All posts by howdowefeedtheworldsstarving

About howdowefeedtheworldsstarving

Writing a non- fiction study How do we feed the world's starving. Published The end of Humanity and have four books to publish.

All that Mattered

The Neighborhood

True love is like ghosts,
which everyone talks about but few have seen.
– Francois de la Rouchefoucauld

♥♥♥♥♥

Birthday Rose by Wendy018GD
Juicy courtesy of YB Muzik

All that Mattered
written & edited by Kendall F. Person

It didn’t matter
whose gaze more badder.
All that mattered
was that they found each other,
while walking across the street.
It didn’t matter whose bell rung louder
or whose heart went pitter patter.
All that mattered was the chitter chatter
of the moon and the stars that be.

Love at first sight, oh it just might be
the one they had been searching for.
It was a fools thought that said it couldn’t be
but why should we limit our passion
when much of the world is ugly and not free.
It didn’t matter where they tied the knot,
only that they agreed
for the minister had asked them both,
“Will…

View original post 462 more words

‘My Friend the Wind’ from the Classic Poets Corner

The Neighborhood

My Friend the Wind

written by Andrea L. Harris

The wind sat on my lap today
And told me what he’d heard.
When asked where he obtained his knowledge,
He replied, “Oh, a little bird.”
He said that he has seen it all
While drifting through the sky.
He’s seen some live and laugh and love,
And he’s seen some die.
“Now Wind,” I uttered a humble bliss,
“Why are you perched on me?”
The wind replied, “I’ve come as a friend
To show you what I see.
“I’ll tell you Miss, with tears in your eyes,
Why must you feel so sad?
Just come with me, I’ll set you free,
You’ll see all the riches you’ve had.”
“But I’ve had no riches,” said I to the wind,
“My life is filled with sorrow.”
The wind replied, “Nay, my lad,
You’ll understand all tomorrow.”
So, off we drifted, soaring through…

View original post 119 more words

Art Music Poetry #97

Dougstuber's Blog

Kicevo Opus 1686 or soIMG_3884

Kicevo, 2010.

Experiment on printed paper.

I rarely comment on the music I put up here.  This one deserves a little explanation.  It turns out I have fallen in love and I hope I do fall in love again.  And I did fall in love a few times and had it not returned, you know what I mean?  So the next time someone falls in love with me, it better be the one I love from afar, the one who already loves me, the one who will never let me go.

What can I do about geography?  Circumstances do not ALWAYS make things work out.  But, not for the same reasons Mr. Waits settles for more drink and not falling in love, and then he falls for the woman who is no longer in the room, at the end, rang a bell with me here today.

Combine that song with this one…

View original post 164 more words

August 1922

Jane Dougherty Writes

Michael_Collins

To know that death is waiting,
Beyond a turn in the road,
To know that home, the place of beginnings,
Will also be the ending.
To have so much to bear,
And to know you are just one, and a weak one at that,
And still to drive home, to say goodbye.
To drive on to the last bend in the road,
Between fields and stone walls,
Tangled blackthorn and blackface looking on,
With the clouds rolling overhead,
And the hedgerows full of blackbirds.
Behind, in the house, a woman at the window,
Love left by the hearth,
And the last sound, the rattle and whine of death.
So much waste, so many years of shed blood,
And yours not the least.
No beauty in this terror, if not in the thought,
To go home and pass beyond the last bend in the road.

View original post

The seller of dreams

Jane Dougherty Writes

Poem inspired by twitter friend and muse, Luigi La Ragione.
Painting by Caspar David Friedrich

XKH141318 Drifting Clouds (oil on canvas); by Friedrich, Caspar David (1774-1840); 18.3x24.5 cm; Hamburger Kunsthalle, Hamburg, Germany; German, out of copyright

You sold me dreams of smoke without fire,
The clouds you rode dissolved in rain,
The blue you painted across the sky,
Torn and rent let through the night.
You poured me an ocean of restless waves,
That rolled over shadows of jagged rocks.
The rainbow smiles were for the others,
The promises made were words in the wind.
You wrote your heart in ripples of water,
And walked away in the cold light of the stars.

View original post

Connoisseurs

Poesy plus Polemics

"Abstract Deer" Painting by SurgencyArt From deviantart.com “Abstract Deer”
Painting by SurgencyArt
From deviantart.com

deer seem to prefer
my sweet gardens
to exclusion of
foraging wild
far be it from me
to complain
of their visits
for clearly they’ve
nicely been cultured
so graceful expressive
and downright polite
are these ruminant
woodland arbiters
having sharp sense
of good taste

View original post

3 Days 3 Quotes: Day 3

Jane Dougherty Writes

Last day of the challenge, and a quote from my favourite poet, WB Yeats. It was hard to choose a few lines, there is so much beautiful imagery in Yeats. The following lines are from one of his best-loved poems, The Lake Isle of Innisfree.

The painting is by Akseli Gallen-Kallela

1280px-Akseli_Gallen-Kallela_-_Lake_Keitele,_1905-1

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds on the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.

Thanks to Emily for nominating me 🙂 I’m passing on the challenge to Merril Smith .

Rules are simple (though I realise I haven’t followed them to the letter) to post a favourite quote a day for three days, and each day to pass on the challenge to three other bloggers.

View original post

She walks through the empty morning

Jane Dougherty Writes

Painting by Van Gogh

1273px-Van_Gogh_-_Seineufer_bei_der_Pont_de_Clichy

In the cool of the morning,

I walk beneath the roses,

Light sifted pink and white,

Perfume dripping with the dew.

Birch tree drips with birdsong,

Falling in dapples about my feet.

I walk, and the mist parts,

Rising from the river into the blue air.

I walk, listening to the quiet rush

Of the tressed water,

Tangling and untangling,

On its way to the sea.

In the cool wind from the west, I walk,

Listen to the silence falling,

At my back the sun rises,

At my face the rising wind.

Wind from the sea in my face,

And instead of the honey of your lips,

I taste the salt,

Though I cannot tell,

Perhaps it is the taste of my tears.

View original post

Bealtaine revels

Jane Dougherty Writes

Painting by William Blake

Oberon, Titania and Puck with Fairies Dancing circa 1786 by William Blake 1757-1827

The fire blazes high and strong,

Surrounded by a happy throng,

Singing, dancing all night long.

*

And in the dawn of spring’s new day,

When all the songs have died away,

Last night’s wishes are here to stay.

*

Homeward now, hair rumpled, clothes torn,

They yawn and smile and sleep lovelorn,

Dreaming of winter and bairns to be born.

View original post