Names . . .

((()))
Which ones are lovers?

Daniela
Danica
Mellonie (I bought her a silver coin but I will never give it to her)
Stephanie
Warren
Rachel
Shane
Tom
Krissy
Jose
Geoffrey
Adam
Jackie
Michael
Jason
Sarah
Katrina
Katie
Giovanna
Satya
Corrina
Andrea
Matthew
Ashlyn
Vince
Joe Anne
Ira
Frankie
Sam
Amelia
Laura
Vivian
Tara
Michelle
Lindsay
Mr. Steve
Delgado Lewis [Pray For Him]
Nido (With Great Thanks)
Mr. Ross
Matt Damon
Jon
Dairus
Anthony (He is a good man who I admire.)
. . .

Let's Play Telephone . . .

Adam 5/25/19

Warren Schultz was my brother's sixth grade teacher and the principal of my elementary school. I remember I was once sent to his office and he did not rebuke me, but let me look at his toys. There was one with nails where you pressed your hand into it and it left an impression. Adam left after the fifth grade. I loved Adam. He was my best friend before he moved away to Long Island. Before he moved away.

My brother Michael's best friend was also named Adam.

Monastery of Our Lady of the Cenacle

Everyone has a favorite monastery that they support. I cannot visit one as I am not near a traditional one. The Okie Trad has Clear Creek. Mine is the Monastery of Our Lady of the Cenacle in Ireland. Years ago I discover a website called "Vultus Christi" with beautiful prayers and thought that made me cry tears of sorrow and of joy and of hope in a time of despair. I am ever so grateful. I am donating a little money to them now. My father allowed me to donate a small sum. I am a child, so my father makes such decisions. I asked for some holy cards or something. I wrote a pretty little envelope with their address and a man and a bird on it in red, blue, and black ink. We will mail it tomorrow

Check out their website for inspiration. And if you are in the US and want to donate to them, their mailing address is:

Monastery of Our Lady of the Cenacle Foundation
20315 South Hwy 75
Mounds, OK 74047

Checks payable to "The Monastery of Our Lady of the Cenacle Foundation"

Of all the monasteries in all the world, why on earth did I choose this one? I do not know why. I hope it is a good monastery. Support them.

NORTH OF BOSTON

Mending Wall

Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun;
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
'Stay where you are until our backs are turned!'
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of outdoor game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says 'Good fences make good neighbors.'
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
'Why do they make good neighbors? Isn't it
Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I'd ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offense.
Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That wants it down.' I could say 'Elves' to him,
But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather
He said it for himself. I see him there
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me,
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father's saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, 'Good fences make good neighbors.'

Robert Frost, 1914.

This is a poem I relate to. Robert Frost wrote it. It is not my favorite poem but it is mine. My favorite poem is "Lilacs" and then "Lycidas" and then "The Second Coming".

"Serenely arriving, arriving"
"I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude,
And with forc'd fingers rude
Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year."
"Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;"

Comb My Hair

She is handsome, she is pretty / She is the belle of Belfast city.

Please wont you tell me, who is she?

I comb my hair.

Then I go home.