Archive for the ‘dreams’ Tag

When Life Was Young   1 comment

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This old worn out guitar
won’t let me go near as far
as that beautiful winking star

In the moonlight it seems
I’m forever tied to dreams
held in balance, life’s extremes

I find you in the morning light
And in the starlight of the night
With this I know that all is right

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Love and cherished memories 

are tied to happy reveries 

of the days when life was young

Blue-Moon.[1]

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Good Night Everybody

 

~~ Good Night   4 comments

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Veranda - Buena Vista - Biloxi

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Sweet Dreams

Sleep doesn’t come as I close my eyes

I still see the moonlit starry skies

And hear the faint melody of the band inside

As we dance on the beautiful balcony outside

Another slow waltz, as we glide ‘cross the floor

And quietly slip away through the veranda’s back door

Was not in our mind to spend the night at a dance

When under the moonlight we dreamed of romance.

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Paul

~ Christmas Card ~   6 comments

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Merry Christmas all languages

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To all of you…

May the celebration of the Christmas holiday, and the coming of a New Year

bring happiness, joy, love, and peace to you, your families, and your countries.

May your days be filled with sunshine

May your fondest dreams come true

Moon and stars to light your night

And your skies be ever blue.

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Merry Christmas Everyone

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Good Night !

Paul

 

~~ Who Am I ? ~~   6 comments

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I am the music of my soul

With horns and harps and strings

I fill myself with joyful things

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I am the artist of my dreams

I dip my brush into the moon

And paint the sky with stars

019-blue-heart-love-emotion[1]I am the love that’s in my heart

My always gift to you

That all who see and hear and love

Will find their dreams come true

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GOOD NIGHT EVERYBODY  !

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Posted September 8, 2015 by PapaBear in Other Art, Personal, Photo, Prose

Tagged with , , , , , , , , , ,

~~ A Mississippi Evening ~~   4 comments

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Sitting out on the deck this evening and the feeling is so much the same as so many years ago, sitting out on the veranda watching the moonrise and the stars appear one-by-one in the night sky.  The day was miserably humid and hot as johnny cakes on the griddle but has cooled into just a warm, soft evening.  Lightning bugs are flashing their signals in the bushes along the edge of the back yard and there is just a caress of a gulf coast breeze……, just like a soft Mississippi evening so very long ago…….

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Soft summer evening, just my love and I

Sittin’ on the back porch under a nighttime sky

Talkin’ ’bout yesterday ‘n’ dreams we had

Dreamin’ ’bout tomorrow ‘n’ feelin’ glad

Lookin’ into her eyes, she’s lookin’ at me

Hopin’ that she sees the love that I see

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Good Night Everybody !

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~~ Dreaming, Walking, Dancing….. ~~   1 comment

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Random thoughts and ideas that come in the late night, the wee hours of the morning, or maybe while I’m out mowing the lawn…, usually never when there’s a pen and paper, or a computer handy.

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Blue-Moon.[1]

In the stillness of night
In this soft quiet it seems
I let my heart take flight
To reach out, touch my dreams.

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In the light of the early dawn
When the world starts to wake
I turn and you are gone
And, again, my heart breaks

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Walk with me in the shadows of the moonlight
Come look with me at the beautiful star filled skies
Fill your soul with the magic of the night
Share with me the love I see in your eyes
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Dance along the mountain peaks
Sail across the shinning deep blue sea
Smell the scent of a floral woodland breeze
No one else here, just you and me
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Holding you close as we dance
A slow waltz ‘cross the crowded floor
Hearts reaching for romance
And hoping hard for so much more
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Laying together across the big bed
Talking softly of dreams we’ve shared
Passionate feelings dance ’round in our heads
With a smile, then a touch, then a dare

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~ Ireland ~ Stories, Legends, and Lore   3 comments

These are just a few tidbits and stories of Eire that I found along the way and thought to share with you.

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18645Forest-Nymph[1]

The Stolen Bride

About the year 1670 there was a fine young fellow living at a place called Querin, in the County Clare. He was brave and strong and rich, for he had his own land and his own house, and not one to lord it over him. He was called the Kern of Querin. And many a time he would go out alone to shoot the wild fowl at night along the lonely strand and sometimes cross over northward to the broad east strand, about two miles away, to find the wild geese.

One cold frosty November Eve He was watching for them, crouched down behind the ruins of an old hut, when a loud splashing noise attracted his attention. “It is the wild geese,” he thought, and raising his gun, waited in death-like silence the approach of his victim.
But presently he saw a dark mass moving along the edge of the strand. And he knew there were no wild geese near him. So he watched and waited till the black mass came closer, and then he distinctly perceived four stout men carrying a bier on their shoulders, on which lay a corpse covered with a white cloth. For a few moments they laid it down, apparently to rest themselves, and the Kern instantly fired; on which the four men ran away shrieking, and the corpse was left alone on the bier. Kern of Querin immediately sprang to the place, and lifting the cloth from the face of the corpse, beheld by the freezing starlight, the form of a beautiful young girl, apparently not dead but in a deep sleep.

Gently he passed his hand over her face and raised her up, when she opened her eyes and looked around with wild wonder, but spake never a word, though he tried to soothe and encourage her. Then, thinking it was dangerous for them to remain in that place, he raised her from the bier, and taking her hand led her away to his own house. They arrived safely, but in silence. And for twelve months did she remain with the Kern, never tasting food or speaking word for all that time.

When the next November Eve came round, he resolved to visit the east strand again, and watch from the same place, in the hope of meeting with some adventure that might throw light on the history of the beautiful girl. His way lay beside the old ruined fort called Lios-na-fallainge (the Fort of the Mantle), and as he passed, the sound of music and mirth fell on his ear. He stopped to catch the words of the voices, and had not waited long when he heard a man say in a low whisper–“Where shall we go to-night. to carry off a bride?” And a second voice answered–Wherever we go I hope better luck will be ours than we had this day twelvemonths.”

“Yes,” said a third; “on that night we carried off a rich prize, the fair daughter of O’Connor; but that clown, the Kern of Querin, broke our spell and took her from us. Yet little pleasure has he had of his bride, for she has neither eaten nor drank nor uttered a word since she entered his house.”

“And so she will remain,” said a fourth,” until he makes her eat off her father’s table-cloth, which covered her as she lay on the bier, and which is now thrown up over the top of her bed.”

On hearing all this, the Kern rushed home, and without waiting even for the morning, entered the young girl’s room, took down the table-cloth, spread it on the table, laid meat and drink thereon, and led her to it. “Drink,” he said, “that speech may come to you.” And she drank, and ate of the food, and then speech came. And she told the Kern her story–how she was to have been married to a young lord of her own country, and the wedding guests had all assembled, when she felt herself suddenly ill and swooned away, and never knew more of what had happened to her until the Kern had passed his hand over her face, by which she recovered consciousness, but could neither eat nor speak, for a spell was on her, and she was helpless.

Then the Kern prepared a chariot, and carried home the young girl to her father, who was like to die for joy when he beheld her. And the Kern grew mightily in O’Connor’s favour, so that at last he gave him his fair young daughter to wife; and the wedded pair lived together happily for many long years after, and no evil befell them, but good followed all the work of their hands.

This story of Kern of Querin still lingers in the faithful, vivid Irish memory, and is often told by the peasants of Clare when they gather round the fire on the awful festival of Samhain, or November Eve, when the dead walk, and the spirits of earth and air have power over mortals, whether for good or evil

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Danny Boy

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Ah, my fine friends, ’tis time to put all myths legends, and stories to bed for the night

……, and himself too ! 

Tomorrow would be another day, wouldn’t it now?  And might there be a few more bits of legend and lore lingerin’ about to bring to ya, so I’d be wishin’ ya a fine good night and peace in yer dreams…

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