Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry

Unbridled Hope

Linger longer, your storm is stronger. Cast your spell and wear it well. Smile a little wider and breathe the air.

I was digging in the sand with an old metal child’s toy. A shiny new, red-handled, plastic shovel just wouldn’t do. I intended to find treasure and wanted nothing less than rare gems.

The first scoop was fine sieved rock that had been beaten down. Once shell homes, they lay waste to unscrupulous waves. The second scoop was nothing more.

As the sun beat down upon my neck, I could not give up. I grabbed the metal shovel, scooped another bucket full, and behold a pearl appeared.

As I sat on the ocean’s edge, the shovel’s rust mixed with the salty tears and orange ran down the castle moat. And in my hand was the world’s irritants made new. A testament to belief and faith that troubles weary you in the search. At the end, fortitude rewards the heart.

Posted in Poetry

Aren’t we having fun? —Michael33

The coffee didn’t brew
The shower didn’t run
The room…too cold for you
Aren’t we having fun?

Laid out clothes never again to be worn
Cats basking in the morning sun
I’m reminiscing of days since I was born.
Aren’t we having fun?

No sounds of pickin’ guitar
Or TV showing the political run
I pray he hasn’t gone too far
Aren’t we having fun?

No pain to feel
No meds on the tongue
I keep thinking this can’t be real
Aren’t we having fun?

A warm embrace and kiss on the face
In final moments with the one
That I can still hear echoes of his voice saying…Aren’t we having fun?

It is with great sadness that I share the passing from this life to the next of Michael33, my daddy. Thank you for following his poetry blog. I hope it gave you as much joy as it did our family.

A final Namaste,

On behalf of Michael33

visionofpoets.wordpress.com/2020/09/07/arent-we-having-fun/

WordPress will forever be at a loss to lose Michael33. His words were beautiful and captured life. But now his soul ventures on…

Life is too bitter when the sweet departs our eyes. All our love Michael33, Jeanne 💔

—–

It was less than a month ago I learned Michael33, who would leave kind notes on a few of my poems, was dying. And I learned he kept a journal of his ordeal Here. The journal starts in 2015. What? Oh, how did I miss this!! The only good that came of not knowing, is being oblivious and spared the five grueling years he suffered. What a spirit he had to fight until the bitter end!

I am eternally grateful I had one last conversation with Michael33 before his voice became the wind. And I will forever treasure his last note to me.

“Good morning Jeanne. Oh my goodness… now your words have brought me to join you in the tears. What a beautiful thing for me to read this morning. It has gotten so difficult for me to write and for you to share your thoughtful, caring words with me this way is just a most beautiful way to start my day. I’m so glad you are here to lift my spirits. There’s not a lot in this world that lifts my spirits more than discovering a kind and caring spirit sharing her thoughts and words with me. Thank you so very much for your prayers and sharing my poetry with your readers. I am both honored and humbled. You have accomplished a difficult task early this morning by placing a smile upon the face of someone whose hope is fading… thank you for shining your light so brightly.

A most beautiful day to you Jeanne and again… thank you!”

Posted in Musings, Photography, Soul Journal

Alone

Yesterday, so many old feelings returned. Im angry. Im hurt. The relays of old films played all day in my mind. Scenarios I thought Id forgiven.

I was triggered into old patterns of behaving. Im utterly sad. After the heated emotions, I remind myself to keep forgiving them, so Im spared further damage to my heart.

I suppose I’m depressed too. My soul is tired and art has lost all color. Damn if I haven’t fallen hard.

I know this too will pass. The sun will shine again. But I am broken and hurt and mad.

Forgiveness promises very little in the midst of anguish. In the morning I plan to rise.

Posted in Photography, Poetry

Joan

Is this it?

Is this 
your last laugh
to end my misery?

I never felt
so alone
with Joan
huddled in the corner
afraid to make contact
with anyone.

Her dream came to me in 2006
and fourteen years just isn’t enough time to tell you how much she cared.


I tried.
I tried really hard
to let you know
my love for life
was all i ever lived.

If you never hear from me know whatever i neglected to say was that i believe Jesus
was who He said He was.

And i was Joan.

Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry

Ego



“You’re on earth. There’s no cure for that.” —Samuel Beckett
I fight against 
two diseases.

Covid has an ego
and you bow to it’s confines.
Fear is the last death of humanity
to be obeyed
and breathed as decay
to satisfy another ego.

Nature tames and destroys.

We often fawn over a bird song
but turn our eyes away from the blood
on an eagle’s beak.
That very beak eats
should it’s appetite seek you.

My mind is cruising around the mountainous thoughts rising. What are we doing? Saving our selves or destroying others?

I see this time in history differently. Many believers hope people will return to God. I see the fear pushing more people into the dark. Worshipping people who carry a motto. I see them birthing destruction far greater a war than all wars together. Not caring for others. Rather, turning inward and away from spirit. Saving themselves while blaming others..

I see the scenario much differently than most I know. The destruction of goodness to usher in a masked sense of security. Death wins again.

Author’s note. I wrote this at the very beginning of the pandemic. I did not publish for various reasons. Does it feel right now? Not really. I am hoping a conversation starts… I am listening.

Posted in Photography, Poetry

Week in Review: B&W

Sometimes we have to be real
and let the chips fall
to the ground in a pattern.
Much like reading tea leaves.
Time is the only truth we have to look forward to. 

I reached into your pocket to find sand. The rock swore to hand me over what little I could comprehend.
Posted in Poetry

Liberation

I can’t remember my name.
Born yesterday
in an eggshell, cracked
i found out
he liked his eggs over easy
i preferred to be hard-boiled.

And when i can’t
became i don’t
or won’t or worse
it was my will that shattered his ego.

Today i rest my head
a chicken feather pillow
stitched by hand with dissolving thread
he triumphs
the surgery was all i needed.
Posted in Art, Photography, Poetry

Another World

I wander in the back of your mind
never asking to be found

i talk
you listen more
to tales of other worlds
i once explored

your gone now
and so am i
figments of our reality
i banish the words to hell

You wander in a crowded room
invisible to all but me.
Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry, Soul Journal

Week in Review: B & W

Stubborn hearts wander
wilderness vanity haunts
uneasy clouds cry

Good morning. We got rain yesterday evening, starting around four in the afternoon. The winds came rushing in and we lost power. We needed the rain desperately. So I am very grateful the storm popped up. Here is to a week of cooler temperatures in Mass and hopefully the rain pours. How is the weather by you?

I left a bit of blue in the photographed sky, as a hopeful promise. To escape the blackened feeling of Covid, drought, and people’s unrest, keep peace in your heart this week. Love your neighbor and look up!