Posted in Art, Musings, Photography, Poetry, prose, Soul Journal

Week in Review: Voice Gone Dark

My blog is on hiatus. For a long time? For a short time? For an unspecified time.

I need a break from my head. I need to sail away from life.

There are plenty of questions with no answers. I wish I could say differently.

I already miss you lovely people. Stay well and take care.

If you need me, you probably know how to reach me. Peace.

Always Happy Writing with you, Jeanne ✍🏼

And please don’t forget about Crow Gifts, my first collaborative chapbook. Submit your 1-3 poems, short bio, and links to soulcollective67@gmail.com. Thank you to those who have already done so. 😘❤️

Posted in Poetry

Week in Review: B&W

Intimate 

silent nights
voided days
the human pulse fades away
lying still in slumber bed
daddy finds his boyish head
asleep on pillows fluffed at noon
now compressed by hallow dread.

running home
workday done
daddy falls on bended knee
to watch his son being fed
opiates, a final call
police and dealers, absent lovers too
all relinquish his human goo.

silent nights
voided days
daddy wanders crumbled earth
releases anger, bottled grief
showers only begotten
witness life is simply rotten.

Rest in peace Adam, 21, aspiring chef and accountant.

Posted in Poetry, prose

Freakout Voice

Hypocrites. All of us jaded. (WP library)

Unfortunately, this is true. My mind is running ragged. Throwing thread-bare cloth to the ground. Nothing fits in the tired luggage i lug around.

So i am sitting here. Typing on my phone. To an audience i cannot smile towards. Or notice the faces that hold an ounce of cure. Hoping fate drags me from this gear that imprisons my soul.

Contradicting myself, i slump back into my head. Wallow in my memory, to bank an unknown future on prayer alone.

Alone.

Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry

Sea Voice

Maybe im wrong. Maybe my belief you could surface, that you could soar above the fray…

Perhaps a jaded person is only in need of time? To resurface, resurrect, reconvene, replenish…

What did your water dream infuse you with? Healing. Quiet. Fear. Dismay.

Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry, quotes

Week in Review: B&W

October 18, 2020 Evening (edited)

Good morning. Yes, it is morning where I am. Most likely afternoon and heading towards evening near you. May the days and nights for you be blessed and encouraging going forward this new week. And evermore.

At the moment, my creative life is a bit dulled. Im listening to books on tape to fill my mind with imaginative feasting. I chanced upon Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn’s The Gulag Archipelago 1918-1956 while reading a June 2018 article written in First Things.

Two hours into the book and several poems popped out at me. I love to listen 🎧 and take notes 📝. It helps greatly with my concentration and my comprehension. The takeaway from the first two chapters? Nefarious ideas in the wrong hands are dangerous. Every heart bleeds dark.

How to tell the truth.

the pottery, thrown from the cupboard
lay in pieces, a heap
to bury laughter of the past

they hurry you
to frighten you

their names
slip into insanity
forever vanished from blue sky
broken branches of a dying tree

shaking
dumping
the crunch of littered leaves under foot

notice the still orange flower
silent repression
without the freedom to rise
caught in light rays
turning future seeds into prisons

the passing of past into future
without a map
now becomes silent paths in the gardener’s hands

“If only it were all so simple! If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds, and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart?” Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn

Posted in Musings

Ponderings

They who love in excess also hate in excess. —Aristotle

Avoid men or women who refuse to have their soul pierced with any thoughts other than their own.

Avoid men or women who champion their politics over knowledge, wisdom, truth, or charity.

Avoid those who choose to exterminate you over good-hearted conversation. A debate is always worth having when answers are greatly needed. Avoid those who avoid the hard questions.

Any voter who ignores reason and relies on a deceitful heart truly imprisons their neighbors.

Simply put, avoid anyone who blindly follows an ass.

Posted in Poetry

Walking into Fog

Being either
too much
or not enough

Buried in the Noise

i dream
but nothing can be as i want it to be. Oh well?
Not sure i am painting the truth

or if i am,
i don’t understand the sights 
and truly lost is where i can be found.

February 2018 Buried in the Noise was a chapbook I had intended to publish before my mind changed. I never found the fortitude to proceed with the project. Today, I look at my poetry website and cringe, growl, weep, and wish i could organize my thoughts. They are scattered seeds that occasionally sprout.

Posted in Poetry

My Ann

I’ve worked hard and long,
longer than a shadow at 6pm.
Myself, tripped up
her arms around corners
hands to shut me down.

You tell me your name
pen and paper
written in letters,
some make sense
others regrets.

I need your something,
to feel better,
together,
Ann and I
needle and thread.

Drafts Folder 2016. Still unsure of this poem. From where it departed? Another life lived?

Posted in Poetry

The Last Hurrah

My life lived in thirds. The missed chances, no longer regrets. The regrets never molded by my hands. The mannequin standing naked in the window was never meant to be dressed.

I started filling out Proust’s Questionnaire December 2019. I finished it today. The dream finally clear and in focus.