January 7, 2023

OLD SONGS

 

I was wondering

if everyone has some old songs

that are still playing back there

and down there in the bottom

of the basement of their being – 

a song or two that starts playing again – 

when they are walking through a bank

or an office building – or simply

while twisting the radio dial while

driving alone doing some shopping

on a Saturday morning. Surprise

there are more songs waiting for you

to attach themselves to your feelings

and your experiences.  Twist those

dials. Turn up the volume. Listen

and sing along with the old songs.

Reflections © Andy Costello

 January 7, 2023

Quote for Today

"What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime. It is the little shadow which runs across thee grass and loses itself in the sunset."

Crowfoot [1821-1890]

Last Words [1890]

 January 6, 2023

PROOFS THAT GOD EXISTS

 

Rain, but not all rainy days.

The bark of trees – especially pine.

Ice cream – with the right ingredients,

the right cold and the right flavor -

and enjoying it with the right person.

Of course, other sights: a tiny green leaf -

clover growing in between cement on

sidewalk cracks – but not my sidewalk.

A full moon on the ocean – Eucharist –

the monstance of dark black night sky -

light shaking on the waters at 11 P.M.

and big mountains – especially

big Colorado grey mountains and

a lot more – more – keep noticing.

 

Reflections © Andy Costello

 January 6, 2023

Quote for Today

"Hats off, gentlemen - a genius."

Robert Schumann [1810-1856]

On first hearing Frederic Chopin's music [1831]

January 5, 2023

BLUE BLACK INK

 

It used to come in surprise shaped two inch high bottles:

Waterman’s blue black ink. Even as a tiny kid I could get

an injection of ink from them – using the gold colored clip

on the side of’ my fountain pen. It gave me enough ink

to do my homework. It gave me enough ink to write

a 9 year old’s first poems. Where are they now? Sorry

to say, they are mostly gone. Yet I would think they were

part of my path to becoming a poet. Then there was my 3^rd

year high school English teacher – who read a  poem I

wrote out loud. Mentioning my name said, “Never ever 

write a poem again.” Everyone in the class laughed.

As a result of that comment, I didn’t write my next poem,

till I was 35. Fountain pens were almost gone. Ball point

pens were now in – usually with blue or black ink.  

At a workshop we were told to write a poem and I said

to myself, “Oh no!” Yet we had to – and then everyone

picked my poem. I often think where did all the poems I

would have written from 15 till 35 go?  Maybe they are

there in black and blue on the skin paper of my soul.

 

Reflections © Andy Costello

 

January 5, 2023

Quote for Today

"Hear that lonesome whipperpoorwill?

He sounds too blue to fly. 

The midnight train is whining low,

I'm so lonesome I could cry."

Hank Williams [1923-1953]

I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry [1942]

 January 4, 2023

 

DOORS

 

Maybe it’s a good idea to pause

for just a split second when we

come to a door. It's probably not

heaven's door - but who knows -

who really knows who and what

is on the other side of any door?

Stop - pause - wonder - before ringing

the bell or knocking on that door.

Maybe a  prayer would be good –

or a hope – or maybe a question –

or a “You never know” – wondering

whether this person we’re about to meet

could use recognition – could feel we’re really

here for them and not us. Them! Them! Them!

And sometimes - sorry - sorry - sorry - we

can knock and knock and knock and

nobody is on the other side of that door.

Reflections © Andy Costello