Shrouded Shore: The Many Musings of Thom Singleton

Whispering Wood Out beyond there is a forest, A forest forgotten by the woodcutter. Where the wood whispers in the wind, And tries to hide its denizens. Whispers of its denizens of feather and fur. There are many of the feathered ones none too secretive, What with their showy colors and familiar song. Only the evergreens hide them. Colorful stand-outs are the blazing red cardinal and the sky-blue jay. Unmistakable voices are those of the mourning dove and the barred owl. The furred ones are much better at keeping a secret, The secret of themselves, in the tangled wood. The chipmunks and mice, the red squirrels and cottontails, The red fox and white-tails, the woodchucks and raccoons, All give us merely a glimpse of their mysterious lives. The wood does its best to keep their secrets.   

  The Tongue Steers the Canoe      Oke alelo ka hoe uli o ka ‘olelo a ka waha                                                -  ‘Olelo No’eau      Translated from the Hawaiian:      The tongue is the steering paddle of the words uttered. The tongue navigates the now,  Sets the course of the canoe over years and years, through…      Life’s ever-changing currents,      Waters reflecting the hope of the rising sun,      Blending of bodies and lives afloat on gentle seas,      Crashing waves of relationship woes,      Lotus gardens watered by the tears of forgiveness. The tongue stays the course of love, And adventure that always lies around the next headland. The tongue stands hearty at the helm, an able life-navigator. 

  Today I Will Make Up Words I will do this for phun - hey, I already did it! Phun, what you do when you are at a loss for something - anything!!?? - to write about. Here goes…      Yamoosh, mashed yams.      Truthnot antisocial, whatever a former president - you know who - says.      Threeder, a reader at age three.      Cleandirt, the brown stuff still on your carrot after you pull it up from your organic garden.      Dirtydirt, why my wife follows me around the house.      Fundirt, what kids - and I guess, me - invariably find in the environment and on their clothes.      Thojersing, a soldier with a lisp that likes to sing, probably a Viking, or my name abbreviated.      Baba, a Hindu holy man, or what my little grandson August calls me, his version of grandpa.      Bama, grandma, what August calls my wife..      Snapop, the sound my creaky lower back makes.      Gasfood, the”food” sold in gas stations guaranteed to produce it.      Woodpecker vision, farsightedness, leaning way ba

  Haiku - March 20, 2023 Snow turning dirty Beautiful when it’s falling Can’t wait for green time

  A Walk in the Heavens Take the rainbow bridge from our small orb. Walk the path of colors into night. For the world ends not on the mountaintop or even at the glowing moon. It soars through years of light, beyond the beyond. Climb the star steps through the long night to other worlds of mystery. Here the walk uncovers our destiny, our destiny in the Heavens. Do not, though, discard this Earth like an empty tin can a t the side of the road. Heal our planet if we are to survive, survive and be welcomed on others. Healing our planet is healing ourselves. We, the Earth, and the Heavens are one.  

  Haiku - March 19, 2023 Monday ends winter But just on the calendar Wind-chill cold today