Tim Miner's Musings

I do n't harbor any hate against you  Be cause the berths in my tender heart   Can't allow , in a tempest of affection The rogue wave s slapping the shore, A ship dock laden with aversion .   And if the ship we re to anchor, The quay , dockers would flee. Till of love you learn.   If a lion were to chase " Run !" Yes, i would sprint. Towards a cliff, the sea below A little faster... and outpace. Glide in the gale and trip Not a soul . That  would be foul . Till of love you learn.   Into my boat Drift towards rain, hail and snow . Till you know what to love is.   To make an abode in affection, Sail to that little isle of amity.

Some people lack some special social gene into their make-up. And they say wrong things and do really bad things to the wrong people, at wrong places NOT through malice, madness or through badness, BUT, just by default. However best they try to right their wrongs, their well-meaning efforts always fail to impress like a jammed borehole piston. They appear odd, misguided and fuzzy. DON’T curse yet. Just get over them, go blind at their folly. Be tolerant. Accommodate. http://wl.gs/EFKZf

"Get out more often."   How much you conquer what is and who are around you is simply by being there. Always putting your best foot forward.  Presenting the real you to the world and fighting it out for your living space. Even in silence. Let your presence be felt, in hushed voices? In the dark of night, connect to the world through imagination. Get wild and wilder. In the toil of day, in the heat of things...link up to the pain of loss and cheer of gain. Chase, chase and chase. That dream, that vision. Again... "Claim your space & time, respect personality, ridicule silence, critic speech, give honor, intimidate presence...the world will yield to your persitance. Be who you want to!" As many hacks would tell you.     #timQoutes

Whistling with the evening breeze. Strolling under the twittering avian characters Swinging on the Olerai boughs... The flamboyant “MOOHs!” and bleats, As herds drive home after a day of plenty, yonder the craggy creeks. A happy chorus the milk sings to the gourd when they meet, Drop after drop...escorting a great African banquet. Smiles so real and meaningful...the benign kith and kin. The smoke billows of a thousand manyattas growing on the plain; The balmy and humble earth to laze on. The hovering million dragon flies Dressing the dusking sky, Against the intimidating bluish hilly backdrop. The gushing cataract Hippos squirting water through their nostrils The wading ducks downstream Plump zebra herds browsing Feasting wildebeests and the foraging giraffes The strutting pride...and dancing cubs. Peeping, snarling cheetahs whetting their claws on The dry barks of the ground-hugging trees... The slithering grass snake...st