brian Keith o Veronica Lake o Marya Mannes o Senator Joseph McCarthy o Claude Monet o Jawaharlal Nehru o Jim Piersall o Dick Powell o Leonie Rysanek o Harrison Salisbury o McLean Stevenson o D.B. Sweeney o Martha Tilton
Rod's random thoughts Fantasies are free.  

There is no end to the application of thought.

Impatience is useless; it makes enemies and loses friends.

INTERVAL BETWEEN

 In the interval
between bed sitting chair
                     and bed
your silhouette
is growing fainter
shifting as it moves
through distance.
I lapse into a momentary dream,
too soft for sustenance
                    too hard
for mere impression.
And still you are
               the landscape
all of it.

These quiet minutes
                      with you
before and after
what should have been
or could be making love
are firmer than
what arms encircle
as the vaulted premium
in the act itself.

Earlier a petal fell
from off a dying rose.
It hit the table
with such thunder
I thought the neighborhood
             would be aroused.
You didn't move.
And down the street
no lights came on.
The darkness turns upon
                                 itself.
Your breathing
is the only music left,
its rise and fall hypnotic.

There is something delicate,
                       mysterious
in the interval
from breath to breath
as there is in between
bed sitting chair and bed.

The stars
have started coming out,
like Christmas finery,
unhurried and unstoppable.
In the tree outside
the same owl croons
                     the same song
this one time more.
His call is loonlike
and still no tune comes back
from crossblock tree.
Not far off another owl
and rows of lesser birds
                  sit quietly
in rapt appreciation.
And now a cat has gotten up
to stretch and drink
               and paw cymbidium
overripe and sleeping in its pot.
Your breathing takes
                      a new direction.

There is something,
                     if not everything,