tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54044782024-03-07T21:35:06.262-05:00conscious living poetry journal<strong>Poetry in Search of Meaning</strong>Don Iannone, D.Div., Ph.D.noreply@blogger.comBlogger4179125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404478.post-21726593717777437402008-03-30T09:46:00.002-04:002008-03-30T09:50:33.477-04:00Don Iannone's New Poetry Blog<strong>You can find my daily poetry posts at Poetic Alchemist over on Wordpress.<br /><br />Here is the link: </strong><a href="http://poeticalchemist.wordpress.com/"><strong>http://poeticalchemist.wordpress.com</strong></a><strong> See you there.</strong><br /><strong></strong>Don Iannone, D.Div., Ph.D.noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404478.post-56662819142991771922007-04-22T09:31:00.000-04:002007-04-22T09:48:38.801-04:00<strong><span style="font-size:130%;">A Much Needed Change of Scenery</span></strong><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYGrRfAsq3zrD6qns3RHcFxSvkB_VdStfX5XiMJV8wDBwkwQflcSm7oqzeRB96Vp6Aku47i68sLn-h_D9ZwzX-dq5MTCr5_z6y068NAr6ar6udJTshFIOqpiFZwzsxoMqS2r0/s1600-h/usedcars.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5056245498316970754" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" height="154" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYGrRfAsq3zrD6qns3RHcFxSvkB_VdStfX5XiMJV8wDBwkwQflcSm7oqzeRB96Vp6Aku47i68sLn-h_D9ZwzX-dq5MTCr5_z6y068NAr6ar6udJTshFIOqpiFZwzsxoMqS2r0/s320/usedcars.jpg" width="249" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I've changed careers and decided to stop writing poetry. My psychotherapist said I was addicted to poetry and had to stop immediately. Actually, a high school friend invited me to join him in his used car business. It's something I have always wanted to do. Used car sales is a meaningful business--one that helps others mobilize their dreams. It's too late to turn back since I've invested in a whole closet full of plaid blazers. <br /><br />In light of this career shift, I will be discontinuing Conscious Living Poetry Journal. Four years of this poetic nonsense is enough. Don't you think?<br /><br />Had ya going, didn't I? Actually, I've simply shifted my poetry to a new blog hosted by Wordpress. It's called the Poetic Alchemist, and you can find it here: <a href="http://poeticalchemist.wordpress.com">http://poeticalchemist.wordpress.com</a>. Please change your bookmark for me to the new site. Thank you.<br /><br />See you over at the Poetic Alchemist!<br /><br />Best wishes,<br /><br />DonDon Iannone, D.Div., Ph.D.noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404478.post-37483805529832695852007-04-21T06:02:00.000-04:002007-04-20T17:06:34.773-04:00<div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;color:#cccccc;">Overtaken</span></strong></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#cccccc;">By Don Iannone</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#cccccc;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#cccccc;"><blockquote><span style="color:#cccccc;"></span></blockquote>Can you fathom</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#cccccc;">the beauty of spring</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#cccccc;">and where it carries you,</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#cccccc;">when you allow it</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#cccccc;">to overtake you </span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#cccccc;">like a herd of wild butterflies</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#cccccc;">that gently pummel you into submission,</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#cccccc;">coaxing the newborn inside you</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#cccccc;">and forever tickling your imagination</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#cccccc;">until tears of joy stream down your cheeks</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#cccccc;">and you allow yourself</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#cccccc;">to plop down in a bed of cool clover</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#cccccc;">and watch wistful clouds coast</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#cccccc;">across the cornflower blue sky?</span></div><div align="center"><blockquote><span style="color:#cccccc;"></span></blockquote><span style="color:#cccccc;">I can fathom it</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#cccccc;">and hope you allow yourself</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#cccccc;">to do just the same. </span></div>Don Iannone, D.Div., Ph.D.noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404478.post-38448130728536886422007-04-20T18:38:00.000-04:002007-04-20T17:07:35.049-04:00<p align="center"><span style="color:#cccccc;"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Spring Morning</span></strong><br />By Don Iannone </span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#cccccc;">streaming through the trees</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#cccccc;">mellow yellow morning sun</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#cccccc;">in the cool shadows</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#cccccc;">plump red robin struts his stuff</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#cccccc;">ever playful cat watches on </span></p>Don Iannone, D.Div., Ph.D.noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404478.post-21603107085860923092007-04-20T08:43:00.000-04:002007-04-20T10:31:54.924-04:00<strong><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;">Virginia Tech, April 16, 2007</span></strong> <div>By Don Iannone <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWc3T3HwtaykOWSDKtRrjIvLfwFBCwmcX210TBdY2s-WYeNOFuuEHErkeBH-zR0xUX2lRV5IWnshDP6aWk-GgJ7XP1Otuttxa9Dmxp2PbwoJkIVw6_8TwI3bFbk6CejZkki04/s1600-h/Cho.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5055138410366884498" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWc3T3HwtaykOWSDKtRrjIvLfwFBCwmcX210TBdY2s-WYeNOFuuEHErkeBH-zR0xUX2lRV5IWnshDP6aWk-GgJ7XP1Otuttxa9Dmxp2PbwoJkIVw6_8TwI3bFbk6CejZkki04/s320/Cho.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG_Zoildsk8e_dHGO54Lnohj9oQFewBHkTu2TYx10QjSQhZ350XOXD63MhAOXS40BoTndj8bFSB7Rb_OtkYSbPJiO8sIY0E6Dp-900290hugBnUP8fGm9_SF0ORKqclODQ7Jo/s1600-h/Cho.jpg"></a><span style="color:#000000;">o</span><br /><span style="color:#000000;"></span><br /><span style="color:#000000;"></span><br /><span style="color:#000000;">o</span><br /><span style="color:#000000;"></span><br /><span style="color:#000000;"></span><br /><span style="color:#000000;">o</span><br /><span style="color:#000000;"></span><br /><span style="color:#000000;"></span><br /><span style="color:#000000;">o</span><br /><span style="color:#000000;"></span><br /><span style="color:#000000;"></span><br /><span style="color:#000000;">o </span><span style="color:#000000;"><br /></span><em><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;"><strong><br /></div></strong></span></em><blockquote><em><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;"><strong></strong></span></em></blockquote><blockquote></blockquote><em><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;"><strong><div></strong></span></em></div><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;"><em>how and why, they ask</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;"><em>no answers remove the pain</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;"><em>one disturbed young man</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;"><em>guns blaze, blood spills, souls depart</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;"><em>thirty-two innocent lives gone</em></span><br /></em></span>Don Iannone, D.Div., Ph.D.noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404478.post-53931931692444578162007-04-19T06:00:00.001-04:002007-04-18T17:32:13.676-04:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibyw6a3JTgo7vIYS8KZtjeMUsILo_VM_CwdalhWBciLAZCyJECCI8aVCLtTuZ6QxBTOukZCMY2NFSfn_aEvJaE8CZwGXb2BdQppwPIkSv0s_hSITn-uhl7e9ZXV1w7T8eLui4/s1600-h/tulips+copy.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5054882506531059826" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 293px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 333px" height="320" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibyw6a3JTgo7vIYS8KZtjeMUsILo_VM_CwdalhWBciLAZCyJECCI8aVCLtTuZ6QxBTOukZCMY2NFSfn_aEvJaE8CZwGXb2BdQppwPIkSv0s_hSITn-uhl7e9ZXV1w7T8eLui4/s320/tulips+copy.jpg" width="288" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU_zLVas_hb7aZldzRMyKJJjozNoZiEUH_Z0n-6Bjn-6enBQRsAjAWHbt-xRFGSOjq9kTjmqVRWnr0yejgJ7dUiaKY7a__uSClBwfjlLXAZWVH3cOn_O6yiWGF1AEP4TF7HDg/s1600-h/tulips+copy.jpg"></a><br /><br /><a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_M6aaRg0Qb3k/RiaDAZceuFI/AAAAAAAAATQ/IYMvW9n3tvc/s1600-h/tulips.jpg"></a><div><br /><br /><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div></div><div><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;color:#99ff99;"><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size:180%;color:#000000;"></span></span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size:180%;color:#000000;"></span></span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size:180%;color:#000000;">*</span></span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="font-size:180%;color:#000000;">*</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;color:#99ff99;"><span style="font-size:180%;">F</span>irst <span style="font-size:180%;">T</span>ulips</span></strong></div><div>By Don Iannone <blockquote></blockquote><span style="color:#99ff99;">first tulips open</span></div><div><span style="color:#99ff99;">we close all around to see</span></div><div><span style="color:#99ff99;">a new world appears</span></div><div><span style="color:#99ff99;">spring is no small miracle</span></div><div><span style="color:#99ff99;">our hearts fill and the tears flow</span></div></div>Don Iannone, D.Div., Ph.D.noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404478.post-41562686459778606702007-04-18T05:30:00.000-04:002007-04-18T04:54:08.714-04:00<span style="color:#ffff33;"><em>yellow goldfinches</em><br /><em>feverishly feed on thistle</em><br /><em>sprightly sweet voices</em><br /><em>rise like the ocean tide</em><br /><em>clouds hitchhike across the sky</em><br /><em></em><br /></span><span style="color:#99ff99;"><em>Note: Don's first taiga</em><br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4amMO11oq5Pmm8Q8pKm0RL7HwScTYuvs9HFc0Uc8H9yoBaG_U7701MyJNO0RH5i8ESjoq8SaFRzkYvV6Xca8sDzEypbODRGSigyp7rybuz8ilCxvQ3NjNEu2hIBEaEaTTi7s/s1600-h/goldfinch3.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5054528764434626594" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4amMO11oq5Pmm8Q8pKm0RL7HwScTYuvs9HFc0Uc8H9yoBaG_U7701MyJNO0RH5i8ESjoq8SaFRzkYvV6Xca8sDzEypbODRGSigyp7rybuz8ilCxvQ3NjNEu2hIBEaEaTTi7s/s320/goldfinch3.jpg" border="0" /></a>Don Iannone, D.Div., Ph.D.noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404478.post-73547000629302532202007-04-17T07:55:00.000-04:002007-04-17T08:47:30.831-04:00<strong><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color:#ffcccc;"><span style="font-size:180%;">S</span>elf-<span style="font-size:180%;">I</span>ndulgent <span style="font-size:180%;">D</span>espair</span></span></strong><br />By Don Iannone<br /><br />Don't be too quick to assume<br />That this poem is about me.<br />After all, it might be about you,<br />Or the neighbor next door,<br />Or the guy you work with,<br />Or even your mother.<br /><br />There is a tendency we show<br />Towards self-indulgent despair.<br /><br />You know what I mean,<br />If you have ever revelled<br />In writhing over your own pain.<br /><br />For some reason we think<br />Something greater will come<br />From the pain we inflict upon ourselves.<br />That's not what self-sacrifice is all about.<br /><br />Compassion, empathy, and<br />Giving to others is something entirely different.<br />Self-sacrifice is hanging yourself on a cross,<br />Thinking your pain will free another.<br />Instead, your self-inflicted pain will cause others<br />To hang themselves, for no reason.<br /><br />We believe there is some price<br />We must pay for happiness or peace.<br />We seem obsessed with the notion<br />That we must suffer<br />To get what we need in life.<br />That good things happen only<br />To those walking the path of suffering.<br /><br />Suffer we do,<br />Every time we turn the whip of fear<br />Upon ourselves, thrashing last drops<br />Of decency out of our beings.<br /><br />Suffer we do,<br />When we turn the club of doubt<br />Upon ourselves, bludgeoning hope,<br />The best friend we'll ever have,<br />Until we shovel ourselves<br />Into some weepy dark grave.<br /><br />But why shed tears then?<br />We've already lived our hell.<br /><br />It's fashionable these days<br />To be narcissistic, like everyone else.<br />To be self-absorbed, like some fish<br />Drinking up the water it lives in.<br /><br />Catch yourself before it's too late.<br />Look in the mirror and see for once<br />Your own desperation,<br />And then, let it go,<br />Like you'd release the rope<br />Around your own neck--<br />For that is what it is.<br /><br />Return to yourself.<br />This time the real you,<br />Absent the self-indulgent despair<br />That robs you of the joy<br />Of being fully human.Don Iannone, D.Div., Ph.D.noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404478.post-19385692655773819062007-04-16T06:00:00.000-04:002007-04-15T15:56:12.811-04:00<strong><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ffcccc;">April Haiku 3</span></strong><br />By Don Iannone<br /><br />wistful marbled clouds<br />Kurt Vonnegut will be missed<br />a legend is gone<br /><br />early morning sun<br />too soon for shadows in life<br />a crow in my dream<br /><br />sweet scent of lilac<br />intoxicated crow laughs<br />too good to be trueDon Iannone, D.Div., Ph.D.noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404478.post-79087830175468296202007-04-15T08:29:00.000-04:002007-04-15T08:47:31.758-04:00<span><span><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong><span style="color:#ffcccc;">April Haiku 2</span></strong> </span></span></span><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color:#ffcccc;"><span style="font-size:180%;"><span></span></span></span></strong></span>Don Iannone<br /><br />April winds howling<br /><span style="color:#000000;">...</span>white birches dance side to side<br /><span style="color:#000000;">......</span>rain showers coming<br /><br />plump robins gather<br /><span style="color:#000000;">...</span>trees still naked from winter<br /><span style="color:#000000;">......</span>sunlight leaks through clouds<br /><br />red-tailed hawk circles<br /><span style="color:#000000;">...</span>smaller birds scatter away<br /><span style="color:#000000;">......</span>blue jays standing watchDon Iannone, D.Div., Ph.D.noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404478.post-22998223350581937542007-04-14T07:27:00.000-04:002007-04-15T08:48:29.829-04:00<span style="font-size:130%;"><strong><span style="color:#ffcccc;">April Haiku</span></strong> </span><span style="color:#ffcccc;"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">1</span></strong><br /></span>By Don Iannone<br /><br /><span style="color:#ffcccc;">morning sun through trees</span><br /><span style="color:#ffcccc;"><span style="color:#000000;">...</span>young buds bursting wide open</span><br /><span style="color:#ffcccc;"><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="color:#000000;">....</span>..</span>life sprouting anew </span><br /><br /><span style="color:#99ff99;">sun and shadows mix</span><br /><span style="color:#000000;">...</span><span style="color:#99ff99;">light frost on silver grass blades</span><br /><span style="color:#000000;">......</span><span style="color:#99ff99;">doves sing spring praises</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#ffffcc;">wild turkeys gather</span><br /><span style="color:#000000;">...</span><span style="color:#ffffcc;">fanned blue and green tail feathers</span><br /><span style="color:#000000;">......</span><span style="color:#ffffcc;">life's magic unfolds</span>Don Iannone, D.Div., Ph.D.noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404478.post-36508975453961386112007-04-13T06:09:00.000-04:002007-04-13T07:15:55.984-04:00<div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color:#ffcccc;"><span style="font-size:180%;">R</span>ejoice </span><br /></span></strong>By Don Iannone<br /></div><blockquote></blockquote><div align="center">Rejoice in knowing<br />your happiness<br />does not depend upon </div><div align="center">you knowing anything. <blockquote></blockquote>Rejoice in discovering<br />the discoverer<br />who needn't search any further<br />to find himself.<br /></div><blockquote></blockquote><div align="center">Rejoice in accepting<br />that the moment<br />is all you have<br />and all you will ever need.<br /></div><blockquote></blockquote><div align="center">Rejoice for the sake of rejoicing<br />for in so doing </div><div align="center">you find happiness.</span> </div>Don Iannone, D.Div., Ph.D.noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404478.post-91855175823544435852007-04-12T18:16:00.000-04:002007-04-12T15:30:26.628-04:00<div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ffcccc;"><span style="font-size:180%;">C</span>elebrating the <span style="font-size:180%;">R</span>ain that <span style="font-size:180%;">W</span>ashes <span style="font-size:180%;">A</span>way the <span style="font-size:180%;">S</span>now</span></strong></div><div align="center">By Don Iannone</div><div align="center"><blockquote></blockquote>The rain came</div><div align="center">and washed away fifteen inches </div><div align="center">of unwelcomed April snow.</div><div align="center"><blockquote></blockquote>The earth rejoiced</div><div align="center">when the rain fell</div><div align="center">and washed away the snow</div><div align="center">that covered its greening surface.</div><div align="center"><blockquote></blockquote>The birds sang out</div><div align="center">at the sight of the rich dark earth</div><div align="center">where the fallen daffodils</div><div align="center">once stood tall and smiled in sunshine.</div><div align="center"><blockquote></blockquote>The cats in our front window</div><div align="center">frisked and played in the fresh air</div><div align="center">drifting through the bedroom window.</div><div align="center"><blockquote></blockquote>I jumped up and down</div><div align="center">as the rain fell and washed away the snow.</div><div align="center"><blockquote></blockquote>Who knows...maybe I will run buck naked</div><div align="center">out into the front yard</div><div align="center">if the sun shines tomorrow</div><div align="center">and the temperature hovers in the mid-70s.</div>Don Iannone, D.Div., Ph.D.noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404478.post-46092525742480423922007-04-11T01:09:00.000-04:002007-04-10T15:35:40.555-04:00<div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color:#ffcccc;"><span style="font-size:180%;">B</span>e the <span style="font-size:180%;">C</span>andle</span></span></strong></div><div align="center">By Don Iannone</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><blockquote></blockquote>All of us at times</div><div align="center">need encouragement </div><div align="center">to stay the path.</div><div align="center"><blockquote></blockquote>Not one of us is above </div><div align="center">needing help from others.</div><div align="center"><blockquote></blockquote>We should encourage each other </div><div align="center">to have faith in ourselves.</div><div align="center">We should encourage each other</div><div align="center">to be the unique truth that we are.</div><div align="center"><blockquote></blockquote>Let us remind ourselves and each other</div><div align="center">that there is no turning back </div><div align="center">once we have discovered the way--</div><div align="center">our way of being in the truth.</div><div align="center"><blockquote></blockquote>And whenever we experience doubt,</div><div align="center">let us help each other</div><div align="center">seek our god of self-understanding</div><div align="center">that forever lies at the core of our being.</div><div align="center"><blockquote></blockquote>Let us trust the power that lies within--</div><div align="center">the power that knows us</div><div align="center">better than all else.</div><div align="center"><blockquote></blockquote>Be the candle</div><div align="center">that lights the way</div><div align="center">for your spirit and others.</div>Don Iannone, D.Div., Ph.D.noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404478.post-67136222921852698152007-04-10T06:26:00.000-04:002007-04-09T18:45:21.130-04:00<div align="center"><span style="color:#ffcccc;"><strong><span style="font-size:180%;">W</span><span style="font-size:130%;">arriors of the</span></strong> <strong><span style="font-size:180%;">L</span><span style="font-size:130%;">ight</span></strong></span></div><div align="center">By Don Iannone<blockquote></blockquote>Each of us</div><div align="center">in our own way</div><div align="center">gives light</div><div align="center">to the world.</div><div align="center"><blockquote></blockquote>Each of us</div><div align="center">in our own way<div align="center">fights</div><div align="center">for what we believe </div><div align="center">is right.</div></div><div align="center"><blockquote></blockquote>Some carry torches.</div><div align="center">Some raise the flag.</div><div align="center">Some sit quietly and pray.</div><div align="center">Even some write poetry</div><div align="center">because it enlightens them</div><div align="center">and hopefully others.<blockquote></blockquote>We are<div align="center">crusaders for truth, </div><div align="center">for justice,</div><div align="center">for freedom, </div><div align="center">and for so much more</div></div><div align="center"><blockquote></blockquote>We are</div><div align="center">in our own unique ways</div><div align="center">warriors of the light</div><div align="center">that shines within</div><div align="center">and through us. <blockquote></blockquote>Let your light shine.</div><div align="center">May it iluminate your path</div><div align="center">and others</div><div align="center">that all may find their way.</div>Don Iannone, D.Div., Ph.D.noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404478.post-29657594481158963472007-04-09T00:42:00.000-04:002007-04-09T01:49:26.004-04:00<blockquote><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDsgkFQBMWaxTWwSA0wVEpUF7VcfkbINgXmjE1GBXRhEHYBB5wbIyBEMgHcOvs9uppM8chLP14czRMCjfLICrTEo5lzlwf7rafrr8wKGUPXyFuBCLMgsilXrqicW3FP3W3Stc/s1600-h/venus.jpg"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDsgkFQBMWaxTWwSA0wVEpUF7VcfkbINgXmjE1GBXRhEHYBB5wbIyBEMgHcOvs9uppM8chLP14czRMCjfLICrTEo5lzlwf7rafrr8wKGUPXyFuBCLMgsilXrqicW3FP3W3Stc/s1600-h/venus.jpg"></blockquote></a><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5051292289419940754" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 149px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 173px" height="282" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDsgkFQBMWaxTWwSA0wVEpUF7VcfkbINgXmjE1GBXRhEHYBB5wbIyBEMgHcOvs9uppM8chLP14czRMCjfLICrTEo5lzlwf7rafrr8wKGUPXyFuBCLMgsilXrqicW3FP3W3Stc/s320/venus.jpg" width="204" border="0" /><span><span><span><strong><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ffcc66;">Venus on Some April Eve</span></strong></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span>By Don Iannone </span></span></span></p><p><blockquote></blockquote>Brilliant beacon Venus glows<br />like some ancient golden coin<br />in the dark northwest sky. <p></p><blockquote></blockquote><p>Wedded as she is to the sun,<br />she never strays from his side<br />for more than a moment.<br /></p><blockquote></blockquote>And always with ever adoring eyes<br />she gazes down<br />upon her impatient earthly sister,<br />who like some blue-green cat's eye,<br />stares back at her golden luster.<br /><blockquote></blockquote>Always brighter than the brightest star,<br />she casts her light for all to see<br />like a transiting soul off to Heaven.<br /><blockquote></blockquote>A wandering star to many she seems,<br />those knowing her best will forever attest<br />her eternal celestial family ties.<br /><blockquote></blockquote>Helpless I am<br />to stray from her midst--<br />for in her shadow<br />my heart hangs deep.<br />And to her always I shall look<br />for sacred beauty and love.Don Iannone, D.Div., Ph.D.noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404478.post-90781326064145136672007-04-08T07:20:00.000-04:002007-04-08T06:48:28.265-04:00<div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color:#ffcccc;"><span style="font-size:180%;">A</span>pril <span style="font-size:180%;">S</span>now</span></span></strong></div><div align="center">By Don Iannone <blockquote></blockquote>We file federal income tax returns next week</div><div align="center">and it's still snowing and cold in Cleveland.</div><div align="center"><blockquote></blockquote>Six inches of wet whiteness</div><div align="center">dropped on the area </div><div align="center">over the past couple days.</div><div align="center">Temperatures dive-bombed</div><div align="center">from the high 70s to the mid 20s</div><div align="center">in the past week.</div><div align="center">The daffodils have succumbed </div><div align="center">to the suffocating slush of winter.</div><div align="center">Baseball games across the midwest</div><div align="center">have been called off </div><div align="center">because pitchers are throwing snowballs </div><div align="center">instead of fast balls.</div><div align="center"><blockquote></blockquote>Mother Nature knows her business</div><div align="center">much better than I do, but</div><div align="center">how ever will the Easter Bunny</div><div align="center">hide those colorful eggs under budding tulips</div><div align="center">that are nowhere to be seen?</div>Don Iannone, D.Div., Ph.D.noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404478.post-68024494699061787602007-04-08T06:37:00.000-04:002007-04-08T06:47:08.744-04:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyu6W51DQH6PBQtUabLOje0DOKkN-QhIMr5V11ku1bUbAx6mxSnia_bpk-D7KDQqs2ylsN19QZ-FfptBGuV4u-vQHtym0olgJF3a0PxJrxlbErJmwJKV9EVwih4YjdOJouCKE/s1600-h/TheCross.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5051006996217303906" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyu6W51DQH6PBQtUabLOje0DOKkN-QhIMr5V11ku1bUbAx6mxSnia_bpk-D7KDQqs2ylsN19QZ-FfptBGuV4u-vQHtym0olgJF3a0PxJrxlbErJmwJKV9EVwih4YjdOJouCKE/s320/TheCross.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div>Don Iannone, D.Div., Ph.D.noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404478.post-9043044772386943632007-04-08T06:35:00.000-04:002007-04-08T06:37:13.890-04:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5bVFE4NaSUSaZ8OXeEg3rVdJ7O0tutzKlC3_v-BsKKdoPSv1jrbrnTqR0ZurFnDneZAdCxxHsHr9Zro3PNmDt-wrF1Up8m0lSNo-WxOB_cYa_FmMG8dc6NPvNVKUob82sjGA/s1600-h/ChocBunnies.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5051004432121828178" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5bVFE4NaSUSaZ8OXeEg3rVdJ7O0tutzKlC3_v-BsKKdoPSv1jrbrnTqR0ZurFnDneZAdCxxHsHr9Zro3PNmDt-wrF1Up8m0lSNo-WxOB_cYa_FmMG8dc6NPvNVKUob82sjGA/s320/ChocBunnies.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div>Don Iannone, D.Div., Ph.D.noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404478.post-13899302333616416172007-04-07T15:48:00.000-04:002007-04-06T15:58:56.099-04:00<div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color:#ffcccc;"><span style="font-size:180%;">A</span>lways in the <span style="font-size:180%;">M</span>oment <span style="font-size:180%;">W</span>e <span style="font-size:180%;">A</span>re</span></span></strong></div><div align="center">By Don Iannone</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><blockquote></blockquote>The world is changing</div><div align="center">in ways we can't begin to imagine.</div><div align="center">This time is different </div><div align="center">than the last time, or even the times before.</div><div align="center">This time it's not about anything new.</div><div align="center">This time it has nothing to do</div><div align="center">with going any place we've never been.</div><div align="center">This time we will return</div><div align="center">to the place we were born--</div><div align="center">the first time, and all times after that.</div><div align="center"><blockquote></blockquote>We will return</div><div align="center">to the place that came before</div><div align="center">all other places we've known.</div><div align="center">We will return</div><div align="center">to the real ground zero.</div><div align="center">This time we will discover</div><div align="center">our unfolding in the moment.</div><div align="center">This time we will sit and observe</div><div align="center">how we gather ourselves</div><div align="center">in the stillpoint of now.</div><div align="center"><blockquote></blockquote>The world is constantly changing</div><div align="center">in ways we can't begin to imagine.</div><div align="center">This time we will go back</div><div align="center">and when we return</div><div align="center">everything will be different.</div><div align="center">This time nothing will separate us</div><div align="center">from the moment and our infinite becoming.</div>Don Iannone, D.Div., Ph.D.noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404478.post-74561894459374786102007-04-06T15:36:00.000-04:002007-04-06T15:47:45.229-04:00<div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color:#ffcccc;"><span style="font-size:180%;">M</span>an and <span style="font-size:180%;">N</span>ature</span></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#ff0000;"><em>By Elizabeth Barrett Browning</em></span></strong></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><blockquote></blockquote>A sad man on a summer day<br />Did look upon the earth, and say--<br />"Purple cloud the hill-top binding;<br />Folded hills, the valleys wind in;<br />Valleys, with fresh streams among you;<br />Streams, with bosky trees along you;<br />Trees, with many birds and blossoms;<br />Birds, with music-trembling bosoms;<br />Blossoms, dropping dews that wreathe you,<br />To your fellow flowers beneath you;<br />Flowers, that constellate on earth;<br />Earth, that shakest to the mirth<br />Of the merry Titan ocean,<br />All his shining hair in motion!<br />Why am I thus the only one<br />Who can be dark beneath the sun?"<br /><br /><blockquote></blockquote>But when the summer day was past,<br />He looked to heaven, and smiled at last,<br />Self-answered so--<br />"Because, O cloud,<br />Pressing with thy crumpled shroud<br />Heavily on mountain top;<br />Hills that almost seem to drop,<br />Stricken with a misty death,<br />To the valleys underneath;<br />Valleys, sighing with the torrent;<br />Waters, streaked with branches horrent;<br />Branchless trees, that shake your head<br />Wildly o'er your blossoms spread<br />Where the common flowers are found;<br />Flowers, with foreheads to the ground;<br />Ground, that shriekest while the sea<br />With his iron smiteth thee--<br />I am, besides, the only one<br />Who can be bright without the sun." </div>Don Iannone, D.Div., Ph.D.noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404478.post-27939212722699845382007-04-05T08:16:00.000-04:002007-04-05T08:30:59.281-04:00<div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#ffcccc;"><span style="font-size:180%;">P</span><span style="font-size:130%;">retending</span></span></strong></div><div align="center">By Don Iannone</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><blockquote></blockquote>We pretend at times</div><div align="center">that things are better</div><div align="center">than they really are</div><div align="center">because we want our life to be</div><div align="center">better than it really is.</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><blockquote></blockquote>We pretend at times</div><div align="center">that things are worse </div><div align="center">than they really are</div><div align="center">because we can't stop clinging</div><div align="center">to our deepest fears.</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><blockquote></blockquote>When we pretend</div><div align="center">we fill in the empty spaces</div><div align="center">in our lives</div><div align="center">because we cannot accept</div><div align="center">our not knowing</div><div align="center">how things really are.</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><blockquote></blockquote>We pretend because pretense is a place</div><div align="center">where we hide from the truth</div><div align="center">that eventually reveals itself</div><div align="center">and changes us forever.</div>Don Iannone, D.Div., Ph.D.noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404478.post-76184416133469608372007-04-04T07:08:00.000-04:002007-04-04T09:14:25.781-04:00<div align="center"><blockquote></blockquote><strong><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;"><span style="font-size:180%;">R</span>ed <span style="font-size:180%;">L</span>ake <span style="font-size:180%;">I</span>ndian <span style="font-size:180%;">B</span>rothers</span></strong></span></span></span></span></span> </span></div><div align="center">By Don Iannone<br /></div><blockquote></blockquote><div align="center">This is April, and<br />they had been missing since late November.<br />Everyone had given up hope,<br />except their mother, who wasn't ready<br />to stop loving them, just yet. </div><div align="center"><blockquote></blockquote>Two Indian boys--brothers, who<br />like all other two and four-year olds,<br />had an insatiable sense of curiosity.<br />This time it carried them to First Thunders Lake--<br />wearing a tantalizing satin sheet<br />that glittered in the early morning sun.<br />This time it carried them<br />even beyond their mother's love.<br /><blockquote></blockquote>True enough...<br />the boys' ancestors explored the deep places--<br />the ones beyond the forest and to the lake.<br />The lake dressed in white satin<br />that sparkled like a million stars<br />on a pitch black winter night. </div><div align="center"><blockquote></blockquote>Maybe the boys heard the same call<br />that rang in their ancestors' ears for so long.<br />Maybe the two brothers saw a beaver<br />making its way to the inviting beaver dam.<br />Or maybe they followed a white-tailed deer<br />to the magical water's edge, and decided to go beyond. </div><blockquote></blockquote><div align="center">The two Red Lake brothers, in the dead of winter,<br />came face to face with the Great Spirit<br />at the bottom of the remote lake,<br />where the wild rice would grow again in the springtime<br />and the brown trout would invite men and boys<br />to stand side by side casting<br />their lots in life into the clear blue water. </div><blockquote></blockquote><div align="center">I want to believe that<br />the boys' ancestors met them--just before,<br />and walked them into the light.<br />I want to believe the tears will quietly end in Red Lake, </div><div align="center">where just two years before<br />ten people died and seven others were injured<br />in a shooting rampage at Red Lake High School. </div><div align="center"><blockquote></blockquote>I want to believe no more tears will fill the lake<br />where the wild rice will grow again in the springtime,<br />and the brown trout will invite men and boys<br />to stand side by side casting<br />their lots in life into the clear blue water.</div>Don Iannone, D.Div., Ph.D.noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404478.post-91487260539397419152007-04-03T07:51:00.000-04:002007-04-03T08:24:09.648-04:00<div align="center"><span><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong><span style="color:#ffcccc;"><span style="font-size:180%;">W</span>hat <span style="font-size:180%;">W</span>e <span style="font-size:180%;">T</span>ouch <span style="font-size:180%;">T</span>ouches <span style="font-size:180%;">U</span>s</span></strong></span></span></div><div align="center"><span></span>By Don Iannone</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><blockquote><strong><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></strong></blockquote><span style="font-size:180%;">S</span></strong>ometimes you touch things,</div><div align="center">and they touch you back...in very special ways</div><div align="center">that you never expected.</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:180%;"><blockquote><strong><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></strong></blockquote>S</span></strong>ometimes you have to lose yourself in things</div><div align="center">to find parts of yourself </div><div align="center">that you never knew existed.</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:180%;"><blockquote><strong><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></strong></blockquote>S</span></strong>ometimes the things you touch</div><div align="center">are more powerful than you ever knew.</div><div align="center">You might not have touched these things</div><div align="center">if you knew their power beforehand.</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:180%;"><blockquote><strong><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></strong></blockquote>W</span></strong>e should never forget that we live </div><div align="center">in a completely conscious and alive universe</div><div align="center">that needs us as much as we need it.</div><div align="center">So we shouldn't be surprised </div><div align="center">by the power of all things we touch.</div>Don Iannone, D.Div., Ph.D.noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404478.post-67055869431502977242007-04-02T06:29:00.000-04:002007-04-02T06:45:43.681-04:00<div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color:#ffcccc;"><span style="font-size:180%;">M</span>onday <span style="font-size:180%;">M</span>orning</span></span></strong></div><div align="center">By Don Iannone</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:180%;"><blockquote><strong><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></strong></blockquote>M</span></strong>onday morning darkness fades</div><div align="center">as shimmering sunlight fills the front window.</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:180%;"><blockquote><strong><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></strong></blockquote>C</span></strong>heerful bird voices punctuate the sunrise</div><div align="center">taking its time deciding what color dress to wear.</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;"><strong><blockquote><span style="font-size:180%;"><strong></strong></span></blockquote>T</strong></span>he three cats do their morning yoga</div><div align="center">while I wait with puffed eyes and unruly hair</div><div align="center">for fragant last drops of coffee to fill the awaiting pot.</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:180%;"><blockquote><strong><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></strong></blockquote>T</span></strong>houghts of writing a poem drift hopelessly through my consciousness--</div><div align="center">knowing even a feeble poem requires a half cup of morning brew.</div><div align="center">The day has started and so have I.</div>Don Iannone, D.Div., Ph.D.noreply@blogger.com9