Happy Birthday #LeonardCohen

Leonard Cohen an exceptional talent and inspiration.

 Inspired by Poet, Writer, Musician & Songwriter Leonard Cohen

Leonard Cohen keeps topping the charts…
“Considered one of the most influential authors of our time, his poems and songs have beautifully explored the major issues of humanity in great depth.”
Leonard Cohen, a Canadian, was born on September 21st, 1934. As a teen, he learned to play guitar and formed a country folk group. He attended McGill University to study law which he never completed. He started a journey as a poet /writer; his first publication, in 1956, was a book of poetry entitled Let Us Compare Mythologies. The Spice-Box of Earth (1961) brought Cohen public acclaim as a poet. His first novel published in 1963  was Favourite Game; Beautiful Losers followed in 1966Yeats, Miller, Irving, Leighton influenced Cohen’s as a writerHe often wrote about religion, sex, relationships, isolation.  For a number of years, Leonard went into a secluded life in a Zen Buddist monastery.  Leonard had “a persona often associated with mystique.”.
By the late 60s, Cohen was publishing fewer books and started focusing on writing music and recording. In 1967, he moved to the US to pursue folk music. He wrote his first published song Suzanne for Judy Collins in 1967; the same year he recorded his first album. Songs from that album were picked up by popular musicians like James Taylor and David Crosby. Cohen published his best known book of poetry and prose in 1978 -Death of a Ladies Man.The record, of the same title, was co-written and produced with Phil Spector (Songwriter/ record producer Spector was responsible for over 25 Top 40 hits in his career. Spector wrote lyrics and produced for many famous artists like Righteous Brothers, Ike and Tina Turner, Beatles, Rolling Stones.) Leonard Cohen, at 77, is still writing and producing music. A full collection is expected out in October.
 Awards: In 2008, Leonard Cohen was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.
In June, he was bestowed with the Prince of Asturias Award for Letters  considered one of the highest honor for a writer.Recurrent themes in Cohen’s early writings revolved around depression and suicide; later in his career he has written about political and social injustice. Cohen shows, in a profound way, that one’s writing can have a tremendous impact on our world and humanity.
When this American woman
( from “Let Us Compare Mythologies”)
When this American woman,
whose thighs are bound in casual red cloth,
comes thundering past my sitting place
like a forest-burning Mongol tribe,
the city is ravished and brittle buildings
of a hundred years splash into the street;
and my eyes are burnt
for the embroidered Chinese girls,
already old, and so small
between the thin pines
on these enormous landscapes,
that if you turn your head
they are lost for hours.
Thanks to Leonard Cohen for years of inspiration – Happy Birthday

Behind the Bumper #poetry

On the road of life there are sunshine days and their are exhaust filled bumps in the road. Yet each day is an adventure in a Studebaker

It was a perfect no bumps

breeze blowing hair

California reality


kick off shoes 

dip them in the stream of life

childish glee



blow out in my rubber existence

stop can you help?


on bent knees

before the chrome bent image

 I am behind you!


bump bump

as my limbs rattle

against the gravel of despair


breathing hatred’s exhaust

leave me

on the side of the road




bump bump bump…

Photographic Images:  Selection from “Oldies but Goodies Studebaker Series” L. Moon Copyright 2011

Life is Here… #FlashFiction

Where is your world? Some live by the river… the continuum birth to death happens there.

You are the source of life for our people.

We gather here as one people, purify, make offerings… burn our dead

send little lights  on ripples hoping they will magnify into blessings

waves with no answers return

brown filth flows to our shore

from which our children drink deep

this is the life of the river…

thanks to G-Man the host of the weekly 55 Friday Flash Fiction


photo attribution: http://www.allmyanmar.com/Irrawaddy.htm

All Is No More #poetry

when life closes in where does one search? A wall, a sea, a God?

Kiss the wall

embrace the sands of the past

appeal to life’s eclipse

… no answer

mourn the day

curse the night

life ebbs

… no where to search

weep by candle light

inhale sea’s deep

hope for what is not

…last breath

Photography “The Sands of Time”  ~L. Moon Copyright 2011

A Nightmare #911 #poem

What does a world do in the face of a disaster like 911?

Awakened in the mourn

Memory from Hell

Remembered too well

How could it be?

surrreal they fly

Flames from planes

Screams in the smoke

Extinguished too soon

Shake the dead

Ghosts of years

Resigned to memorials

Personal tears

Where our fears

This fateful day

Place them on hope

Chase sorrows away

An excellent series of photos chronicling 911 events http://www.september11news.com/AttackImages.htm

Just another Script #flashfiction

What do writers do late at night? Can their stories become too real???


It was midnight

It had to be a moonless night or the story wouldn’t work.

There was a screeching noise in the darkness

“what is making that sound?” she shivered

“It’s just me” she heard the cold clammy hand slap on her back.

“That’s good” she smiled “I love it when my scripts come together. Who’s that???”


Thanks to the weekly host of 55 Friday Flash Fiction. Join us and the G-Man for writing fun.

…All That is Left #microfiction

Coming home is never what you expect especially after experiencing time travel

It seemed as if I had been gone a lifetime; it had been a mere two light years(give or take.) I knew the folks will be glad to see me. “Life will be the same,” I mused. “Caroline will lean over the fence smelling one of mom’s hybrid roses. I will have my arms covered in grease as I try to keep my Stude running.” She sure was a pain but I loved my Studebaker with the pristine blue paint job not a bit of rust on her…

…What had happened in those two lightyears I will never know. The only assurance my life had not been a dream was my Stude; she was buried in rock, mud, and who knows what else. “Look at the rust! Can this really be all that is left?” I shouted as raised my fist to the looming gray clouds.

A hearty thanks to Tess Kincaid who weekly prompts writers on her site Magpie Tales