This is part of a story that is being reported on Discovery Channel and called "The art of aging".

It tells the story of Ms Taki Masawa, who started writing haiku poetry at the sweet age of 90 and, get this, published her very own Haiku Collection at 103 years old ! Incredible no? !!!

But it gets better...

Professor Toshihide Kuake of Tokyo University has done some research with Ms Masawa to find out why she was so alert at that centennial age and she had agreed. Here is what they've found:

Ms Masawa had agreed to have sensors installed all over her skull that would monitor her blood flows to the brain, much like having neverending x-rays. In her regular daily activities, nothing much would happen. All normal. But when she sat down and started writing Hiaku, concentrating and focusing, there was an incredible blood flow that would increase in her pre frontal area of the brain. That same area tends to shrink with age, it did very very lightly in her case. Blood flow to that perticular area has numerous positive effects on the body. It regularises cholesterol and blood pressure, it maintains the memory in good shape, and most importantly, it stimulates the body to make antioxydants which fight numerous diseases, including cancer cells.

This whole situation was in 2004, I do not know if Ms Masawa still lives, but I felt her story had to be shared, if only for the "It's never too late" factor. Not sure if I spelled the names right but I personally find this story totally amazing. If you get a chance, check it out. " The art of aging ".

Coral.

Dear poets at heart,

Thank you for being here, in our little intimate poetry corner of the web! Poems are gifts, they are true gifts, given freely to a world seeking answers, seeking warmth. Poems are images translated into words, for everyone to see. They bring smiles, laughter, they make days brighter, they bring a tear to the eye at times, they are a huge scream from the soul at other times. Poems are so linked with Life, in all its beauty and its ugliness. Poems are gifts.

I also wish to announce that I have promoted Raven to Moderator. She is a wonderful poet, a great story teller and a very close friend. Time is an issue for me at times, and she has agreed to give a hand. And so I thank her!

Welcome to the newcomers, your poems are read, and loved.

Blessings,

~Coral.

 

 

Every now and then, there comes a time,

When words get stuck, the Dreadful Block,

Thoughts are like a tornado without a rhyme,

Emotions blurred, sensations stirred or disturbed...

And for a poet not to write, is like asking

for the sun not to rise or set, a pen on a tablet,

Brain constipation, Mind on eruption, a thought without a motion,

A missing core between them all, the muse's inspiration...and wing...

You can't ask a Marathon Man not to run,

It'd be like taking both his legs away,

Not for a medal, not for a title, not for a day,

So stay with me, time will come when it is gone...

 

The Writer's Block.

 

Coral 2007.

 Just trying to push through...

~

Full Moon, Full Moon Rising,

Once more, Rituals in the Making,

Celebrations Around the World,

Pagans Unite and Share the Word...

 

A Goddess Acclaimed and Praised,

A God with the Moon is Raised,

Wine, Bread, Incense if you May,

Candles are Lit, to Show us the Way...

 

Full Moon, Dearest Moon Rising,

For You, We shall Dance and Sing,

Give Thanks and Let our Powers Rise,

For this Night, Will make Us Wise...

 

Full Moon, Blessed Moon Rising,

Joy and Warmth to Us you Bring,

The Old Ways are Here once More,

And Stronger, than Ever Before.

~

Coral 2007

 

 

 

~ Whispers ~

 

 

Whispers in my mind, whispers so kind,

A shadowed scenery, a quest for dark poetry,

An endless adventure without a signature,

An epic, drama unfolding, not heroic, and fading.

 

A flat rock bouncing off the surface of the lake,

My thoughts bouncing off more than I can take,

Songs and dances by the shore, a fire so bright,

Until morning, light replacing the heat of the night.

 

Laughter and festivities till dawn sets over hill,

Finished now, but can you hear their echoes still ?

Freedom, bodies enflamed, taboos being broken,

Frontiers being put down to a territory forbidden.

 

Daydreaming, an evil curse laid upon my soul,

For being me, for being free, for not wanting...

to fit the mold.

Coral 2004/01/28

This was written after an argument with a friend over the fact that I've seen my soulmate in my dreams since I was little. Told me I was just wasting time on fantasy and poetry. Well, I lost a friendship but she was wrong. I still dream, and lately, more and more often. I cannot see her, never could, but I know we lived together. More than one lifetime. I recall roman times, medieval times and a time that I can't put a date on. All I remember of that one is that I was a druid - the medicine man of the village. BelfGra'Am was my name. Yes, I still dream. Holding her in my arms by the lake, underneath that marvelous tree. I can see her robe. I can smell her scent. I can feel her love. And for the very first time since I was born, I feel we are about to reunite.