Interior Designer

And automatically, the words became sentences, with stems and petals. Forced from the fertile soil, stories grew arms and legs. They not only held her dreams but they carried her to lands far away.

People have no idea what’s going on in my head. Most days i wish i didn’t either.

Fish or Bird? Red or White?

I exist in prolific ponderings, defined as poetry in motion. As the ripple of our touch sends gentle waves to hearts, we inspire others to create.

Which would you choose to be?

Did you notice the duck’s reflection? Does he even care? And what of the gold fish? Does he dream of flying away with the duck?

Does a house care about anything that exists within or outside of it’s walls?

I always worried about growing old. I am lucky to be alive. My death desires up until 6 months ago were prolific. As far as choosing bird or fish, red or white, i have no answer. Just an abundance of thoughts. And as for the wrinkles… i will keep them. Grateful to be alive, no matter the secret desires.

For now, i remain hidden in the mystery of life. πŸ’œπŸŒπŸ•ŠπŸŽΆπŸŽΆπŸŽΆ

Rock Solid (944+miles and at day three and four)

West Virginia is beautiful. John Denver talks about the vistas in Take Me Home, Country Roads, the Blue Ridge Mountains a heart’s oasis.

Dinner was delicious at the Iron Horse Tavern, Morgantown WV, with a Huell Babineaux from Bad Shepherd Brewing in Charleston WV. I enjoyed Wild Mushroom Pierogis and the absolute best tomato soup with balsamic reduction. A real sensation for the tongue.

Rock solid.
Day Three: my feet
grounded in the moment.
Day Four: i venture on.

No time to visit anyone’s blog. Hope to read you soon… i am back on the road.

944+ miles ahead (day one-three)

The first stop on our trek across the eastern half of the United States was Columbus Ohio (181 miles). We arrived Friday evening and spent Saturday visiting a wonderful bookshop, The Book Loft, eating lunch at The Thurman Cafe, and consuming the blossoming trees in Schiller Park and the surrounding gardens of German Village homes. What a wonderful Spring day. And the weather was cooperative!

At The Book Loft, an incredible 32 rooms full of books, with Room 13 housing a poetry collection, i found Dorothy Parker’s Complete Poems. Interior is my favorite of her poems so far. I find her to be witty and dry. Perhaps sarcastic. I imagine if i were to have had the pleasure of meeting her, i would have mentally retreated. Perhaps some people are better left to their words and our imaginations.

Today, i embark on a three hour drive to Morgantown, West Virginia (209 miles). A visit to family friends and a shared dinner awaits us in Morgantown.

As i write, the sun has lifted the evening’s hello. I have yet to determine who i will be today. πŸ€”πŸŒπŸ’™πŸ•ŠπŸŽΆπŸŽΆπŸŽΆπŸŽΆ

Good Sunday to you. Hope to catch up with a few blogs! 😍

Moving Day is here!

Staying out of the movers way!
Looking toward the day
I can rest my mind and rhyme -Think!
Set up my writing desk
find a place to paint -Dream!
until then, i pledge
to stay out of the movers way.

The biggest day of my life, since i moved to Indiana, has arrived. From this day forward, i move without knowing the future. Security is in the past. Adventure awaits those who walk with eyes wide open.

Trying not to cry! Feeling the exhilarating new of Boston on my brow! My heart is racing, wondering what lies ahead.

And excited to have lots of time to read back posts. See you at your blog soon!

small deaths looming

clipped wings
found the feathers

who wastes their life?
bundled in piles
yellowed-papers
faded ink scribbles

unable to decipher his path forward
white lady
entangles with her promises.

(To my distant blogging friend who inspires. 4/16/2018)

life happens

Do we owe apologies when life happens? My heart β™₯️ is discombobulated at the moment. I miss you dear readers and i made a brief appearance this morning after a welcome disappearance from the world. A friend and i made away to the wooded hills of Brown County, in my expedient retreat from the hustle and bustle of moving. And i stopped to breath. And a few words made it to the surface, popped and left stains on paper. I shared them with you from the encouragement of another. Thank you for reading.

death of an era

I have not been able to read any of your blogs and i want to. I desperately feel i owe you that curtesy and i cannot fulfill that endeavor. I want to be able to think, write and paint. But i cannot. I want to reach out, touch and exchange smiles. But i cannot. I want to scream, be heard and cry. But i cannot.

Life happens. But i am not.

I remain enclosed in self-protection from the chaos of realtor showings, movers approaching with boxes, tape and sharpies. I am spinning and not on tip-toe.

At the moment i remain confused. I do not profess to understand the complexities i am passing through. Your worlds are miles away and cannot be reached. My world is slipping from my hands.

my promise garden

These are moments to cherish. The labor of my hands have shown to say hello, one more time. And goodbye forever.

—-

I wrote a poem to a friend this past weekend. (See below.) I sent it off to him. He did not respond. Silence weighs heavy on my head. I do not understand his absence after sharing his desire to reciprocate. Another of his small deaths looming?

clipped wings
found the feathers

who wastes their life?
bundled in piles
yellowed-papers
faded ink scribbles

unable to decipher his path forward
white lady
entangles with her promises.

obsession

curling iron forge
masked motives incinerate
reach new thoughts, higher

This was my evening, days ago. I burned every stick and autumn leaf along with left over wood from long-ago projects, saved for years in the garage, for those just-in-case chances we needed a piece of 2×4. Indiana is soon to be in my rear-view mirror. Friends will be left behind. I hope Boston treats me well.