Of Coffee With My Father

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If you were having coffee with me…. I would say hello and thank you for visiting me.

I would tell you that my garden has been growing on me, its been giving me quite an interesting perceptive on things and life. You see I have fictional character in a work in progress who rather likes to garden; the story doesn’t have much of plot as, yet, but its coming along nicely…. See what I did there?

If you were having coffee with me I would ask you what would you do if you found a rose growing in your vegetable garden?

Would you let it grow?

Let it Grow; Let it Grow

If you were having coffee with me; I would ask you that did you know why you spell it Father’s Day and not  Fathers’ Day? Well not only is it the correct grammar but you are celebrating Your Father as an individual and not all the Fathers in the world, just yours.

If you are lucky to have one you can say Happy Father’s day to then say it while you can; sometimes dads are not quite as appreciated as they deserve; even just checking at the way the days have been commercialized people spend more for their mothers than for their fathers … how about that!

My dad passed away when I was young and I remember watching this movie called Neria; where the relatives of a widowed woman suddenly crawled from the woodwork demanding their share of the inheritance from their late brother’s estate; eventually everything got solved thanks to inheritance law and the judicial system.

I used to wonder if an uncle would show up and say “this is my house now” and claim our mom as wife; that’s what used to happen in the old days, that’s tradition for you. Traditions are slowly evolving and I remember the family elders assuring us; they would support my mum and us; and our estate would be ours and ours alone, and none of these opportunistic customs; the uncles would not even accept my father’s old suits; saying keep them in storage until his children are old enough for them… that is how I still have My Father’s watch… (feel free to read)

Oliver Mtukudzi’s feature track from the movie Neria featuring Joss Stone during her visit to Zimbabwe….

If you were having coffee with me I would share with you this tribute:

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If I have seen,

 FURTHER,

 it’s because I was carried on the shoulders

of A giant,

MY FATHER;

Who carried me until I could walk,

And then watched me run,

And still he watches over me as I learn to fly

 

Thank you for visiting its been a pleasure having you…… have a blessed week.

~B

PS Yes I drew That In case you are wondering, wander no further….

PPS UpDATE we have so far managed to raise 100 bibles yey and many thanks to all the wonderful people who made it possible….. ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

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Of FITTING

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Fitting by Josie Mills

You and Me
walking down the beach
just after dawn

The old people
walk up the beach into old age
you say
while we walk the other way
eternally young
eternally holding the hour
of walking down the beach
just after dawn

A woman
wrinkled dark and beautiful from the sun
picks up trash
you bend pick up some plastic
put it in her bag
and rinse your hands in the sea

You smile and greet each passerby
while I keep within our world together
and the evolution of beach animals
marks on the sand

You dart and chatter
while I walk quiet and straight
content just to have your hand
so fitting in mine

♥♥♥♥♥

Bio:
I’m Josie Mills, and I’ve been writing poetry since I was around 10 years old. I have a degree in creative writing with a focus on poetry writing. I teach writing now at a community college. I’ve had poems published in the journals Snakeskin and Mantis among others.I live in Denver, Colorado, with my husband, two sons, and our cat Moe :-). I write the blog Open Mind Fashion (OMF) for fun: http://www.openmindfashion.com or http://www.facebook.com/openmindfashion

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~B

..and it happens to be her birthday today, Happy BIRTHDAY ♥♥♥ she wrote this piece awhile ago and I felt it had that je ne sais quois  for a birthday month and also February month of love ♥♥♥♥♥ 

also find her on Twitter for an interesting look at fashion tips for people without a closet full of money…

PS forever young ☻☺ 

Of My Father’s Watch

My Father’s Watch

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My father had a watch, a Seiko Kinetic automatic watch, stainless steel with 17 jewels. You know the kind you don’t wind up, and as long as you wear it regularly, somehow it self-winds, and ticks on and on and on…. It came in a black velvet box with a warranty card that declared a lifetime guarantee, I have always wondered how long a life time guarantee lasts, whose lifetime do they mean when they say lifetime guarantee…….

My father had a watch a Seiko Kinetic; he wore it every day from the day he got it, a Christmas present from some duty-free shop at some airport somewhere. I do not know how much it cost but I am sure it wasn’t a price one sneezed at… He wore it so much that the skin beneath it was lighter toned than the rest of his arm. When I try to remember him, I remember him wearing that watch. He never did but  I can imagine him saying to me “Son, a gentleman must always know what time it is, you do what needs to be done, on time, when it needs to be done, in time, and then after,  you can do what you want with all the time you have left , but first you do what needs to be done…”

The only time he was without that watch, was when my little hands were throwing dust to dust and everyone was crying.

My father had a watch a Seiko Kinetic, he made me a promise that when I could tell the time like a grown-up he would get me one for my birthday. But death, the untimely visitor came knocking, knocking down even the best laid plans, just like that….. If he could have given me a last present he would have given me that watch for my birthday; I dont remember if he was the sort of man to give grand speeches, maybe I was simply too young to have really known him or had proper father to son talk but if he could he would have said

“My son, we have only life, love and time in this world, The Creator gave you life, you can find love all by yourself and as for time I didn’t start the clock, no one can turn it back, I cannot give it you, only this clock to watch it tick away……..”

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I have a watch, a Seiko Kinetic, it used to be father’s now I have it and I watch it ticking. The hands of every watch, are clippers, trimming us away tick tock tick tock. The hands of time an illusion lulling us into believing we can tame time, control it even, but every second used is discarded,

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Discarded

rushing off

slipping from my palms,

through the gaps

in my fingers like a leaky jar…..

TIME

never stopping in this moment

 

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What happens

to all the seconds

tipped into the bin of the past?

Discarded

then gathered up into a tapestry of memories and history……  

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I have this watch, a Seiko Kinetic, I don’t know if they still make them like this because today marks the day I have watched it tick for 21 years, before that it was my father’s watch. I look at it and I ask myself how much time do we have, not how many hours or seconds in a day but how much time, do we have….

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……The watch keeps on ticking and it doesn’t care how much time we think we have because in the end, it is never enough, it always runs out….. That’s what gives life meaning to know that time runs out…….

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My father had this watch, this Seiko Kinetic, I have it now, I watch it tick and I make every moment count………….watch.jpg

~B

Of The Silent Treatment

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Love

She was Stubborn,

He was Patient,

Or maybe he was Obstinate,

And she was Persistent;

Yet back to back they sat,

And neither said a word,

Only silence,

An invisible wall

Too flimsy to see

until with time it was an unbreakable barrier,

and the price of silence;

regret……©

~B

PS inspired by the image**

**The image is of a sculpture titled Love by Alexander Milov from Odessa, Ukraine exhibited at the Burning Man Festival.

“The outer and inner expression of human nature….. Their inner selves are executed in the form of transparent children, who are holding out their hands through the grating. As it’s getting dark (night falls) the children start to shine. This shining is a symbol of purity and sincerity that brings people together and gives a chance of making up when the dark time arrives.”

~Alexander Milov

Photo: credit Dust to ashes©

Of The Flower In My Garden

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There’s a flower in my garden,
more special than a rose,
with sweet beauty it grows,
from where my happiness looms,
in the light of my smile it blooms,
breathtaking to see it from above,
entrancing like a waking dove,
wings of petals unfolding, rising in the warmth of my love,
in perfect blossom,
cheerful and buxom,
I am its Sun,
nourishing its growth,
appreciating its worth,
in a dreamy haze,
it basks in my rays,
delighting in the attention of my affection,
blushing,
dancing to the breeze of my motion,
swishing,
I blow it a gentle kiss to lightly caress each leaf,
shyly waves back at me with a touch of mischief,
a little gesture but enough,
to make me smile and laugh,
my love
my flower,
my joy,
the flower in my garden,
it may not be the most beautiful flower,
but it is mine to cherish and shower,
praises and treasure,
watching it grow in my garden,
if I am not near,
somewhere far not here,
dew shaped teardrops appear,
shedding a silent tear,
wilting with each passing moment of my absence,
only to be revitalised by my presence,
soòn as I lavish my attention,
melting away the tension,
the teardrops disappear just like dew vanishes in the morning light,
mist in the departing night,
leaving wet sparkling spots,
inkblots on colorful thoughts,
it seems to glow with a shimmering radiance,
scenting the air with a lingering radaiance,
its supple stem bends to the breeze
but never breaks ,
proudly holding up its petals in quiet dignity,
tribute to its gentle beauty,
I reach out and with caution,
hold it as i would a droplet from the ocean ,
the delicate stem rests snuggly in my hand in complete trust and abandon,
of the innocent maiden,
I could pluck it from the ground,
twist it around
or snap its stem just as a child can snap a blade of grass,
fragile like shard of glass,
without a thought,
but I would never do the sort,
to the treasure in my garden,
it grows just for me,
just as I live to see,
the color it adds to my life.

Plant your own garden and decorate your own soul

Of Chess with God

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life,
feels like a chess game,
with God,
you plan,
He laughs,
you make a move,
He wills,
you propose,
He disposes,
you make CHOICES,
He CHALLENGES,
you pray for BLESSINGS,
He gives you OPPORTUNITIES to earn your shillings
you pray for STRENGTH,
He gives you OBSTACLES to build it,
you pray for PATIENCE,
He makes you WAIT in silence
you want WEALTH, to do great DEEDS,
He grants you HEALTH, to tend to better NEEDS,
you pray for LOVE,
He guides you to PEOPLE, to take care of,
you pray for THINGS to ENJOY LIFE,
Yet He already gave you LIFE to enjoy THINGS,
you never get what you ask for, what you WANT
His moves unpredictable,
mysterious,
shaping you for what you truely NEED.

~~~

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Of A Mother’s love

Happy Father’s day to my mother for being the best father a mother could be.

My father rest his soul passed away when I was a young boy. I don’t remember him half as much as I would like but from the memories of those who were older to have known the man he was I learnt that he left some impressive shoes to fill and my mum manned up continued from where he left phenomenally, to raise three boys and two girls single handedly, to be kids our father would be proud to call his.

It was not the easiest of journeys made mistakes, may have fallen and scraped my knees a couple of times, but I learnt to ride a bicycle, eventually, just like I might have cut myself the first few times but I figured out the art of shaving, I haven’t ever been a fight because my mum taught me violence is never a solution, I am a lover not a fighter (and also no one ever taught me how to throw a decent punch *hides*)

If I put my mind to it I can cook just as well or better than my sisters and apparently chicks dig this.. (erm if you reading this what I mean is the chickens when you grill them properly, you know in a humane way and not just burn to crisp) from awkward birds and bees conversations to life lessons to laughter, life and everything else you handled it and I think we turned ok, better than ok, awesome and maybe a lil crazy, too it rubbed on it’s a good thing its strength, yes and faith.

Happy Father’s Day you are the man mum!

A Mother's Love

A Mother’s Love

I am,

I live,

I love,

Because you loved me.

You loved me,

Before I was even here.

You held me,

Before I even had a name,

And I was never the same.

You claimed me,

With a gentle touch,

You raised me,

To be whom I am today.

With your love,

Selfless and endless,

Unconditional and unlimited,

And patient,

Enduring and everlasting,

An angel without wings,

With a hug and a kiss,

Straightening life’s curves,

Brightening the world,

With the simplest things,

I am,

I live,

I love,

Because of your love,

Your hands,

They held me.

Your hands,

They fed me.

Your hands,

They warmed me.

Your hands,

They clothed me.

Your hands,

They taught me.

Your hands,

They held mine in prayer.

Your hands,

They give without taking.

All that sacrifice and pain,

It’s a feeling I can’t explain.

A mother’s love,

for you I have,

an appreciation that knows no measure.

I am,

I live,

I love,

Because you loved me,

by you I am Blessed.

Continue reading

Of my sister moon

It’s because you gone,
That I am writing this,
my sister moon,
I remember it like it was yesterday,
Even though it’s been a year
It was a Sunday,
You took your last breath that day,
It would make us smile to see you shine
again,
But you gone to never return,
You shone brief but so bright,
I never cried,
That year I cried twice,
The day you got married
and the day you died.
you lived,
and loved
so full of life,
I had a dream,
you were here,
when you still shone,
You said you were afraid,
The light would stop shining,
I said the light never stops shining,
In the hearts of those you touched.
My sister moon,
It will always be like just yesterday,
we live on,
your memories in our hearts,
Until that day,
Written in the book of life.

Of reflections

Of reflections

Stares into depth of mirror,
Asks self “Who am I?”
Questions self  “Who are you, to ask me who I am?”
Your reflection” I reply
Have you ever looked,
Really  looked at your identification particulars,
And realised its nothing but
A piece of paper, plastic or metal in some cases,
With your name and a picture,
That states you the bearer,
are who you are
And noone else.
Who are we but the projections and perceptions
Of the illusions
And the delusions
we labor under.
Who are we but complex equations,
Of projections and actions that define us
We are a summation,
Of the way we see ourselves,
The way we imagine others see us,
The why others imagine we see ourselves,
And the way they see us,
And all we have are our words and actions
These are the codecs,
That program how we
consolidate our truth & perceptions
illusions & delusions,
to project images on the minds of others.
And in the end, 
We are who we are,
Who we are meant to be,
nothing more and less.