What good is light for the stars,
when the stars are blind, my love?
If stars were to trade their fire and bright
to see for just one day and one night,

would there still be light, my love?

Still, how can stars ever see,
if others don’t sacrifice their sight?

Then—
can you count how many would be
willing to do it for others,
and be the ones we truly love?

"I hope in you for us." Gabriel Marcel

When we share hope our bond is real
     And when our voices chant a blended song,
Our ties are strong as tempered steel.

In anxious times with fears surreal,
     We seek out friends among the throng.
Without shared hope no bond is real.

But when our wills compel us feel
     Spirit-bound to search, however long
For ties as strong as tempered steel,

Without a sign, the fates reveal
     A newfound friend who's come along
To share our hope; our bond is real!

With zest our common course we seal
     Hope-called by duty’s Siren song
Our ties are strong as tempered steel,

With light and reason to fire our zeal,
     We rise to challenge fortune’s wrong.
When we share hope our bond is real;
     Our ties are strong as tempered steel.

Filtered view of our all-seeing eyes
Perceiving the world through azure skies
Seeming clarity of a natural
fact
Blue sky illusion -- the sky's really black!!!

In the debate between dubbing and subbing
I side with subs to savor the original
mellifluous French, Tamil, Korean, Italian...
Reading the subtitles assists the deaf
and hard of hearing although voiceovers
benefit the blind and vision impaired.
Historically dubbing was employed
by fascist governments to advance
the nationalist agenda. In our own time
the tendency to consider dubbers dumb
implies reading’s the indispensable skill.
My wife reads her mail while watching movies
so she prefers dubs. I admire her mastery
of two idioms simultaneously
but my limited bandwidth favors subs.

Are we but pawns on a chessboard
That God just moves about haphazardly?
Or are we placed strategically;
And through God’s plans can claim: “Checkmate!”

You are in the bathroom,
Fixing your hair the way you like it.

The steam from your shower
is setting into the bedroom now.
I can smell your shampoo.

The skylight casting an early summer glow
across the tiny water droplets speckling your skin
makes you look studded with rhinestone.

The subtle shifting of your weight
creates a curve in your side
and as you drop your hip and bend your knee,
I think for a moment,
that you look like art.

That moments like these are what inspire
The greatest artists in the world.

That I might be like them
if you were my subject,
But I am too busy loving you
To lift a paintbrush.