I have always sensed moist tenderness and sadness and compassion attending your presence. Pounding a table with your boots - demanding acknowledgement of unarguable basic human needs.
Is that why you addressed me at this time? I gather there has been rough water on the thread - keeping afloat in it has strained at you. Your compassionate nature senses out mine, and you emit a whisper for support, not factual, but spiritual (little 'g' god).
If that is even subconsciously close to the mark, you have whispered in the right direction. (That came out, at first, '...in the right ear.' Silly. What is this language that connects all our interiors?)
I have not scrolled the posts for details of the rough water, simply get the idea from recent comments. You cannot despair! Tired, that's in the rules. 'S healthy. Despair is almost personal defeat. And forces such as you should never be defeated.
I see Terry is playing his same refrain repeatedly - and with a new friend, Dwight, who is endorsed by J. Barrett - Wheeeee!
The poem is something I can respond to only from a personal angle. This is 100% subjective: 1) The Pure in Heart are obviously the culprits. 2) I would not let 'diingoes' localize the culprits. She could be using her present environment for metaphoric color. 3) Irishmen, and, especially, Irishwomen, at home or abroad, appear to carry on a certain sad keening connected with the native sod. Woe. Woe. Woe. I find several translatable indications that this is against Catholics - only if it was written within the past year. Could be the rotten Brits? Whatever. A terror of being zapped, of having our children drunk from, of being removed from the soil by wretched Pure Ones. Our Christian Right is in there in spirit.
See. A nothing response, Christine. Sorry to disappoint you.
My Chinese Mail-Order Bride Quest has gone no where. At times I know there is terror somewhere just beyond my skin. I avoid it, not without a goosebump or two. This day is the first of my summer off. Stopped teaching last week. So, I will drop by your tantalizing quarters every now and then. And thrilled, or honored, by having been in your consciousness. Fondly, gsm |
