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Rambles thru the Brambles
A Magical Journey
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You should read the Bordertown books. You should also think about entering the Sweepstakes to get some Bordertown books.

That is all.
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Once again, Dear Ones, Let Poetry Bless the Interwebs!!
It is that time of year again, when bloggers around the world post a favorite poem in honor of Brigid, the Irish goddess and patron saint of smithcraft, poetry, and healing. Brigid’s feast day is February 1st, so between now and then is the perfect time to publish a poem to celebrate. Last year many great poems were published all over the web. This year, I have set up a Community Facebook Page to help people easily view each other's poems and to share them around as much as possible. If you post a poem on your blog, please share the link on the community page so we can all go there and read it. If you don't have a blog or website of your own, go ahead and post your poem in its entirety to the community page.

Current Mood: happy happy

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Sadly, I am cynical enough to find this amusing...

Not sure how long linky to cartoon will last. See the whole set
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My calendar notes "In the Commonwealth, today is Remembrance Day, when at the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month, each person pauses for two minutes of silence to remember and honor those who made sacrifices in war and to repeat the unifying thought of this day: "Never forget, and never again."

I first heard this song back in 1981, from an Australian friend's mix tape. I listen to it each year on this day.


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Yeah, What Hecate Said


and Listen:
Thanks to everyone who worked, suffered, was tortured, gave all, and died to win this right [to vote] for me. I will call your names with each button that I push tomorrow morning. Because I'm a Witch. Because I'm a magic-worker. Because I can.
Or as Ani would say, Vote Dammit!
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Originally posted by neo_prodigy at Spirit Day

It’s been decided. On October 20th, 2010, we will wear purple in honor of the 6 gay boys who committed suicide in recent weeks/months due to homophobic abuse in their homes at at their schools. Purple represents Spirit on the LGBTQ flag and that’s exactly what we’d like all of you to have with you: spirit. Please know that times will get better and that you will meet people who will love you and respect you for who you are, no matter your sexuality. Please wear purple on October 20th. Tell your friends, family, co-workers, neighbors and schools.

RIP Tyler Clementi, Seth Walsh (top)
RIP Justin Aaberg, Raymond Chase (middle)
RIP Asher Brown and Billy Lucas. (bottom)

REBLOG to spread a message of love, unity and peace.

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A poem fragment -- because I can't decide if it's done or not...

Brigid In Snow

Brigid stands in the doorway
Broom ready to sweep the snow
The song of the bees a slow hum
Deep, deep in Her bones

Brigid clears the pathway
Singing under Her breath
The song an early gift
From a bard long dead

Brigid draws the well water
And lights the forge fire
Unhurried, deliberate,
Creating poetry in metal

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by Margaret Atwood

Winter. Time to eat fat
and watch hockey. In the pewter mornings, the cat,
a black fur sausage with yellow
Houdini eyes, jumps up on the bed and tries
to get onto my head. It’s his
way of telling whether or not I’m dead.
If I’m not, he wants to be scratched; if I am
He’ll think of something. He settles
on my chest, breathing his breath
of burped-up meat and musty sofas,
purring like a washboard. Some other tomcat,
not yet a capon, has been spraying our front door,
declaring war. It’s all about sex and territory,
which are what will finish us off
in the long run. Some cat owners around here
should snip a few testicles. If we wise
hominids were sensible, we’d do that too,
or eat our young, like sharks.
But it’s love that does us in. Over and over
again, He shoots, he scores! and famine
crouches in the bedsheets, ambushing the pulsing
eiderdown, and the windchill factor hits
thirty below, and pollution pours
out of our chimneys to keep us warm.
February, month of despair,
with a skewered heart in the centre.
I think dire thoughts, and lust for French fries
with a splash of vinegar.
Cat, enough of your greedy whining
and your small pink bumhole.
Off my face! You’re the life principle,
more or less, so get going
on a little optimism around here.
Get rid of death. Celebrate increase. Make it be spring.

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From 21 Love Poems
Adrianne Rich

Wherever in this city, screens flicker
with pornography, with science-fiction vampires,
victimized hirelings bending to the lash,
we also have to walk . . . if simply as we walk
through the rainsoaked garbage, the tabloid cruelties
of our own neighborhoods.
We need to grasp our lives inseperable
from those rancid dreams, that blurt of metal, those disgraces,
and the red begonia perilously flashing
from a tenement sill six stories high,
or the long-legged young girls playing ball
in the junior highschool playground.
No one has imagined us. We want to live like trees,
sycamores blazing through the sulfuric air,
dappled with scars, still exuberantly budding,
our animal passion rooted in the city.

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