~ White Flag to the Red Flag? ~

That which is within us all, within each and every one, that heart to keep us standing tall, that gives us the courage to stand, not run...where is it that it flees at times, when the unknowns threaten and throw us curves? Where hides the heart that feels too much, and how to convince it of truth and such, so that it believes it's getting all that it deserves?

How do you judge your heart content? When peace seems transitory, spent, and changes track emotions' paths, to keep believing or live in denial seems pointless in the face of waved red flags.  Surrender to the moment, then - a temporary answer to Time, which doesn't relent, and "Older does not mean wiser," Ego brags.

I see the pennants fluttering in the distance, sure that they taper to a point or two, but still I give the "now" a chance, and wonder if it's the best "right thing" to do? Swallow fear and feed the positive thoughts the idealist within me hopes is truth. If I learn another lesson, or shed another tear, then I guess this old heart will cope with that, too.

Detachment is the safest bet, and yet, the task rankles as a cop-out ploy. If life is a dream, then the realist in me's screwed, because inevitably, the pain always tangles with joy. Ah, save this heart and keep it locked, to try and backtrack would mean nothing now.  Is it ever too late to cast blinders aside, to accept here and now, as it is? If it can be done, can someone please tell me how?

~ C.L.R. ~ © 2008

Candy Cane Horses - Holiday Crafts :)

Inspired by my friend Wycked, I was going to post this as a comment for her Blog about Holiday Crafts (she has some cool ideas! Check it out if you have time). But, with all the pictures and instructions and stuff, I decided it might be better as a blog. I can always link it later. :)

Here's a nifty idea for a cute stocking stuffer or present topper this Christmas. My mom was the one who came up with it, although I don't know if she invented it or got it from somewhere else - she's an artist and loves horses, so she probably just came up with it. Hope the instructions are easy enough. I posted pictures of hers so maybe that will help. Enjoy!

~* CANDY CANE HORSES *~

Materials Needed:

2 ft square red felt
1 ft square white felt
6 inch square green felt
pkg of 16-20 wiggle eyes
1 ft. gold ribbon or cord
1 ft. square card stock or cardboard for patterns
decorative sequins, buttons, etc.
hot glue or super glue

STEP 1:

Make your "Horse Head" pattern. Use the card stock or cardboard to cut out two separate pieces for the pattern - one is the "head" and the other is the "mane".
Leave the two ears on the head pattern, because you can cut off the extra ear on each side.




STEP 2:

This is how the pattern looks when placed together. Make sure the pieces fit pretty snugly together.



STEP 3:

Use patterns to trace on felt. Mane on white felt, Heads on red felt, and free cut holly leaves on green felt. Below, this picture shows a felt head from both sides - remember to cut two head pieces and four holly leaves for each horse - but you only need one mane piece for each one. Stitch them (or hot glue them) together on the outside edges, and you'll have a "pocket" for the candy cane to go through. Remember what I said about being able to snip off the extra ear, depending on the side you're working with. The mane and cord loop get glued just inside the red felt head, usually before sewing the two red felt pieces together.



STEP 4:

Add wiggle eyes, decorative beads or buttons and holly leaves using glue. Cut mane with sharp scissors to give it a fringed look (note: I've also seen her use actual fringe for the manes and they looked great!) Add candy cane and optional printed holiday message and Voila! You're done! A Candy Cane Horse!



Heck, if the spirit really moves you, go crazy and make a whole stable full of them! They make a great presentation as party favors, etc. or put them in stockings or tie to presents.



One last note. Mom said that the felt with the glitter already pressed into it looks more festive but is a lot stiffer and doesn't have as much "give" to work with around the candy cane.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS EVERYONE!!

~ A Good Day To Read ~

The day is hushed and grey, today.
Still enough that the sound
Of fat, silvered raindrops,
Slides and splashes
down.

A world of wet beyond the window,
Muted and muffled, with cold
patchy fog and puddles,
So early, yet the day
feels...
old.

Thankful am I, that I'm inside,
in a bubble of warm and dry.
A day for napping
Or reading, as the rain
eventually
passes
by.

~ C.L.R. ~ © 2008

If you REALLY wanna make a difference this Christmas...

It really is better to give than receive. Giving, in itself, may be seen as a selfish motivation because of how good it makes the giver feel to make a difference. But that's no reason not to give.

Every year around Christmas, I try to find something charitable to give to, or someone who really needs the help, in my small attempt to make the world a better place, a little piece at a time.

We'll all probably be bombarded this year by those asking us to "give" and for our charitable contributions, whether it's the local shelter or soup kitchen doing a holiday food-drive or the people who stand in the bitter cold ringing a bell for the Salvation Army.  Even in such a tight economy, peoples' generosity amazes me. In a country that I have come to believe is becoming more and more self-centered, narcissistic, selfish and apathetic, I still manage to find a few bright lights of those souls who honestly CARE about the "Have Nots".  And it makes me cry happy tears and gives me a lump in my throat - because they are shining examples of one of the best parts of human nature.

This year, I found the perfect cause. It's an organization called "Inner Harbour" and they help abused kids ranging from age 6 up through 18. These kids have nothing. They've been shuffled around from house to house, been through some really horrible situations, and have managed to not only survive, but finally arrive at a place where they can get the help and care that they need. But their Christmas won't be that great without some help.

I'm posting this to make anyone who reads this aware of how you could help make a kid's Christmas a good one this season. If you can give, great! If not, maybe you can at least pass along the information to someone who can.

I'd like to thank MaryAnn for blogging about this, and referring people to Laurie's blog, who posted the video about Inner Harbour and the link to donate.

We can ALL make a difference, even if it's only a dollar or two, one person at a time. It all adds up. :) Thanks for reading. The video is only about 2 minutes long and gives a better idea of what your giving can accomplish.

Bright Blessings to all of you this season!
~ Corina

..

~ Needing more meaning ~

If nothing lasts forever,
If Love is just temporary,
And living in "now" feels selfish,
Thoughtless moments of contrary,
How does one find balance,
Between want and need?
Surrender?

Dissatisfied with pointless pursuits,
Wondering if the deeper points exist,
Or if following them is a dream in itself,
Between now and then,
What we resist, persists.
Here and Now walked on
By Future's unknown boots.

The inner looking glass reflects,
What and who I was and am.
Who I will be, is up to me,
But the choice of now,
Defined by my hand,
Somehow seems to fall short
Of what this soul expects.

Does the perfectionist ever find lasting peace?
Will this life ever make total sense?
These questions I fight,
In the dead quiet of night,
Old, imperfect wounds opened makes me tense,
And I search for a more stable breath of release.

~ C.L.R. ~ © 2008

~ Sometimes Silence ~

Sometimes silence is better, when it's unknown what's said would do. With too much to say, but not enough words, a tangled tongue would come across as true. When wanting the outcome to be in my favor, would sway the persuasion and leave silence to savor the answer, later, then saying nothing is the safer course. Keeping one's own counsel can be confusing, but at least then the listeners are of one's own choosing and not to mention the tension caused by unfounded accusing and how it can wreck a quiet voice more easily ignored.

Sometimes, to speak, would bring worse things than what silence keeps, in its deep, peaceful rings of calm which radiate outward from center. The only clue that a storm whirled under the surface would be the slight ripples, when worry can un-nerve us and disrupt the serenity one tries to achieve. But, if there's a crevasse, so deep beneath the waves, then what matters calm, if it's all make-believe? What would my alter ego do with the tranquility I sent her? Try to create more friction by overanalyzing the things I abhored?

Probably. So, sometimes silence is the better choice. It hurts less people that way. If and when the howl of the storm ever dies down, I'll hear myself enough to distinguish my real voice, and maybe then I'll know how to explain what I'll say.

~ C.L.R. ~ © 2008

~ The Mirror’s Edge ~

Is a woman's soul bound to the mirror's glass?
Her identity trapped in the image she sees?
Is it tied to the reflection which disgusts her eyes?
Brainwashed into believing society's lies?

When less than outer perfection is shown,
That inner critic can be so unkind.
This shell, this body, I'd like to disown;
Seems like it's always "too fat" in this mind.

When diet and exercise fail to cause change,
A woman starts looking for other recourse.
How many women have died from those pills?
Convinced they would cure all their self-image ills?

Why can't we be satisfied with ourselves?
Can our minds and our bodies ever be friends?
Striving to be the women on magazine shelves,
Driven to extremes and unhealthy ends.

Speak not to me of shallow double standards,
This looking-glass prisoner knows all too well.
If womens' worth is only a surface virtue of skin,
Then how to find peace with these bodies we're in?

There are those who say they don't mind a plump form,
Who seem so accepting of our real women's curves,
But see if they're willing to give up their porn,
And the truth is revealed, for the purpose it serves.

Love and Lust are two very different things.
Why can't a woman be deserving of both?
We can love the women that we are inside.
But lust is for women who never have to hide

From the mirror's edge.

~ C.L.R. ~ © 2008

~ Waking the Dead ~

A chill wind blows across the pregnant moon,

clouding sky and darkening night.

The midnight hour is just now past,

and the shadows take winged flight.

The blackness hovers 'round the rippling ground,

caressing the crumbling stones...

From beneath them, now, there comes a sound

of aging, rotted bones.

Filthy, ragged fingertips punch through dirt,

clawing steadily to reach night's air...

The clods of mucked earth fall away,

Revealing a skull, and matted chunks of hair.

It groans an empty, whispered hiss,

the vocal chords all rot and slime.

Climbing slowly out of putrescent mud,

clothes naught but rags and putrid grime.

Its dead, cold, fishy eyes aware,

the zombie struggles free.

No more caged in wretched grave!

The wormy lips twist in wicked glee.

Nearby, another corpse shambles forth,

spilling liquid, from its stinking tomb.

Sliding out of the muddy, squelching earth,

it too, moans tortured doom.

Slick earthworms writhe through rotten flesh,

and the sickening death-stench grows...

Beetles scuttle through a gaping, slack mouth,

and glistening black, scurry back,

through the nose.

The soft plop of an eyeball as it wetly slides

down a cheek in a dangling glare.

Ages of maggots have done their dank work

Green, decayed meat falls here and there.

The army of Death is gathering,

 unholy groans carried on the foul wind.

All the dead shall rise and walk the Earth

and Apocalypse shall begin...

Staggering, shambling, lurching forms

announced by the ripe smell of flesh rotten,

they move with skeletal, faltering steps

towards the warm blood they'd almost forgotten.

Craving the life they'll never have again,

their sorrow and fury complete.

Hungering, thousands of them wake!

To roam the unsuspecting streets!

By morning, none living will remain,

the fearful screams and thuds will have ceased....

The only sounds will be of the dead...insane...

as they gather to the fresh flesh feast!

Beware of the gluttony of the walking dead,

for your fear whets their appetite!

And pray that when they come for you,

you'll be among the first to die tonight...

~ C.L.R. ~ © 2003

~ The Wraith ~

Another old one from years past, appropriate for the season...

Slipping from slumber,

into the night.

With fangs that rend,

and fears that bite.

Red eyes that glow with a gleaming heat,

ever seeking out fresh meat.

Like oily smoke, it slithering seeps

in sliding shadows,

quietly creeps.

It beckons with a blackened claw,

and amused, it laughs,

with a hissing maw.

It steals into the deepest dreams,

smothering even the loudest screams.

Tainting all the light it finds,

and feasting on the shell-shocked minds.

So silent, it revels in the dark,

leaving nothing, not a mark.

All through the night,

until the dawn.

And then it hides,

to sleep and spawn.

And wisping slips away again,

before the sun can scald it's skin.

Shrinking back to places black,

It clings to every precious crack,

Hunger sated 'till the darkening hour,

When the wraith will return,

with mysterious power...

 

~ C.L.R. ~ © 2003

~ Running With The Moon ~

Another older poem in the 'spirit' of the season....

The dying sun sinks,

and red daylight shrinks,

the night is coming soon.

I feel the tingle and swell

of the mystical spell,

when I'm running with the moon!

 

The Wolf deep inside,

will no longer hide;

teeth and claws gleam white.

Swift, fierce rampage,

of bloody, savage rage

when the moon shines full tonight!

 

Rending and ripping,

my red fangs dripping,

I savor the fear-laden feast!

Sharp cracking of bone,

a howl of pain, all alone,

and the madness of feeding the beast!

 

An endless run through the dark,

senses amplified, sharp.

The hunter pulses through my veins.

Finally seeking dead sleep,

my secret to keep,

'till the curse inside mercifully wanes...

 

The moon at last dips,

the insanity slips,

and the memories fade into black.

To be me again, soon,

after a run with the moon,

though I know next month the beast will be back....
~ C.L.R. © 2003 ~