Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry

Static

Posted on by Jeanne
Static
Church is poetry,
poetry is life,
a life well lived.

I once blogged about such thoughts as the meaning of life. So much stirs inside me these days, i cant possibly record words. Static electricity has buzzed my heart. 

When words do find their way onto paper, i do not generally share. I am unsure of myself. Various reasons explain my absence. My emerging from life’s cave erratic.

I am most grateful to be here. Regardless of what i may accomplish. Peace. Jeanne
Posted in Photography, Poetry

Three Suns

Posted on by Jeanne
Three Suns
Static rhythms pulsate
feelings arise and suffocate
one day i am fine
to rotate and stare into space
i can imagine bliss
but i rarely hold onto peace 

(unfinished…
and not anticipating a solution)
Posted in Photography, Poetry

Wild Blueberry Fields

Posted on by Jeanne
Wild Blueberry Fields

Not much is left wild on earth. A field here. A mountain there. Perhaps an ocean shore. 

Solitude must be self-inflicted. 
A need within
rises like a tide
to be washed clean of society.
The clock hands clasped in prayer for us.

Crushed by infidelity, 
we find our bodies 
unable to climb 
and perch upon the weathered rocks
to watch the birds fly by.

We land in red fields 
ravage the blue fruited plains
and in the distance 
hear the sea gulls cry
for anonymity.
Posted in Photography, Poetry

And furthermore

Posted on by Jeanne
And furthermore 
Im not so intimidated 
by your wild accusations 
of leavening my bread
with words of dread

Im beautiful in all my imperfections 
of wild nights of flurry
honing my feminine skill.

I refuse to be cancelled
corralled into new wineskins
that drunken my enemies
full of venom and hatred

All while I preen my peacock feathers
glistening in the sun
my perfume captures the essence of every women unsung.
Posted in Art, Poetry

Friendship

Posted on by Jeanne
friendship 
small snippets of truth
spaces of enormous birth
reside within us

Do you paint? What keeps you from moving into that space?

I love the feeling that rises within after I prepare a canvas, select brushes, choose color, and find mood music. The swaying starts small and gradually grows to an elemental storm. Some storms are rather peaceful. Others are torrential downpours. The volume of song can descend until it is barely audible. Or rise to the sky with thunderous echo.

What volume are you currently inhabiting? Will you dare enter that space?

The layers of a painting resemble what is unseen to the eye. This is why one must dive deep into a painting to discover the secrets and mysteries. This painting appears to be unfinished. There very well could be a friendship ii.