There are STILL good people in this world. If you can't find one, please be one. ♥️♥️
GOOD PEOPLE by Carolyn Glackin There are people who give, without thought of receiving And folks with great faith, always believing People who listen, without need to be heard And those who so often dole out a kind word There are those who love all, without expectation And those who save children from bad situations (I call them heroes) People who cheer us and uplift us each day Whilst chasing our sadness and blues far away There are those who check on us, making sure we're alright And those who pray for us, before bedtime each night Perhaps they're all angels, dressed up in disguise They look just like us, but they hail from the skies Sure, there are bad folks, but those I won't mention For it does us no good to give them attention The point that I'm making, which by now, you have heard Is one worth considering, so please read each word When it seems that the good is outweighed by the bad And you're sorely let down by this world that's gone mad I hope the next notion, in your conscience unfurls: Be it women or men, be it boys, be it girls Good folks surround us, in every crowd We simply don't notice, 'cause they're not very loud They do what they do, without show or fanfare Albeit, they're quiet, yet I assure you - they're there. Copyright Carolyn Glackin 6/13/2021
This is my submission to the #pastelc challenge, hosted by #writersbay ... The image was taken by me, a few miles from where I live. No filters were used, no edits made, and it's completely unretouched. Thank you for reading!
This is meant to be my submission to the cg_city_chall; however, last night I unexpectedly fell asleep for hours unaware (due to narcolepsy), and missed my own challenge. Unbelievable, eh?! Gotta play by the rules though, so I'm not hashtagging it. Thank you for reading!
This submission to the #alien challenge is my depiction of what a soul experiences during the first moments of separating from the body, at the time of physical death. Thank you for reading!
ANGEL ASCENDING by Carolyn Glackin Darkness calling Falling, falling Body giving way Pain within Unhinged, but then Just can't seem to stay Grand illusion Mass confusion Turmoil, chaos, strife Mortal coil Which caused such toil Untethered now, from life Confused, berated Alienated Can't dwell here anymore Uncertain of direction Seeking heaven's door Senses heightened No longer frightened Awareness comes to light Perception growing Somehow knowing All shall be alright And in review Life's every hue Now flowing through the mind Things said, things done Wars lost, wars won Are all there, on rewind Then in a blinking No longer sinking Establishing direction For in the end There is no death There's only resurrection Rising, rising Soul reprising As every angel sings And just arrived Well and alive The new one gets his wings. Copyright Carolyn Glackin 5/20/2021
Art credit: Name not mentioned. All credit goes to the true owner/artist.
Announcing the passing of a longtime, cherished member...
Dear Fellow Mirakeeans, I come bearing some very startling and unexpected news, which I learned from my dear friend's mother @imterwms (whom is also my dear friend), whereupon she asked that I convey this to all of you. Jack (of @john_solomon), has been a writer, member, friend, mentor, encourager, and source of inspiration here for several years now. He enjoyed combining science, metaphysics, and spirituality in a poetic manner, and his admirable ability to do so was incomparable, and one that I'd not ever seen before. Like myself, Jack enjoyed supporting and encouraging the many youngsters here onsite, and he liked to laugh and always insisted on finding something positive, in any given situation; thus it wasn't too surprising that he and I would become dear friends. Since Jack and I spoke almost daily, his was a well known name in my home; and he knew of everyone here, including my husband (in fact, they're from the same state), my three children, and all of our cats and dogs. He made it a point to always ask about each of us, and he would rejoice with us in all of our happy moments, as well as pray for us in our times of challenge. Jack spent the majority of his time doing for others. He was a loving son and caretaker to his mother, a cherished brother to his two younger sisters, and a friend and mentor to all. He often donated his time and assistance to those in need; and much like Christ the Savior, whom he dearly loved, Jack led a humble life devoid of unnecessary material goods, yet if something was ever needed, he'd be the first person to make sure that you had it. Although Jack had just reached 51 years, he was a kid at heart and had a wonderful sense of humor, along with a boyish charm. He was also a self-proclaimed hippie who loved music profoundly, particularly that of the 70's and 80's. In fact, due to attending so many rock concerts, Jack had partial hearing loss in one ear, and he was rather proud that the damage had occurred at an Eric Clapton concert. Around here, Jack was known as the "haiku king," due to his fondness for haiku poetry, and his penchant for penning them. He preferred the Americanized version of the traditional Japanese haiku, which is a three line, non rhyming, untitled poem on the topic of nature that has a total of 17 syllables, dispersed as 5/7/5 respectively. So it was only natural that I'd include a haiku poem for him in this tribute piece. One that has him soaring amongst his beloved stars. In closing, I'm sure that members are shocked and have questions. All we know at this time is that Jack's death was not covid related. In fact, he seemed to be in very good health and had no known physical illness. Right now, the cause of his sudden, unexpected death on the evening of May 9th, is presumed to be a stroke, although the official coroner's report hasn't been released yet. Several of us (my husband and I, and Jack's sister) have already heard from Jack since he ascended from this world. Although no longer here on this Earth, his spirit lives on in an eternal dimension, existing outside of time and space, and he is very much at peace. So, although his loss is tremendous, he really hasn't gone very far, as he'll forever shine above us, as the heavens brightest star. Farewell, my dear friend. And no, I'm not nearly done lecturing you for leaving us so early! Blessings, Admin Carolyn
JOYFUL JOURNEYS by Carolyn Glackin And perhaps one day we'll see That every teardrop on our face Has served to pave the way To a more peaceful state of grace And though we've all endured much hardship Endless turmoil, strife, and fears On the other side of that Awaits the happiest of years For it all amounts to something Each time a lesson's learned And each one has its purpose For each teaching has been earned So may the path of peace e'er guide us May inner wisdom lead the way May truth and love unite us Throughout our journeys, come what may. Copyright Carolyn Glackin May 8, 2021
DISAMBIGUATION OF THE SOUL DIVER by Carolyn Glackin Sometimes, the smallness of this world seems huge to me; but then again, so does its bigness The thought overwhelms me, and I don't really know how to reconcile it in my mind There's so much to do here, so much yet to be done I dive deep, swim like mad for a while and then come up for air I don't waste time thinking about how much is left to be done, because I know I'll be right back at it tomorrow Instead, I'm simply grateful for the opportunity The opportunity to do some good, to bring some change, to direct the flow, to dive deep without fear, so that once in a while, I can actually save someone from drowning There are a lot of near death experiences here; all presumably caused by the largeness and smallness of things, because you wouldn't believe how that stuff tends to weigh on the mind and cause folks to start drowning, right there in the perpetuity of their own self-created puddles I learned to swim early on though Didn't matter if I wanted to or not, I didn't have the luxury of choice at the time; and come to think of it, I'm glad I didn't, because I might have said no, and then the two of us would both be drowning, praying like mad for some experienced soul diver to come and save us, and by God, that lot can be mighty hard to find... You don't have to look too hard for me though, because nowadays I actually like swimming, and I do it often Sure, I get in too deep now and then, take on a little too much, try to hold on to a few too many, all while knowing I can't possibly help or save them all I got you though, and I'm not letting go, ok? 'Cause I know there's plenty of air up at the top for both of us; and you know what? We're gonna rise up together! Amen. Copyright Carolyn Glackin 4/19/2021
Dead Souls is an unfinished work which Nikolai Gogol couldn't complete. I have no explanatory words for this poem but I think we all know how hard it is and has always been the surviving battle for writers. Such that many literary artists have to leave their art of writing. #art#wod@writersnetwork
I know I am writing after too long. Hope I am not forgotten.
To be honest, we loved the name MIRAKEE❤️. It was inspired from a Greek word, Meraki used to describe doing something with soul, creativity, or passion.
But the realisation that the word Meraki has a broader interpretation and can be used to describe cooking or preparing a meal, arranging a room, choosing decorations, setting an elegant table or even purchasing the perfect gift for your best friend, made us rethink.
Therefore, the name MIRAQUILL was coined to better reflect our focus on the appeal of written matter as this app was designed with the writers and readers in mind to bring more attention and visibility to words. A quill is a writing tool made from a bird's feather used in the past as a primary method of written communication. So adding quill as a suffix makes it more compatible with our objectives and aspirations.
Although we will always be MIRAKEE in our hearts, we are very excited about our new name Miraquill because it is more in line with our vision- a global interactive platform for a truly creative community of writers and readers.
Tell us in the comments how you feel about Miraquill!
Along with this name change we have offered you an exciting library of unlimited photographs brought to you by Unsplash. You can update your app and search for photos.
However, with this new addition, we have removed the upload image option from the app. This step has been taken to ensure that creators are credited for their artwork. We also want to make sure that photos with nudity, violent imagery, screenshots are not allowed on the platform. We expect writers to respect the original work of photographers and the guidelines of the community. If you would like to upload your image to the library of photos permitted on the app, we can guide you with the process. Please write to us at firstname.lastname@example.org.
PENGA AND THE WHISTLE Bright was the sun, light was the air,
Fun in the lea made the summer so gay;
Songbirds played their lyre,
Workmen doused their fire;
And to a certain whistling man came
Penga the rotten, Penga the sodden.
Never in his life had Penga heard
A whistle whistled so sweet
In such a season with such tweet;
He learnt and when to his tongue came
The art of whistling, first to the thistle
Penga the rotten did whistle.
Then in the green fields, to the blue hills,
To the seductive breeze,
And to the mystic waterfall.
Whistling unceasingly to all
He strode homewards gaily
Until a stumble shook off his whistle.
He looked everywhere but couldn't find it;
In the crevices he peeped,
In the thickets he rummaged, But nowhere could he found it;
For our mate Penga the sodden
Remembered not what he had lost.
This is already a fresh departure for me because I always went down road with my reflex legs where I had a mind to go. I wouldn't have believed myself that without any single try my dear enthusiastic soul get disappear in attic, again. I looked at those nostalgic things and get lost in astonishment. There very existence was improbable, inexplicable, fabulous and altogether bewildering. Such a dilemma, they had succeeded in getting so far yet managed to remain fresh for me. I instantly question them, why they didn't quickly dissapear until my soul linger to go back to envelope for past years.
I ran my fingers across the shelf allowing the hazy dusted nostalgia to coat my nails. There're the albums and books with the pressed withered flowers waiting for me to live the lost moments of young and vulnerable self. Gazing at my albums, collecting and absorbing the memories. Recarnating the ideas that trapped within the binding of letters. They are still as fresh as it was on the very first day.
The sound of shuffling pages filled the attic with music to which I couldn't help but dance. It looks like I'm still alive despite of the countless departures. I relish on the taste of life which feel like a juvenile hemlock.
The best of my days, spent in vast fields of melancholic memorabilia. How funny, lives fade away like a passing shadow of cloud and dwindle to a memory knitted with fresh and sacred scars. Brief reminders of a once living days slowly crystallized in the grief or past.
Moments of reflection appear from the wealth of good old days as a reminder of lost battles in history of time. Memories are like a fine wine as I drink them slowly, tasting each collage of emotions with love. Why don't the world's greatest phase still living in the past and conspired without its end.
The glamour of youthful loneliness and the essential desolation of his futile wandering. I was seduced into something like admiration. I surely wanted nothing from the wilderness but space to breathe in and to push on through. When the need was to exist and to move onwards at the greatest possible risk and with a maximum of privation. My vulnerable self was absolutely pure, uncalculated, impractical spirit for adventure that had ever ruled a human being.
It appears now with the due process that had been very much broken by various causes. A terrible vengeance for the fantastic invasion where I had whispered to myself things about which I don't know, discussing to myself things which had conception till it took counsel with the great solitude. It echoed loudly within myself because somehow I was hollow at the core.
Bit crestfallen, this feeling that came over me that such details would be more intolerable than those head drying on the stakes. I could see the cage of my ribs all astir, the bones of my arm waving. It was as though an animated image of death carved out of old ivory had been shaking its hand with menaces at the motionless crowd of memories made of dark and glittering bronze.
I walked with measured steps, draped in stripes and fringed cloths, treading the earth proudly with a slight jingle and flash of barbarous ornaments. I carried my head high while watching crimson scarlett letters, innumerable necklaces of glass and sea conche; bizarre things, charms and gifts of witch hunters, glittered and trembled by the power of time.
And in the hush that had fallen suddenly upon the whole painfully gorgeous attic, the immense wilderness, the colossal body of the fecund and mysterious life seemed to look at me, pensively, as though it has been looking at the image of it's own tenebrous and passionate soul.
Suddenly I opened with my bare hands, a notebook made with the several wish list with uncontrollable desire to touch the sky. A formidable silence hung over the scene as salted drops glided through my cheek. I have been risking my life every day for the dreams I keep shuffling on my mind.
There's polaroid pictures hanging of all the friends I lost through the years and all the friends who lost me.
there's the poetry I wrote about them words written in red ink and messy handwriting.
there's statues of copper and tin of all the lovers who couldn't love me.
there's a constant humming of white noise of love and care echoes of unspoken words I kept and ones I never heard
there's a selection of wingless butterflies and a collection of blunt colored pencil and broken crayons.
there's a basket of fortune glass marbles and every single piece of paperboat carries the same aphorism: "amidst the loneliness, the things you loved will forever haunt you."
there's old music cass and a stack of floppy disk of all the films I wish I'd seen when I was younger.
there's a brand new doll and a golden noose carefully kept for anyone who tries to hurt me
there's a greeting cards with empty phrase and burned monochromatic verses veiled by rose petals and pink, lilac and blue feelings where an altar waits for a future love's memento.
And in the queue, there's me standing in the corner waiting to lure you inside but ain't proceed because there's angels and devils praying that I must make it to the end of this nostalgic attic of heart's tour.
___________________________________________________ Its all about the brightest witch, Hermione Granger who was a fighter disguised in angelic body. She had been a great inspiration for girl since years.. ________________________________________________ #character#wod#writersnetwork
Weaved the words with a magical tint, Put some music with some fervent hint. Joined the verses one after other, tied by euphony Stared with glee at the kohl sky, Erased the dark cacophony of night, the stars shied. Held her wooden guitar, she held zillions of emotions Music was cure for her pain, She pour it all together and started singing again. Lost in the galaxies where light was soothing, Where the darkness not engulfed bits of her, With her long lost love, She was fantasizing of flying above. As she tried to sing further Her fingers got entangled, To her despair the strings were shattered. The broken strings and a broken heart, Bleeding fingers dimmed her spark. Her soul burnt with glazing fire she looked up, cursing the night. The sky was frightened as witnessed a bewildering fight. Enraged by the dark sky She was left with a void The night became more darker, she broke her promise of knitting the words into a soulful melody. The artist departed from her soul Making her empty and futile to console.