Are you a witness of the precise moment
on that very proverbial, unpredictable day
when everyone did mind the gap
but the Ramadan moon took a step?

None could time it at first, as if it got out
from a black hole or an uncharted water well:
down the trail, who can tell?

Now a day or two is gone, has passed by.
The moon is in the fast lane soaring high,
and fills the orb with serene soft light.

Ah, buddies catch up, the suave fireflies.
Tons of these stay awake in the night.
Before they fly away, vanishing afar
into the epic portion of the night.
A confluence down the black moon,
only to catch a glimpse of any pattern:
a morning star or a forming pin bar,
a slice of light on a gingerly lit chart.
Premiering the Eid moon’s first blush.
Yet, if only one can time it, when will it flash?

Deep down a black moon, all eyes black out.
Still, how can one sigh though? Ah,
the unpredictable black moon, should it show
just a peek, showers the earth with Eid’s joy!

Will it show up in no time, far from the sight—
galaxies light up the shady nook of night.
A houri in the Eden rings the alarm.
The veiled bunch of fairies push the sky.
Every star throws its hat, only to tell first
when a crescent moon will crop up
And with the first spill of moonlight,
topflight it goes, pushing the boat out!

A walk down the black moon
without a light or water gone into the blue,
As though walking dead, blindfolded.
No pattern, decimals of Pi undefined by design,
but spot on gets to the apex spike!

There’s still an unmarked blank space
the light on this way doesn’t paint.
And this time, the time won’t tell
is there anyone who can is anyone’s guess.
So should the houri dare to run, then
cherubic she be on her flawless flaw,
rushes to ask the Queen of Heaven!

Oh, good luck to her, a wild one.
Time the black moon, its first glance
precisely when the Eid moon will crop up.
Enlighten us, we are more than curious.
Tell us, too—don’t just tweet it to the stars.

The Eid is bustling with joy
come let’s give it a try
f  
  l
    y
     away!

To the deathless groovy paradise
floating high on the elixir flow:
The triumphant joyous wave
streamed up from the secret bottom line!  
Up above the lapis lazuli sky.

A pair of butterfly basks
in the sunlight
quietly indulges in style.
It goes on in slow motion
illuminating the night a firefly
perches on a slice of the Moon
flanked by the moonlight.

But you and me
we will rhyme and chant
in our lovely mother tongue.
In the same original lingua
like ‘Adam speaks up and all
angels listen in paradise’.
Come let’s give it a try
f
  l
    y
     away!

On the wings of the moonlight
we will
s
  a
    i
      l
       away!

Ambling by the Moon
we'll **** through the starry nooks.
Eyes open and gently perched
atop a star for a moment or two.
We will see miles of galaxies
over the moonlit lakes of the blue
playing cool ravishing lutes!

The spring night is in bloom
and the cute sleeping beauty
wakes up playing the flute!
Musical half lights filling the sky.
Come let’s give it a try
f
  l
    y
     away!

We’ll drink sharaban tahura
the holy wine of paradise
and once for all we will
k
i
  s
    s the death goodbye!

Our story will fill the divine soil
the heaven's flora and fauna
each and everyone will shine on our page
no houri will ever say finito singing our tale!

As Adam did it first stunned the angels
telling the nature of all things in paradise.
We will do that once more without a smirk
this time we will see the loving Creator!

In Heaven a spirit doth dwell
  “Whose heart-strings are a lute;”
None sing so wildly well
As the angel Israfel,
And the giddy Stars (so legends tell),
Ceasing their hymns, attend the spell
  Of his voice, all mute.

Tottering above
  In her highest noon,
  The enamoured Moon
Blushes with love,
  While, to listen, the red levin
  (With the rapid Pleiads, even,
  Which were seven),
  Pauses in Heaven.

And they say (the starry choir
  And the other listening things)
That Israfeli’s fire
Is owing to that lyre
  By which he sits and sings—
The trembling living wire
Of those unusual strings.

But the skies that angel trod,
  Where deep thoughts are a duty—
Where Love’s a grow-up God—
  Where the Houri glances are
Imbued with all the beauty
  Which we worship in a star.

Therefore, thou art not wrong,
  Israfeli, who despisest
An unimpassioned song;
To thee the laurels belong,
  Best bard, because the wisest!
Merrily live and long!

The ecstasies above
  With thy burning measures suit—
Thy grief, thy joy, thy hate, thy love,
  With the fervor of thy lute—
  Well may the stars be mute!

Yes, Heaven is thine; but this
  Is a world of sweets and sours;
  Our flowers are merely—flowers,
And the shadow of thy perfect bliss
  Is the sunshine of ours.

If I could dwell
Where Israfel
  Hath dwelt, and he where I,
He might not sing so wildly well
  A mortal melody,
While a bolder note than this might swell
  From my lyre within the sky.

She stunned me when I first saw her looks
Never seen like her even in books

An angel who dropped from the sky
To say to me "Sam! Hi!"

She instantly got my full attention
And I at once shown no pretention

She lives now in the corridors of my mind
You won't find a lady so gentle and kind

Now I miss her as I miss the air when I stop breathing
She lives in me, so God help me her seeing

Sam Burton (C)


Today is Friday, Oct. 10, the 289th day of 2014 with 82 to follow.

The moon is waxing. Morning stars are Jupiter, Uranus and Venus. Evening stars are Mars, Mercury, Neptune and Saturn.



Quotes for the day:



"Correction does much, but encouragement does more."



Johann Wolfgang von Goethe



"The first requisite for success is the ability to apply your physical and mental energies to one problem incessantly without growing weary."



Thomas A. Edison



POETRY

Israfel





Edgar Allan Poe



In Heaven a spirit doth dwell
"Whose heart-strings are a lute";
None sing so wildly well
As the angel Israfel,
And the giddy stars (so legends tell),
Ceasing their hymns, attend the spell
Of his voice, all mute.

Tottering above
In her highest noon,
The enamored moon
Blushes with love,
While, to listen, the red levin
(With the rapid Pleiads, even,
Which were seven,)
Pauses in Heaven.

And they say (the starry choir
And the other listening things)
That Israfeli's fire
Is owing to that lyre
By which he sits and sings -
The trembling living wire
Of those unusual strings.

But the skies that angel trod,
Where deep thoughts are a duty -
Where Love's a grown-up God -
Where the Houri glances are
Imbued with all the beauty
Which we worship in a star.

Therefore thou art not wrong,
Israfeli, who despisest
An unimpassioned song;
To thee the laurels belong,
Best bard, because the wisest!
Merrily live, and long!

The ecstasies above
With thy burning measures suit -
Thy grief, thy joy, thy hate, thy love,
With the fervor of thy lute -
Well may the stars be mute!

Yes, Heaven is thine; but this
Is a world of sweets and sours;
Our flowers are merely - flowers,
And the shadow of thy perfect bliss
Is the sunshine of ours.

If I could dwell
Where Israfel
Hath dwelt, and he where I,
He might not sing so wildly well
A mortal melody,
While a bolder note than this might swell
From my lyre within the sky.



BEAUTY AND HEALTH TIP

Strengthen your nails



Before you go to bed every night, use a nail-strengthening cream on your nails (and under, if they're long). This also keeps them hydrated, which is essential for healthy nails.



Trivia

Where did the name “Revlon: come from?



Nail polish distributors Charles Revson and his brother Joseph, along with nail polish supplier Charles Lachman, who contributed the "L" in the Revlon name, gave birth to the Revlon cosmetics company in 1932. Starting with just one nail product a nail enamel unlike any before it the three men pooled their paltry resources and developed a unique manufacturing process. Using pigments instead of dyes, Revlon was able to offer to women rich-looking, opaque nail enamel in a wide variety of shades never before available. In only six years, the company became a multimillion dollar organization, launching one of the most recognized cosmetics names in the world.



How many atoms are there in the universe?



Astronomers believe that the universe contains one atom for every 88 gallons of space.



How do animals influence the weather?



Living creatures create tiny weather systems called microclimates in their nests and burrows. For instance, bees fan their wings at the hive entrance during hot weather. This makes a cooling draft blow through the hive.

VOCABULARY



Splenetic

adjective



:


marked by bad temper, malevolence, or spite



Examples:



I know David was in a bad mood all day, but the splenetic tone of his reply to Brenda’s question was not necessary.



"If he were 10 or 15 years younger (or at least looked like he was), [Charlie] Sheen would be perfect as the splenetic, screed-spouting anti-hero of John Osborne’s 'Look Back in Anger.'" — From an article by Ben Brantley on the New York Times Arts Beat blog, May 26, 2011



Did you know?



In early Western physiology, a person's physical qualities and mental disposition were believed to be determined by the proportion of four ****** humors: blood, phlegm, yellow bile, and black bile. The last of these was believed to be secreted by the spleen, causing feelings of disposition ranging from intense sadness (melancholia) to irascibility. This now-discredited association explains how the use of "splenetic" (deriving from the Late Latin "spleneticus" and the Latin "splen," meaning "spleen") came to mean both "bad-tempered" and "given to melancholy" as well as "of or relating to the spleen." In later years, the "melancholy" sense fell out of use, but the sense pertaining to ill humor or malevolence remains with us today.





Courtesy of Merriam-Webster, Inc.



JOKES



Female Comebacks



Man: Haven't I seen you someplace before?
Woman: Yes, that's why I don't go there anymore.

Man: Is this seat empty?
Woman: Yes, and this one will be if you sit down.

Man: Your place or mine?
Woman: Both. You go to yours, and I'll go to mine.

Man: So, what do you do for a living?
Woman: I'm a female impersonator.

Man: Hey baby, what's your sign?
Woman: Do not enter.

Man: How do you like your eggs in the morning?
Woman: Unfertilized.

Man: If I could see you naked, I'd die happy.
Woman: If I saw you naked, I'd probably die laughing.

Man: Your body is like a temple.
Woman: Sorry, there are no services today.

Man: I would go to the end of the world for you.
Woman: But would you stay there?





Seminars for MEN




(Prepared and Presented by Females)

1. Combatting stupidity

2. You too can do housework

3. ***: Learn when to keep your mouth shut

4. How to fill an ice tray

5. We do not want ****** underthings for Christmas: give us money

6. Understanding the female response to your coming in drunk at 4am

7. Wonderful laundry techniques (formerly titled, "Don't wash my silks")

8. Parenting: It doesn't end with conception

9. Get a life; learn to cook

10. How not to act like a ******* when you're obviously wrong

11. Spelling: Even you can get it right

12. Understanding your financial incompetence

13. You: The weaker ***

14. Reasons to give flowers

15. How to stay awake in public

16. Why it is unacceptable to relieve yourself anywhere but the bathroom

17. Garbage: Getting it to the curb

! 18. You can fall asleep without it if you really try

19. The morning dilemma if IT is awake: Take a shower

20. I'll wear it if I **** well please

21. How to put the toilet lid down (formerly titled "No, it's not a bidet")

22. "The weekend" and "sports" are not synonyms

23. Give me a break: Why we know your excuses are bull

24. How to go shopping with your mate and not get lost

25. The remote control: Overcoming your dependency

26. Romanticism: Ideas other than ***

27. Helpful postural hints for couch potatoes

28. Mothers-in-law: They are people too

29. Male bonding: Leaving your friends at home

30. You too can be a designated driver

31. Seeing the true you (formerly titled, "You don't look like Mel Gibson when naked")

32. Changing your underwear: It really works

33. The attainable goal: removing "****" from your! vocabulary

34. Fluffing the blankets after flatula! ting is not necessary

35. Techniques for calling home before you leave work





The Bacon Tree



There are two guys who have been lost in the desert for weeks, and they're at death's door. As they stumble on, hoping for salvation in the form of an oasis or something similar, they suddenly spy, through the heat haze, a tree off in the distance.

As they get closer, they can see that the tree is draped with rasher upon rasher of bacon. There's smoked bacon, crispy bacon, life-giving juicy nearly-raw bacon, all sorts. "Oh my, Pepe" says the first bloke. "It's a bacon tree!!! We're saved!!!" "You're right!" says Pepe.

So Pepe goes on ahead and runs up to the tree salivating at the prospect of food. But as he gets to within five feet of the tree, there's the sound of machine gun fire, and he is shot down in a hail of bullets. His friend quickly drops down on the sand, and calls across to the dying Pepe.

"Pepe! Pepe! What on earth happened?"...

With his dying breath Pepe calls out...

"Ugh, run, run!... it's not a Bacon Tre! e...

Scroll Down...













...it's a Ham Bush"





HAVE A SUPER NICE FRIDAY and a GORGEOUS WEEKEND!

The sky is eye wide open
so bright a lapis lazuli hue.
The houri fair maid of heaven
colour in every shade of blue,
up to the door, she must have come through.

See the rosy spring's
bumblebees are on their wings.
Ah, the sweet flowing southern breeze
wafts along with the blue bees.
It must have thought,
humming up on a high they go,
but no!  

The sea sitting deep beneath is out and about
jumps to blue sky and slides down from the clouds
sweeping the land dance on the rivers.
By now, the silent land's sleeping beauty must be
wake by the mellifluous water nymphs.
The bottom is still a far cry; the water is cascading,
so are the bumblebees softly descending.
Beneath the open heaven's painting
into the honey spring, the punters take a peep.

With a resplendent Eastern bride,
Like a houri at my side,

Elle passa, je crois qu'elle m'avait souri.
C'était une grisette ou bien une houri.
Je ne sais si l'effet fut moral ou physique,
Mais son pas en marchant faisait une musique.
Quoi ! Ton pavé bruyant et fangeux, ô Paris,
A de ces visions ineffables ! Je pris
Ses yeux fixés sur moi pour deux étoiles bleues.
Fraîche et joyeuse enfant ! Moineaux et hochequeues
Ont moins de gaîté folle et de vivacité.
Elle avait une robe en taffetas d'été,
De petits brodequins couleur de scarabée,
L'air d'une ombre qui passe avant la nuit tombée,
Je ne sais quoi de fier qui permettait l'espoir.

Pendant que je songeais, croyant encor la voir
Même après qu'elle était enfuie et disparue,
Et que debout, pensif au milieu de la rue,
Contemplant, ébloui, cet être gracieux,
J'avais l'œil dans l'espace et l'âme dans les cieux,
Une vieille, moitié chatte et moitié harpie,
Au menton hérissé d'une barbe en charpie,
Vêtue affreusement d'un sinistre haillon,
Effroyable, et parlant comme avec un bâillon,
Me dit tout bas : - Monsieur veut-il de cette fille ?

Ô pauvre colibri que vend une chenille !