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.
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
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.
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.
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?
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.
Sometimes I wonder if I haven’t been here before. Then realize I have. The same desire takes hold as I stare off into the distance. Will I make it back home?
Life is not slowing down. No matter how often I stop to pause. Chester and Toby had a short-lived life. They lived on the fast track and couldn’t hold on.
On a July morning, in the height of summer, the ants are busy on the sunflowers. Today, I wake to the same routine regardless of the weather. The coffee poured, I light a candle.
Glistening green in the sun’s heightened shadow, I wonder if i should write a letter to a friend. The thought fleeting. I don’t want to add my emotions to his already pocket full of pleas. I let my mind settle into this opened space. Drum out the crinkle of autumn leaves and find solace in my reverie.
When we return to the land, will our hearts be able? The hours bend into baskets, carrying our troubles downstream, where the beavers damn us for wanting freedom. Will we ever furnish a house with all our plans?
You see me. I love
my love in thought.
Can you know
the waiting fires the bones?
Autumn proverbs
the mountainous covenant descends.
Freedom plies, the toiling earth
finds rest.
Surrender soul to the poet’s house.
the stillness of earth
a song well versed and rehearsed
watch my shadow crawl
What is going on with you creatively?
The haiku is taken from an expressive arts class 4/3/2020. The photo is from 10/6/2020. Life has been a bit hectic lately. Changes in my life never cease. I put a halt to my REACE training midsummer due to conflicts. My training will resume in February 2021, with a new venue out of San Diego CA.
I look forward to continuing the expressive arts as they bring me much calmness and energy. A centering of my heart is needed in the tumultuous times we find ourselves. And I am rather certain for time to come. Although others I know are feeling a respite coming. My thoughts are knowing whether it is a false peace trembling to capture imagination and souls. Or something so luminous we will barely be able to stand.
My plans going forward, once I am able to mentally give energy to all my dreams, is a new blog, Shed 33.3, to replace Soul Signs, which will incorporate all my life loves. 🥰🥳🎈🎈🎈 Although this blog will remain indefinitely as it captures the impermanence of my being. And of nature’s caress. The rawness, the muddy waters, and the hidden aspects of growth, unequivocally shared.
So stay tuned! And please consider contributing to the adventure with your soulful poems, The Poet’s Wonderment, Gift Crow, Vol 1. Read about this endeavor here. I can be reached at soulcollective67@gmail.com.
Anthony Gorman, of Hands in the Garden and Grumpy Gifts, is also on board, helping create and develop the first handmade chapbook. He can be reached at anthonytgorman@hotmail.com.
Happy writing!! Jeanne ✍🏼
