Have a great day all my darling avidReaders! I know I haven’t released a proper article since last week, my mind’s been kind of all over the place and writing just didn’t come to me. I also don’t want to write just to post weekly and I post something that’s rubbish. I’ve also been busy working on my next book. If you follow me on my socials, you will see I just finished releasing the last chapter of my book “Stranger” on Patreon. I’m now busy with the next one, Idyllic. It’s been very busy over here with work, too.
All throughout History, It’s always been a mystery. The most unlucky of days, On this day we change our ways. Careful what we do, Careful when we tie our shoe. Stay in and lock your door, Don’t get up off the floor. Black cats and spilled salt, The broken mirror is not my fault! Avoiding ladders and a sidewalk crack, Being on guard we do not lack. Some say it’s a day of fun, Others shiver, hide, and run. Some say it’s black magic that comes out today, Some say that it’s demons here to stay. Whatever your superstition on this very day, Everyone’s wits will shred and fray. The day of bad luck comes only so often, Let’s just pray it doesn’t lead to a coffin.
Happy Triskadeckaphobia Day all of you! God bless and stay safe!
Snow would be the easy way out—that softening sky like a sigh of relief at finally being allowed to yield. No dice. We stack twigs for burning in glistening patches but the rain won’t give.
So we wait, breeding mood, making music of decline. We sit down in the smell of the past and rise in a light that is already leaving. We ache in secret, memorizing
a gloomy line or two of German. When spring comes we promise to act the fool. Pour, rain! Sail, wind, with your cargo of zithers!
Hi everyone. I saw this and found it fitting. All across the world I know everyone’s getting into the Christmas/Thanksgiving vibe, even in South Africa our stores are starting to play Christmas songs and put up decorations on Christmas trees. I wish you all a blessed Thursday and enjoy this time for holiday vibes–be it summer vibes or winter snowbells.
I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o’er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: A poet could not but be gay, In such a jocund company: I gazed—and gazed—but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils.
Persistence, my friend; and determination: can mend all the wounds of misfortune; and the the scars of your past. Your scars and wounds stand nothing to time. For in time, no pain lasts.
So press on Press on, like they said in times where there was no choice but to press on. And you have no choice. for If you don’t, you will very soon be gone. That’s not to be morbid, and not to be grim, but you know that as well as I do, so it’s with persistence you must glow and with patience you must brim.
And not to say that you are weak, but the pain you feel is nothing unique. So persist, my friend. Do not fall with hard times: Press on and find the solace you so sincerely seek.
Stand up when you feel like you must fall. Stand up when you cannot stand. Stand up, anyway; and stand up tall. That, my friend, is greatness. To rise above your own self-doubt. To rise beyond limits. To rise above it all.
Persistence, my friend: Persistence is key; for until that fog clears up, you will not see your limitless potential and all the infinite beauty that lies not beyond the horizon, but just around the bend. I promise you will find it: But only with Persistence, my friend.
Remember, remember! The fifth of November, The Gunpowder treason and plot; I know of no reason Why the Gunpowder treason Should ever be forgot! Guy Fawkes and his companions Did the scheme contrive, To blow the King and Parliament All up alive. Threescore barrels, laid below, To prove old England’s overthrow. But, by God’s providence, him they catch, With a dark lantern, lighting a match! A stick and a stake For King James’s sake! If you won’t give me one, I’ll take two, The better for me, And the worse for you. A rope, a rope, to hang the Pope, A penn’orth of cheese to choke him, A pint of beer to wash it down, And a jolly good fire to burn him. Holloa, boys! holloa, boys! make the bells ring! Holloa, boys! holloa boys! God save the King! Hip, hip, hooor-r-r-ray!
If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you, If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too; If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies, Or being hated, don’t give way to hating, And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream—and not make dreams your master; If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim; If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two impostors just the same; If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings And never breathe a word about your loss; If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch, If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, If all men count with you, but none too much; If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run, Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it, And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!
A poem to boost your spirits today. If you can do all this, you’ll be strong, bold and powerful! God bless all of you today, my darling avidReaders