Gene Kelly Tattoo

July 16, 2010 at 8:01 pm | Posted in poetry, writing | 106 Comments

that which you can see
coming
you already have

it is the unexpected
stumblings over (airborne joy with tumble roll)
which constitute the treasure

into outstretched
sunsets
merriment and dance

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106 Comments »

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  1. Paul, I am reminded of
    Singing in the Rain,
    and that is good for a
    happy feeling. Thank you.

    The last scene in the movie
    had a black and white ’54 Ford in the background.
    We had a car just like that one.

  2. i agree w/jack, ‘what a glorious feeling’!

  3. Brilliant :) and strangely enough I couldn’t get your last poem out of my mind and I was associating ‘cruising’ with an image of Gene Kelly (one of my favourite people in the world) in Singing in the Rain – all that dodging of traffic; and now we have the ‘Gene Kelly Tattoo’. Happy Days.

  4. here’s a poem filled with amazing wisdom

  5. Such optimism!

  6. Merriment and dance: two of my favorite things :-). Enjoyed this. Thanks.

  7. it is summer time here and winter time there yet this seems such a summertime poem such joy and the sun on my face after the rain and the bow and I am always June Allyson dancing with Gene Kelly

  8. it is like yr own shadow that suddenly appears revealing a whole other world existing alongside… the wisdom is light and airy filled with oompa oompa oompa bubbles… willy wonka chocolate factory… but of course, thaz another story.. and again, a tattoo with wings…

  9. Visiting your blog and reading your poems feels like escaping to a wonderful place for holiday, Paul…so familiar yet different every time, mesmerizing…

  10. Hey there old friend. Ya, it’s me! I finally opened up an account on this site and am completely lost lol anyhow, the poem seems to celebrate the pure joy of surprise, of the subconscious feeling before the conscious can compute, categorize, and benumb.

  11. Okay I must add my mood to your joy, its beautiful and perhaps even possible :)

  12. *doing a happy dance* ……. good stuff!

  13. ah yes Paul… it is all in the openness, the discovery. let’s dance…

  14. like very much. like squared even.

  15. infinitely fantastic, Paul … a retro-future deja-vu gem shining with the unexpected but already known … mystery and revelation perfectly poised … love it!

  16. GingaPaul…. i just got an email from a friend of yours saying you have passed away. I’m posting in hopes that it is a misunderstanding, a mistake, a cruel joke because i simply cannot fathom a world without you and your talent and your humor in it.
    Man, we had some good, good times.
    And I’m so, so sorry that I didn’t have the chance to say goodbye.
    These tears this morning belong to you.
    all my love – Kota

  17. Go where the good men go
    With the roar of the tide and the colors
    Of the rainbow
    Be sheltered by angel’s wings
    Held to the bosom of nature
    Reserved for all more precious things
    Gone, your leather lines of worry
    At peace where good men’s souls are free
    In my heart you live forever
    Like blissful lines of poetry
    Infinite are the winding trails
    Of shooting stars we followed
    I will find your voice my friend;
    I know it well
    Go where the good men go ~F.~

  18. Will much miss your friendship and your talent…take care wherever you go. – Mimi. xx

  19. I too, am hoping that what I’ve heard is wrong. Paul, please don’t go just yet, you are too dear to leave us and I simply cannot take the loss of your friendship and continued support. You are the reason (after much nagged from you) I started my own blog and began working more seriously as a writer. You never gave me false praise, but constantly pushed me to better myself. With all of my friendship and deep respect for you, my dear good friend, Rachel Blackbirdsong

  20. I’m so sorry to tell everyone this, but it is true and our dear friend Paul has died of an accidental fall. The funeral will probably be next week in Brisbane. Such a waste of a beautiful life, a wonderful man who I loved very much and who I will miss incredibly. This is the saddest week. Let’s hope his wonderful blog is archived permanently.

  21. missing you so much already, Paul…did you hear me talking about you tonight to my writing students? before I heard the news?

  22. There really are no words that can sum up the sadness.
    I will miss you, Paul.
    You will be in my heart always.

  23. Goodbye Paul, I will always remember the support you gave me, the words of encouragement that would appear on my blog exactly when I needed them.
    You are eternal through your words.

  24. … Missing you muchly Paul and finding it hard to compose my thoughts into something coherent … I shall always remember you as a generous giver to the world of the arts and a supporter of all who sometimes struggled to find the words.

  25. Thank you, Paul. I can’t think of anything else to say, so thank you again.

  26. mr squires, i shall miss you greatly. the worlds you created are so joyous and i know they will endure. go fill the next world with wonder. with greatest love and respect, sarah. xo

  27. my dear friend, how you so enriched my life. your generous spirit and encouragement will never be forgotten, xxx always sweet paul, the world has lost a true genius and amazing heart, i will miss you, and never forget you, your words will live on forever

  28. Squires,

    You brought us all together. You injected me with confidence and strength. You expanded my universe. You challenged me. You made me a better writer.

    I will miss you.

    We will miss you.

  29. […] final poem at Gingatao is spectacularly […]

  30. wonderfully loose and bright1

    **************************
    What? End of an era?

  31. I cruised in here to say hello, only to find out that you have left this earth. It was a shock to say the least.

    Paul, you have been a fabulous and friendly voice. Each visit to your realm brought fresh thought. There were few poetry blogs I could expect such consistently great work. You will be missed.

  32. I have no words to express how sad I feel right now. Paul, you were an inspiration, a mentor, and a friend. I will miss you dearly.

  33. Oh Paul, why didn’t you take better care? Didn’t you know how far your love had spread? Like the great jazzman, Fritz Kreisler, were you dreaming and failed to see the danger near you? But Kreisler survived, and I wish you had survived to be with us still.

    I said a couple posts ago that you were the master of “not” — of evoking the things you say are not there (“a bird not a heron” — I still see that heron flying)and now we’re left with acres and silent acres of not hearing your voice-in-words.

    You wrote these beautiful poem thingys filled with wisdom and now we have to find our own wisdom, and I fear I am too poor, too wisdom poor to manage. Encourage us in memories.

    “wordless the world will come and reveal itself to you …. and leaves just you, surrounded by and singing with the voice of God.”

    “Because in the end you can look and look and the only available redemption is love.”

    I love you Paul. Thank you so very much for your friendship.

  34. […] the mundane, making it seem electric and so vivid. I miss your counsel, and your rebelliousness. Paul, you left too soon because there is so much to still learn from you. Categories: Cancelled […]

  35. http://alethakuschan.wordpress.com/2010/07/31/paul-squires/

    Paul, teacher, I have tried to characterize the friendship. My version of a poem thingy.

  36. Oh Paul, I read of your death on Aletha’s blog – and I thought: No, this cannot be. How unfair, how cruel, how terrible for all the rest of us and how sad to lose your kind genius too soon. Paul, your warm words of encouragement lifted me, flattered me that one so gifted as you would deign to value what I do.

    I have loved your heart, your mind, your amazing verve. I am better for knowing your work and words.

    I shall miss you, miss you, miss your presence here on earth, but I keep your voice in my heart.

    You are the best of us.

  37. Like many of your readers, I always thought I would someday meet you in Australia, for a beer or a walk on the beach. But as you always loved to say, “Time is not linear.” So maybe — and I wish this with all my heart — I will still see you yet on the other side.

  38. Paul
    Paul
    Paul
    Oh paul
    shit

    ok
    ok
    paulll

    ok
    ok
    ok

  39. “airborne joy with tumble roll”

    Dear Paul, Poet Laureate of the Universe — wherever you are, that phrase describes so aptly your gorgeousness of spirit. You were and will always be a true joy and blessing to all whom you touched with your wisdom and warmth and talent. RIP my friend.

    With love and admiration,

    TL

  40. Paul, though we never met you left some wonderful comments on my blog. So very warm and encouraging. I’m genuinely very sad to hear about your passing. What a shock.

  41. What can I say? Damn and blast. I was just getting to know you.

  42. An Elegy: Paul Gingatao Squires

    He’s dead.

    No deep metaphors
    No sly allusions
    No masking imagery

    He’s dead.

    No theological conjecture
    No philosophical consolations
    No poetic catharsis

    He’s dead.

    It’s science
    It’s mathematical

    Life ≤ Death

    Even Pi lingers in more uncertainty
    Even it tails off forever
    Dwelling in a realm
    Of some grand infinity…

    He doesn’t.

    While some may counter
    His dreams live on

    I don’t.

    His dreams parish with him
    His unique blend of passions
    Spiking in the sudden curves
    Of his frequency, arching
    In his climatic feeling

    Gone.

    There’s no other way to put it.

    No euphemisms to deceive:

    “passed away”
    “moved on”
    “rests in peace”
    “crossed over”
    “deceased”
    “returned home”
    “dwells in the bosom of God”

    He’s dead.
    He’s fucken dead

    Paul is dead.

    Now all we are left with
    Is a tribute album, but not his music

    Relics from Troy, not its original grandeur

    No, the person Paul is dead.

    His beauty dispersed
    Like shrapnel lodged
    Inside the minds he exploded on

    His essence diluted
    Like a once vast ocean forking, forking
    Into individual manifold rivers, streams

    Rushing, trickling
    Through our trembling body.

    II.

    He fell from a great height, literally
    Dreaming to his death

    In his dream, he flew high
    Above his beloved Australia
    Crossing the vast plains, and dusky hills
    Until finally he whisked over
    An aqua-blue radiance undulating
    Seemingly gliding beneath him
    He graciously moved, a torrent
    Brushing his rigid face
    Towards that bronze haze
    Of a setting sun
    This was the illumination he closed on
    Not some artificially constructed
    Light at the end of the tunnel
    Nor the synapses snapping
    And neurons convulsing desperately
    But that soft sky he was falling through
    That sun in the imminent distance

    The jagged rocks that cracked his skull
    Merely awakened him to a new reality

    Where the body no longer writhes in interminable pain
    Longing for release

    Where the Light and Warmth far-flung
    Across the unfathomably dark empty universe

    Coalesce.

    III.

    There’s a stoic in me stirring:

    Do not weep, for death is inevitable
    The cessation of sensation, and therefore, suffering
    It should be endured magnanimously
    As if it were just another autumn day

    There’s a monk in me murmuring:

    Death and Life are one, it is a cycle
    Perpetual as the four seasons
    Weep not, for you do not weep when winter
    Numbs your limbs, and frosts your lips

    But I am not wise enough to remain unmoved
    I am not a stone or a grain of sand in a zen garden
    I will sob in spite of protestations
    No one rebukes the clouds for raining
    Nor the rose for wilting when it snows
    I will grieve selfishly and dramatically
    I will pound my chest and yank my roots
    I will wail like a madman in a padded cell
    I will be inconsolable and pitiful
    I will be the lowliest creature on earth, forlorn
    I will wear black, smoke and swig all night
    I will brawl for the slightest of provocations
    I will stay aloof from those closest to me
    I will be judged and scorned by martians
    Poking and prodding, but never understanding
    Truly, they will retort it’s not the first death
    And I will either nod silently or spit in their faces
    I will make no apologies for my tears
    I will store them in a glass jar and exhibit them
    Like an urn on the mantle, there, next to the tv
    For everyone to see while they’re laughing at game shows.

    IV.

    It adds another layer
    Of meaning to facts
    An extra wave
    That resonates
    Through the body
    Like a bell
    It is like discovering
    A new interpretation
    Of an artwork
    That deepens understanding
    That some how amplifies
    Our humanity
    And one wonders
    How can I have gone
    So long in ignorance
    How can I have staggered
    Like a cripple
    Feeling only the echoes
    Of songs, the texture
    Of dry brittle leaves
    Hearing only the howling
    Of the whipping wind
    Seeing only the shadows
    Of passing birds
    Touching words
    Like an illiterate fumbling
    His fingers over braille
    The fullness of life
    Ripens only with death
    Death is the space
    That frames a statue
    Without it, life is
    Simply 2-dimensional
    An object perceived, half-felt
    Not a subject, wholly
    Encompassing our being
    For this gift bestowed
    I thank you, Death. Death.

  43. I only just heard. Sending positive thoughts to his family and friends and all my sympathy.

    Oh Paul, I’m sorry we never caught up for that beer at West End…let’s just say we’ll do it later, when we do meet up…

    all my thoughts

    cat

  44. can’t be… people like you live forever… don’t they?

    i polished off a Foster’s Sat. eve…were you trying to tell me something as i scanned the aisle of beers, searching for just the right spirit?

    “If you have something to say of any worth then people will listen to you.” – Oscar Peterson

    And listen we did.

    …Now please wake us all up again, Paul.

  45. I did not know Paul and have not been a regular visitor here. But I saw news of Paul’s passing at Naquillity’s and felt compelled to stop by and offer my sincere condolences to family and friends.

  46. I have been choking for the past hour in disbelief. Paul, these tears are a product of your love. I hope you are in a beautiful place surrounded by people as beautiful as you were. We would truly, deeply miss you.
    I still can’t believe this.
    Paul, Thank you for holding my hand whenever I was down, for reminding me to smile whenever I frowned. You were a true friend. You always wanted to come one day and have tea in my garden, and I had been so looking forward to it. But we will do that on the other side.

  47. Paul…my dear friend. I will mourn alone in my quiet room and imagine you and Sunonhead, under a moon, holding hands down the shore. I will miss you terribly.

    You made people believe in themselves.

  48. fuck. i just heard. i do not like.
    paul was a friend i never met, and a mentor i never deserved.
    paul helped me believe.
    i really need to braul now. i’ll be in touch brad.
    respect.

  49. oh Paul .. darn it …

    thank you for your awesome encouragement, your belief in my writing;
    and darn it i’ll be in Oz in a few weeks … came here to tell you and found all this-shocking-this …

    my deepest sympathy to your loves

    and now i’m missing youyouyou .. fly dear soulfriend

    i hope this blog can stay … please?

    with love,
    Shell

  50. i looked out to sea and there you are waving your arms with a pirates glee…

  51. […] world as i know now living and breathing. i recently read of gingatao’s unexpected passing [ paul squires ] and find i am mourning. we shall all miss him terribly. i am now looking forward to seeing him […]

  52. What the fuck Paul. Where did you go? How did this happen? I do not like this at all even though I know death is inevitable. I am overwhelmed with a grief that has not hit me yet. Even though I never met you in the flesh you occupied a space in my heart. You were my biggest fan, my greatest critic and one of my only supports. You understood my work with a literary sensibility that is so rare to come across in these mind-washed days. Fuck Paul- I am so sad that you have passed on. A fall? Well it is a literary exit for a brilliant poet such as yourself but I am really sad that you have died. I know your spirit lives, I know it is out there- I will search for you. Thank you so much for all you did for me Paul. Thank you.

  53. Paul Squires, Poet Laureate Of the Universe. http://absurdistry.wordpress.com/

  54. […] Gene Kelly Tattoo […]

  55. […] Gene Kelly Tattoo […]

  56. I’m going to read this poem today and talking about our friend Oaul Squires today at my mom’s memorial, 2pm California Time.

  57. (((uncle)))
    xxxxxxxxxxx

  58. A Tilt Of Your Hat

    A tilt of your hat,
    And to you sir,
    I’ll doff my cap
    For, of poets admired,
    There were but three,
    And there always shall be.

    Our scribbling pens joined
    At a café’s orchid room,
    On virtual pages,
    Through mists and rages
    We created new worlds,
    Internal prisms of fluid inspiration.

    Your words lived,
    And breathed.
    You, sir, lived,
    If no more
    And with sadness
    We’ll come to our own terms,
    But your work,
    Shall always shine bright.

    So tilt your hat sir,
    Take a bow,
    And tilt your hat.

    By Wulfstan Crumble
    Dedicated to Paul Squires.

  59. This is completely out of the blue. Shocked. See you in the next, Paul.

  60. I skipped into GINGATAO full of pleasure to bring pleasant news related to our meeting, only to find other sad shocking news –
    To all those bereaved friends and family of
    the late Mr. Paul Squires, Poet and Gentleman, I send through my tears, sincere condolences of this terrible loss.
    We met in the ether, and may do so another time, I hope.

  61. farewell, paul,
    man, you were always a welcome visitor on my blogs, and i loved dropping in here and reading your work.
    you will be missed.

  62. Always the last to know, McPaulus. Love you, dear friend.

  63. Oh my dear friend, who supported my writing so fiercely when we started up in the blogosphere. I am so saddened. You were so talented. We miss you very much. Love Simonne.

  64. missing you

  65. I have just heard. Paul and I used to trade long, lovely emails, he was the most magical and wisest person I have known. He bought one of my paintings, the only person to do so, which I think you bought as a gift to Narni, because you didn’t care too much for possessions, a gesture I was bowled over by. I’m sorry, Paul, I’m sorry I wasn’t a better friend and that I fell out of touch with you and poetry. I can’t say anything. Goodbye Paul our frienship wasn’t virtual. You were so playful, yet you gave me doses of reality that I needed and still struggle to listen to, but I will now, and the world was a thing of wonder to you. Thank you. I hope that my habit of distance didn’t hurt or confuse you. You were a great writer, a magician, you constantly reminded us of the worth of the world and was it foolish changes in my life that meant I sometimes struggled to see it? You were supportive, you supported me in my writing and were encouraging every step of the way. We found a kinship of understanding, you knew you wanted to do your own thing, and you did that beautiful thing, and let people come to see it and understand it if they were open and wanted to. for my part, I was happy to have found you, and you, had the strength and conviction and wisdom to persevere, not like someone I know :), who let some foolish mood or phase sway his art. For you Paul, I will be a better person and friend to others. I’ll do what you many times urged me to. I will finish my book, and stop being so timid, and pick up the pen again, as I must. You imagined us meeting, wooing the girls in the gardens of England. I imagined the rich yellow beaches of Australia. If the virtual world had confused me into forgetting what was important, if I eventually knew less of what was down and up, to the detriment of our friendship, sorry. Have a nice afterlife, man. I hope it’s as cool as the world you described in your poems. I called you uncle once, you knew more than me and you had that voice. Goodbye Paul. Best wishes to Paul’s family,

    Thank you,
    to a master,
    good bye. I am missing you,
    through my tears, though you probably wouldn’t have much truck with those, for you so bravely and wisely lived a life without Regret, consider this my last email to you friend, though it’s not quite saying what I want it to.
    I learnt so much from you, and will continue to learn, with your memory with me.

    Thank you and goodbye, Paul.

    Your friend,

    Peter

  66. I just learned today of Paul’s passing. I feel like the world has lost a little bit of its magic… Paul’s was a fantastic voice and I will miss his words.

  67. everytime i come back here i can’t believe he’s still gone – sometimes i get pissed off and sometimes i’m just sad – today i’m pissed off – why him, you know?

  68. …the tribe misses their shaman :(

  69. rest in peace, love, and writing bliss, paul.

  70. my tattoos misses your tattoo poems…

  71. and do we have that too? the unexpected, the merriment?

  72. I have been away many Moons and return to find this. But amongst the tears are smiles too, for knowing you; in some small way. In a better place now, you rest.

    Just some of the encouraging words Paul gave me. They show the sort of generous Soul he had:

    ‘Yes it would matter, a lot. It would make me sad and a lot of other people too because no-one can sing those songs like you do. You have a unique and beautiful voice in your poetry, even when the themes are sad. It would matter a lot because your poetry makes the world a more wonderful and beautiful place in which to live. Even this poem’,

  73. The one person who would comb through my archived web of triumphant denial and tell me I’m not just a hack, but a writer. Told me I was a poet, when I was thinking more along the lines of poseur…

    PaulS, Gingatao!, a friend on the other side of the globe mourns your loss,

    from this world to the beyond
    the rains fell with
    child like laughter
    an echo of what we knew
    best of this passing soul

    the sharks swim like swans
    beside the dolphins,
    under the sky’s aegis
    the blue herons fly on
    straight into the sun
    igniting into sustaire

    lightning hath forked
    but what will not go
    is that dread night

    gently, said the voice
    gently, moved the wind

    a tiger sheds tears
    sometimes

    a crocodile did
    let go the faun

    for time is on its knees
    and the rains will not
    wash it’s face
    of memories
    tattooed like breath
    crystallized
    in the cold morning after
    the glow

  74. Thinking of you, Paul. You cross my mind often. You are missed.

  75. Ditto what Jason says. and today another blogger poet emailed me and said ‘look how prophetic his last poem is’ and its true. And did you see it coming, dear Paul? I miss you very much, dear dear friend. What a beautiful difference you made in my world, your friendship and your beautiful words. Shine on you crazy diamond.

  76. I can’t believe it’s been 2 months. I still miss you as though it’s been an hour. Did you hear me talking to you in the rain yesterday?

  77. Paul, you left with no goodbye?

  78. TATTOED BONES

    Outstretched sunrise
    Just flows or shoots up
    Out of purpurine haze
    Coming by air
    On silver horses
    From the old plain
    Singing La Muerte
    On heavy metal lips
    Smooth and torrid song
    Of a burning star

  79. this loss weighs heavy on a world in need of magic, you will be missed and adored and admired and revered and missed and remembered and idolized and missed and oh how you will be missed

  80. Hey McPaulus – even in death you are a bit of a troublemaker, but that’s OK your poems more than make up for that – your poem Teardrop Tattoo is in Extempore – wonderful kalaidescope type poem.

  81. when will i return here and you won’t be dead no more?
    full references to bootsy collins and punkrock allstars
    miss you fully and completely

  82. ‘Remembering Paul’

    You were born to die,
    to live again
    in the wind
    breathe life
    through motionless trees,
    brush each cheek with a kiss
    and dance
    with the waves of the Sea

    So now;

    we can,
    feel you everywhere:
    running behind us,
    walking beside us,
    dancing infront of us;
    undiminishing
    and forever-green.

    SarahA

    Happy Bithday; you.

  83. Paul, my hill tumbling friend, always tossing daisies in my hair – your friends are so beloved, keeping your memory alive and making it so you pop up regularly in my inbox, making me smile at the memories and knowing you were so well loved that you, dear, dear friend – you will never fade from our lives.
    much love and happiest of birthdays
    and i toss the daisies back at you
    Kota

  84. Happy, happy birthday McPaulus. I raise my glass(es) to you and hope they have good champas in the ethersphere. I’d say more but you know what they say about walls. I’d write a poem but seem to have frozen a bit – maybe later – we’ve got all day – maybe you could have a birthweek (like we do for Tessa) – her birthday was 7 days ago so we have celebrated until today – you can take over in the celebration stakes – haha.

  85. Happy Birthday Paul. Now quiet, but still so much my friend. I tried so hard to write a poem for you today. Three attempts at making myself cry. I find it very hard to write since you’ve been gone. All of my thoughts go to, “What would Paul think?”. You were the critic that mattered the most. I love you & miss you & hope that heaven has an open mic night. Thrill them with your poetry, like you thrilled us.

  86. Good Morning Paul. I miss getting up and reading what you wrote while I slept…thank you for leaving a rich legacy here, plenty for me to read and reread on your blog and in The Puzzle Box. I know you were working on a mss, you emailed ecstatic about how it was going. I look forward to the day that I get to hold it in my hands: it will be the passport that will take you to all those places you dreamed of. In the meantime, I take the Puzzle Box with me everywhere. Last weekend it enjoyed a camping trip under the sycamores at the beach. Last night an owl called whoo whoo and I knew it was you.

    Friends of Paul, there’s an online celebration of his life going on over at the Orchid Room. It started on Paul’s Birthday, Brisbane time, and will continue today. As Paul would say, RAGE ON!

  87. […] of losses–Marshall’s loss of mobility (and fortunate full recovery from a broken neck), the loss of Paul Squires and my mom, the loss of my natural blonde hair and my confidence during the bizarre […]

  88. each time i read this poem it seems to change, the words go deeper, the picture has new colors filling in. i miss you so very much

  89. Good morning Paul. I’ve been thinking about what kind of a question might have prompted this Gene Kelly Tattoo. It seems very much like a reply that someone like Chuang Tzu would have offered a student.

    “What would you say to a poet or a philosopher who spends all of their time describing their world, then wakes up one morning to find it has changed forever?”

  90. i saw something move sorta like a song and dance and why was i thinking of squires… we all know you’ve moved on to a life so different than here but can’t help but to come by and say hello,

  91. Love this.

  92. […] Aletha Kuschan (who is slightly obsessed with painting Koi) and the late and great Paul Squires (gingatao) (author of The Puzzle Box) who was a great admirer of Aletha’s work, particularly her […]

  93. last year we were writing a coolboration right about now paul. still miss you my friend, always will

  94. Dear Tipota – the completion of the collaboration is a fine testament to his memory – we all exist forever in the minds of our friends.

  95. Dear Ann, he lives on inside each heart he touched. thanks xx

  96. Still missing you friend. Hard to believe it’s been a year.

  97. One year – unbelievable – part of me still thinks it’s a big McPaulus practical joke! Wishing you well wherever you may be and hope you are still creating poetry and sharing it with whoever has the pleasure of your company. Your fame continues on earth :) and you are being discussed still in the blogosphere – on this very day over at one of your favourite places, the Overland Blog – haha – I’m sure that will tickle your fancy. Cheers mate.

  98. I too keeping thinking McPaulus will turn up…he played a practical joke on me yesterday in Berkeley…I miss you but you are still present with me, a present to me

  99. Dear Paul, I miss your face. There has been a lot of thinking going on in my world. I have not been a proper friend visiting your blog as I should have.

    Bekki

  100. Ps. This is a poem I would not have understood when I first started my blog..as it stands now. I get it perfectly.

  101. […] last post, Gene Kelly Tattoo, has reached a landmark of 100 comments, something Paul would have been very pleased about. Of […]

  102. Dear Paul

    I miss talking to you about writing and slinging lines around like splashes at a pool. Wish we could have gotten that road trip going, but it is a bit hard to hitch hike from Detroit to Oz. I’m sure you would understand that. You did understand that, but still you entertained me with the thought that such an endeavor would indeed be welcome were it possible.

    To Admin

    Thank you for taking care of this site and keeping here for all of us to read, as well as to come back to again and again to talk to the spirit that resides upon these pages, on these walls. I hear the piano, see the sunset and smell the breeze from wafting the dragonfly’s wings. Springtime tells us stories that smell this sweet, and so does an autumn sunset of the horizonless lake as the waves say hello and our feet see the sand for all the trillion miracles that it has always been, eyes falling only to fly high again when the old mariner’s bell rings. The light and the dark are brothers after all.

  103. Man!! that must be a record of a sort..

  104. […] and wondrous poet Paul Squires of blog gingatao died two years ago on this day at the age of 46 (1963-2010). He once blogged about removing the […]

  105. replygingatao wrote on May 18, ’08
    woohoo, fantastic, is it the marvellous and wonderful Harry Belafonte? And the dancing and the gorgeous women, with hips, F.G., women just don’t have hips like that anymore, fantastical!
    F. wrote on Jun 2, ’08
    Ahhh, the world ain’t see no hips like them since then. She’s the reason for aviation… jump baby , jump.

  106. The ghost of GingaPaul blows dandy-lions into my email today as someone comments here… and for a moment i really thought he’d come back to toss flowers at me as we rolled down the hill laughing. Yeah, my friend, i still cry at the great loss. <3


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