Pass Le Cafe ~ ! ***

~ * Wallace Joseph Bond * ~

Jody' Father,
Who visited Jody & me
In Boston, ca. 1981

93 Waltham Street

~ * ~
1927 ~ June 14, 2002

Published Sunday, Jun 16, 2002 - Wallace Joseph Bond 1927-2002

Wallace Joseph Bond, 75, died Friday June 15, 2002.

Wallace was a fifth generation Pensacolian and a member of the Catholic
Faith. Mr. Bond was preceded in death by his wife, Tina Wash Bond and
his son, Jonathan Edward Bond. His son, Gregory Alexander Bond, his
daughter and son in law, Ella Meriwether and Peter Benjamin Salt,
grandsons; Matthew Rosasco Bond and Alexander Simon Bond; sister and
brother in law, Edna Nell and Wilson Pershing Shaw, sister in law,
Marie McCaskill Bond, four nieces and one nephew survive Mr. Bond. He
left behind his much-loved hometown and many friends that he loved and
who enriched his life over the years.

The Memorial Mass celebrating Wallace's life will be held 11:00am
Wednesday June 19, 2002 at St Joseph Catholic Church with Father Tom
Bonanti officiating. Harper-Morris Memorial Chapel is in charge of
arrangements. In lieu of flowers, the family request memorial
contributions be made to EASE, or St Joseph Catholic Church.

http://myersfamilytree.com/obits/b_obit.htm

"Pray for the snowman."
~ tkBabe

"... &
The Falconer?"
~ Cupola

"For Your Information

Got to Go
Grin
Go Ahead
Get A Clue

For Your Eyes & Ears Only

Get A Life
Get Away From It All

Great Big Hugs & Kisses ~ !"
~ Argyle

"Great Big Hugs & Kisses Back
Get Back To Me
God Bless You

Grinning, Ducking & Hiding
Grinning, Ducking & Running
Grinning, Ducking & Running Fast!
Grinning, Ducking & Running Very Very Fast!
Grinning, Ducking & Weaving ~ !"
~ Stainsbury

Twittering One wrote:

"Pray for the snowman."
~ tkBabe

"... &
The Falconer?"
~ Cupola

Genesis

SNOWBOUND Written by Mike Rutherford
Lay your body down upon the midnight snow,
Feel the cold of winter in your hair
Here in a world of your own,
In a casing that's grown
To a children's delight
That arrived overnight.

And here they come to play their magic games
Carving names upon your frozen hand.
Here in a world of your own,
Like a sleeper whose eyes
Sees the pain with surprise
As it smothers your cries
They'll never never know.

Hey there's a Snowman
Hey, Hey what a Snowman
Pray for the Snowman
Ooh, Ooh what a Snowman
They say a snow year's a good year
Filled with the love of all who lie so deep.

Smiling faces tear your body to the ground
Covered red that only we can see.
Here in a ball that they made
From the snow on the ground,
See it rolling away
Wild eyes to the sky
They'll never, never know.

Hey there's a Snowman
Hey what a Snowman
Pray for the Snowman
Ooh, Ooh what a Snowman
They say a snow year's a good year
Filled with the love of all who lie so deep.

Hey there goes the Snowman
Hey there what a Snowman
Hey there lies the Snowman
Hey he was a Snowman
They say a snow year's a good year
Filled with the love of all who lie so deep.

tkb

"Here in a world of your own,
In a casing that's grown
To a children's delight
That arrived overnight.

And here they come to play their magic games ..."
~ Mike Rutherford

"Poem nice."
~ Twittering

"Snowman ~

One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is."
~ Wallace Stevens

"Spring passes and one remembers one's innocence
Summer passes and one remembers one's exuberance
Autumn passes and one remembers one's reverence
Winter passes and one remembers one's perseverance."
~ Yoko Ono,
"Season of Glass"

"Spruce nice."
~ Folly

Twittering One wrote:

This has NOTHING to do with ME!
I DON'T WANT TO hear
About your sexual use.

This is usenet. Read it, delete it, plonk it, move on.

tkb

"After a Year ~

And what if now I told you this, let's say
By email. Would you imagine me
Talking to myself in an empty room,
Watching myself in the window talking,
My fingers moving silently, birdlike,
On the keyboard, or because superimposed
On the screen, among the branches of my mind's
Disenchanted Forest of Neurons?

If I wrote you, told you, I almost died.
I needed help. Would you answer me,
Would you help me?

Would you help me keep my life,
Would you help me fight against those who harmed
Me?

Or would you ignore me?
Would you say, let it go ... No one harmed you,
You did this to yourself?"
~ Sandy

"If I have a story along the lines of McClatchy's poem-of meeting a
poet who became, not a mentor exactly, but a model-then it would be
the story of meeting Anthony Hecht at the West Chester Poetry
Conference.

Now that Hecht is gone (he died in October of last year), I cherish the
memories of his teaching and reading more deeply than ever.

Only last summer, Hecht spoke at the conference on a panel devoted to
"Religion and Poetry."

In a short, beautifully wrought, and carefully considered talk, he
demonstrated how Thomas Hardy, that reputed skeptic, did not dismiss
questions of faith but rather engaged them."

~ David Yezzi,
From "Anthony Hecht & Landscape"

http://www.newcriterion.com/archive/23/sum05/yezzi.htm