NOTE : I wrote this back in 2015, but this year, the 100th memorial year,  I think is a good time to give it another airing. A Legacy from the Great War. (WW1) I was watching a television trailer, regarding a forthcoming documentary, examining the life of those who lived and fought from the trenches. I was struck by the number of film clips taken on the front line. That so many have survived for the past one hundred years is quite amazing, considering the ease of degradation of the materials used. I had not previously considered such an archive of moving images existed, considering movie making was still in its infancy at the time. Seeing these short monochrome ( mostly, although a few colour films were produced ), films of men going about their daily lives on the front line, brought the characters of those captured on cellulose to life in a way I did not think possible. In conjunction with this footage was often clear and exceptional commentary. ...

I had to share this post in full. Read it and you will know why, Paul.                                                                                            Fi rst posted on               https://www.elephantjournal.com/2017/07/what-shunryu-suzuki-taught-me-about-time Via  Jim Owens on Jul 16, 2017     533 Shares get elephant's newsletter Shunryū Suzuki , was a master of many things, not the least of which were meditation and calligraphy. His teaching—sometimes simple, sometimes confusing, but always profound—has influenced me greatly. I have also admired the work of other remarkable men and women: the Nobel Peace Prize winning,  Thich Nhất   Hanh , the Trappist monk, T...

A Fifties Child first published on 4 Aug 2016   by Carol Taylor  https://niume.com/post/79822 Hype Favourite Shares     Pin it Born in the early 50's, one of 3 and the oldest we had no Tv or phone we played out until dark and sometimes we were out all day playing in the woods, making camps...I was definitely not one of those girls who played with dolls and pushed someone else's baby up and down the street..for fun! Really...I was  a tom boy...one of my earliest memories was this pink spotted dress my mum made me...she made all our clothes and I remember that when the elbows of our cardigans or jumpers wore thin my mum unpicked the sleeves and changed them over so the darned patch was in the crook of our elbow. I also remember climbing the big old Oak tree in the middle of the green and catching the said pink dress and tore it! Girls then did not wear trousers only skirts and dresses. We made tents in the garden by slinging ...

First published by Melody Sim. http://www.melodysim.com/2016/12/a-letter-to-myself-year-from-now.html As with most, if not all posts on Brilliant BlogShare, there has to be something captivating in the content, which must be original. This post is refreshingly so, it has an open nieve style which enhances the narration. read and enjoy. A LETTER to MYSELF a year from now:

This is Squid McFinnigan's post not mine. But I have shared it here because it deserves its place as a 'Brilliant Blog' To see/read the origanal post you will need to go to http://squidmcfinnigan.blogspot.co.uk/2016/12/let-it-snow.html. Sometimes memories are connected to the strangest of things. It might be a smell, or a particular sound or something else entirely that whisks you back to a moment in time which will live with you forever. One such thing for me is snow, and seeing those first fluffy white crystals falling from the dark clouds above. I know most people love snow and it reminds them of snowball fights and building snowmen and frozen fingers. It reminds me of those things as well but also another more precious memory.   When I was growing up, things in Ireland were particularly tough. Interest rates on mortgages had reached as high as twenty percent and a huge amount of people were out of work. My Dad had a good job in a factory, but when th...

I give a short introduction to many of the posts on Brilliant Blog Share, this is one of the few that does not need any introduction, none at all. We are the last generation who can hear from the survivors, those who actually and  directly  witnessed the holocaust  .  Do not take that lightly Do not forget, your freedom is not infinitely guaranteed either.    It is said  " those who forget history are condemned to repeat it" best not forget, then.

Wednesday, April 15, 2015  This post is from my friend Cee Que  who is a terrific poet and writer,as I am sure you will find when you read her words below. Happy 21st Birthday, Joey!!! I cry at these milestones because it reminds me how fast the years have gone by...I don't think my Joey knows I wrote this poem for him a while back... Family Portrait - 2008 - photo by  Peter J. Crowley Batang Lalake (Baby Boy) his speech lagged at three born with babies crying in his ears now man-heavy  his voice: bass and harmonica  as if he were bobbing and reading  sheet music at the same time woolly mornings and stretched tight nights overcrowded him gruff tree against the realm— my boy at man's threshold determined to etch on his coat of arms permanent ink of love and mirth no yardstick no barometer, just him over there in the heart of the labyrinth More of CEE QUE's work can be found  on  http://you...

This is an amazing story, the rawness of pain & hurt resonate with every word. This is the true story of  A.F. Marie-Ann. I appreciate her braveness in writing this personal essay I am a rape victim. Those five words were harder to write than I thought, let alone accept the fact that it happened. To me. It’s been four long years and I am still trying to live with myself. Still trying to believe that this is what I survived, and not a movie I watched on a Sunday evening. It’s been four years and this is what happens after rape. Days felt like nights and nights felt like days. I could not differentiate between the two; everything from that point on was complete darkness. Not because I didn't want to, but because I emotionally and mentally shut myself off and, as such, the days became one big blur. I was lonelier than ever. I was trapped inside my own head. All the “what if’s” and “what could’ve been’s” I tortured myself with when I was damn sure that it...