Wooing the Ones I Love

I woo the ones I love.
I hope you know who you are.
If you doubt,
why yes
I am wooing you!
I woo the friends, the independents,
the lovers and the activists.
I’ll chase you down ’til you cannot run anymore,
After all, there’s no escaping the true love
of like-minded souls!
This is the loving I send to you
the kindness I give to you
the compassion I share with you..
You know who you are!
If you doubt, doubt no longer!

(c) 2017 Frances Osborne

Simple Gifts a Shaker Song

Simple Gifts a Shaker Song.
This seems like such a “simple” lyric or song that it might be overlooked as being deep — but we all know that depth often disguises itself as simplicity — and certainly we overlook the gifts that simply, ordinary, easy things give us. The original song was classified as a Shaker dance song. We also often forget the importance that simple, easy, communal dance. I.e. MOVEMENT TOGETHER. For a few days, I am reminded that the opposite of “addiction” is connection. Please, if you are so motivated, look up more about the lyrics and the song.

‘Tis the gift to be simple, ’tis the gift to be free

‘Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,

And when we find ourselves in the place just right,

‘Twill be in the valley of love and delight.

When true simplicity is gained,

To bow and to bend we shan’t be ashamed,

To turn, turn will be our delight,

Till by turning, turning we come ’round right

I feel that we are disconnected and that we forget this need to be a community embraced with each other.  We spread ourselves thin  – we move across country – we no longer live next to our families.

I believe we forget each other.  We no longer touch each other and as a result experience skin hunger.  I distinctly remember having skin hunger when I was a child and teenager.  When someone accidentally brushed against me or touched my hair, I experienced a desperate high and need and wanted that touch again.

We forget this togetherness. The dances of the community are simple maybe,  but the depth of community is often lost in our digital age. We do not connect deeply any more, do we? I know I don’t and my life is bereft and lonely because of it.

My dear, love is the order of the day.

When I am next to you, my friend, we spread our hands together

and experience the skin of each other.

When my friend is beside me, I am completely unified with the spirit

and how can I not but be ecstatic?

Beloved, be with me, be with me, never let me travel away from you,

let me stay with your soul and know your being.

Love, after all, is the order of the day, and the nature of the universe.


A Fistful of Yearning

I am clutching a fistful of yearning.
When I meet someone also clutching a fistful of yearning,
Let us open our hands and share this fistful with each other.
Our yearnings are no doubt the same or similar.
Our fists hold the same amount.
Do we open our hands and share?
Or do we close our hands tight and keep to ourselves?
But the size of our fists is the same as the size of hearts.
We could share, we could dare to share:
Which may be the hardest thing of all.
Who will share with me? Who will accept my sharing?

(c) 09-16-16 Frances Ann Osborne

Selected Haiku By Ram Krishna Singh

Selected Haiku By Ram Krishna Singh | Submitted On August 14, 2016


Stopped for years

on the window sill

a singing clock


A drop embedded

in the half-opened bud-

winter morning


Half-hidden sun

calls clouds to thicken:

chanting mantra


Searching warmth

near a roadside tea stall

a beggar


Ash-smeared sadhus

wash off their sins in sangam-

makar sankranti


Intense prayer

pushing forward peace-

winged perfume


On the ring finger

pushing the diamond again-

brave new love


Lying listless

on withered creeper

a golden bird


A sleeping snake

curled between the eggs-

layers of leaves


Awake whole night

no angel cares to watch–

frosty morning


Fading flowers

lie with weeds between stones-

winter recedes



two juicy grapes

between her fingers


Morning’s threshold

one more glimpse from moving car-

vanishing roses


Seeking refuge

on the wings of wind

scattered petals


A fading rose

lies with weeds between stones-

valentine day



enter her body

mask revealed


Watching chess

in the taproom

a novice


Lonely sunrise-

a butterfly flutters round

dead marigold



chits flying in from broken panes

Saraswati’s dance


She doesn’t let me touch

her nipples she fears

my octopus thrust


Last night’s rum

still reeks this morning-

wee smile


Not alone

in the midnight misery-

Easter season


In the wee hours

a short brush with death-

now resurrection


Mosque’s dome

lower than mobile towers

weaker God’s signal


Evening sky:

a pale moon behind

listless trees



wrapped in cloudy sheet-




the mountain

in veil


On the road

an injured toad-



Icy fish

laced with blood

spices smell


Arab spring-

tending death and roses

a short bloom


Midnight darkness

wrapped in loneliness

dreamy escape


A frog

bullied into the hedge

snake’s breakfast


Itching rheums

runny nose all day



Rising dawn

from behind the wheel

home still far


Ready to jump

from the culvert

a frog and my grandson



fallen under the tree

the last mango


Unexpected guests

a hell of formality:

third day of Ramzan


Incense sticks smoke

before the paper goddess:

Durga Puja


The woodpecker

still looking for the neem tree:

type VI/4



on the old sofa



Watching the moon rise

from the old balcony:

guru purnima


Reading tweets

mixed with porn teens:

yoga pants


Where has the moon gone?

I saw it two nights ago

uncertain grace


Drifting between

my eyes and the moon



Wet in sweat

from her underarms



Unashamed my son

sits tight over his trousers-

smiling mother


She recognizes

the difference in my breath:

drink in her absence


The morning dews

touch the hem of her skirt:

flight of first love


From the peepal

swirling raindrops-

palms open


Keep my night from

trauma revisiting

the soul in temple


Two large pegs

stuffed up sinuses

sexless night


Smelly sweat

in the new exam hall

two girls talk


Fresh flowers

before the paper deities:



Love takes to

animal of the body:

living again


The peepal in pot

she worships each Saturday:

phailin in backyard


Non-stop rain

confining me to Facebook-



Between the lips

shadow of her tea:

lingering taste



moths rising from nowhere:

Diwali waves


In the shade

talking haiku

to a schmo


Tastes the rose

a blue butterfly-

nimbling feet


Living life’s routine

cycled in infinite loop

feel so limited


Hunger haunts

a pavement dwellier-

Christmas again


The first winter

in the UGC colony-

breathlessness all night


Cyclonic rain

mating with the rising waves-

deserted beach


Her muscles

tighten up and the toes curl:



Autumn leaves

mount on each other-

sun’s dullness


Receding crowd

from the street fair-

Jesus in the eyes


Hidden between the sheets

my smothered senses-

salted honey


Short lives the sun

in the smoggy morning:

birthday visit


No festival

to bury wishes

made years ago


Going alone

an empty shadow

in the mall


From the ruins

rises a mute flame:

heaven’s song

Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/expert/Ram_Krishna_Singh/88483

Song of the Disentranced

I am ashamed that we are spiritless now

non-existent & non-functional

without our technology, without our phones,

without our laptops, without our tablets.

You don’t need me, do you? You don’t need my presence.

You don’t need my body language. You don’t need my smile.

Why don’t you need my hug? Why don’t you need the touch of my skin?

I long for you to know my anger…my emptiness…my loneliness.

I long for you to forget your phone and not yourself feel empty or anxious or naked.

Don’t forget that I have eyes that behold the beauty of people

and if you would allow me, I would be enchanted with the beauty of you.

If you would let me.

If you would look deeply at me with your eyes.

See me.

Feel me.


The View from My Window

This came from a writing prompt: Describe: The view out your window (light, shadows, colors, the look of the sky, the look of the ground, what’s there). I felt guilty right away, because I have a lovely view of nature right there. There’s so much going on, if only I would pay attention. But what do I pay attention to instead? Email, Facebook, funny memes of cats. The latest gaffes of Donald Trump. Superficial me! Lazy me! Unimportant me! (Unimportant because I am not contributing meaningfully to society).

In my office, I have a sliding glass door
but I don’t really look out of it
I should, though.
It’s art. Nature’s art. With Nature’s Natural Lighting.
It’s Nature’s Wild Riot.
But I do listen. I do hear.
What I hear mostly is the rhythmic songs of birds.
Or a cat wanting to get in. Or the soft crackling steps of a wild animal.
I keep thinking the view should inspire me
to write, philosophize, save the world…
and it does inspire me — momentarily.
But I do not end up doing any of these things.
Sometimes, a deer will walk by and we’ll lock eyes,
acknowledging each other’s existence in the world:
the deer’s right to graze upon foliage,
my right to sit here and do nothing.

©2015 Frances Osborne Austin Texas

Votives and Votive Figurines

ceramic votive figurine
Small votive figurine in the Upper Paleolithic Style. This one contains a small bowl like indentation which serves as a receptacle for a food, drink, or herbal offering. Artist: Frances Osborne

A votive  is offered, given, or dedicated in accordance with a vow. A vow is a solemn promise, an engagement solemnly entered into, an oath made to God, a promise to follow out some line of conduct or to devote yourself to some act or service.

What is the purpose of a votive figure? A votive figurine is a offering to a deity, an abstract representation. These statues embody the very essence of the worshiper so that the spirit would be present when the physical body was not. Votive figures were made as an act of worship to the gods and placed in a shrine before the image of the god.  For some people, the purpose of these votive figures was to offer constant prayers to the gods in behalf of the believer, so that the believer could go about his or her daily business and the votive figurine worked in their place.

A small earthenware votive figurine in the Upper Paleolithic Style. Artist: Frances Osborne.

For others, perhaps these figurines represented the spirit of the thing or deity. A deer figurine might house the spirit of deer and be prayed to for good hunting.  Some might be made in such a ways as to be a receptacle for a food, drink or incense offering.

A votive figure can serve as a focal point of your altar and your service to the divine spirit, the Universe or higher purpose (your ethics and morals, for example). They are reminders to you, a way of remembering to be be mindful of what is important in life.

“Potter’s Clay” by Faithbook for Him (source)

One piece at a time, the Potter uncovered the pieces of clay.
They were scattered on the ground from where He gently lifted them.
As He began to speak the designs that He would make,
The broken clay transformed into its new shape.

For more examples of little votive figurines, click here

Dark Love

The night is dark.
Chocolate is dark.
Red wine is dark.
What does that tell me?
It tells me that love is dark.
Love is sweet.
Love is dark, sweet, and dangerous.
So do it. Be Dark.
Be Sweet. Be Dangerous.
Be Love.
These are all the good things
that we long for.
We can be love — and dark —
and dangerous — and sweet —
We can be anything we want to be
and it’s still love.
If you are reading this right now,
it means I love you and
let us be all these things together.
Let us spend the day together in love
and doing all the other things that go with love.
Let us hold hands, laugh,
and look secretively at each other.
Let us make the younger ones know
that love, life and fun do not die.
They live on inside of us, every day and in every way.
Because I want to teach that life is MORE colorful
when you are past wanting to please the world.
Instead you discover that true pleasing and true love
is expressed by being exactly who you are. Today.
Everyday. Now. Tomorrow. Forever.
(c) 2015 Frances Ann Osborne


The lines about chocolate, the night, wine, things I loved were the source of this poem. I hope you enjoy it. I think a lot when alone and doing ordinary things. In this case, I was in the car and going to the grocery story. I don’t know why I started thinking about night, wine, chocolate and love. But I do know that I often think about people being utterly themselves — without fear or worry. That if we all were utterly ourselves, we would not worry. We would all feel free to be authentic.

Lord of Thunder

“Let the rain kiss you. Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops. Let the rain sing you a lullaby.”
— Langston Hughes
Yes, the rain does kiss me and sings me a song —
But it is the thunder that beats my head.
The rain soothes and makes sleepy,
but the drumfire of the storm incites my heart.
Why, O Lord of Thunder, are you here?
Do not speak to me — I do not wish to hear you!
posted from Austin, Texas

For a Dead Owl


For a dead owl, hit by a semi-truck…buried by a friend who grieves ….. I grieve as well….

beloved owl — giver of wisdom
be rested now — we honor you
once of the sky — now of the earth
you are free — rise high above us

may your spirit be elevated to the heavens — may you become a guide for us