Posted in Art, Musings, Poetry

Lost Love

Love is an idea when
commitment lacks confidence.

—I am only one. I couldn’t hold you or let you go. So we both suffered sunburn.

You are further away from me than I care to acknowledge. Nothing remains to settle my thoughts. I dangle my feet in the shallow; you wade knee deep. I dress in green and swirled turquoise. Beads adorn my hair, swept in a bun. The water laps our passion and icy hearts.

Posted in Art, Poetry

Gift Crow.

Gift Crow Oil pastel/watercolor 3×5

Hello poets and creative forces. I am inviting interested bloggers to submit 1-3 poems for a handmade chapbook I am constructing to stock my Little Free Library. My library will be unveiled April 2021 and is a project very dear to my heart. I would love for you to be part! Here is a snippet from our town’s newspaper article. That is me mentioned ☺️.

If you are interested in being included in my first handmade chapbook, send me an email with your favorite poems, an intent to submit, any relevant questions, or simply to cheer on my newest endeavor!

soulcollective67@gmail.com

In your poem submission, please include your blog address, all published books, a small bio, and the poems! You are welcome to submit original art or photography as well. The theme for this first chapbook is “A Poet’s Wonderment”! My original art will be the cover titled “Gift Crow” vol 1.

Hope to hear from all of you very soon!

If you are wondering what you get out of this, it will be free publicity and a copy of the book if you provide an address (possibly a small fee incurred through this blog or Venmo… tbd).

Posted in Art

Hurricane Winds in the City

Hurricane Winds in the City

My first time painting in a long while. It felt really good. Soul refreshing. I had to pack up my paints as the sun was setting and the mosquitoes were biting. Tomorrow perhaps. I won’t wait two years again. Praying for rain here in Massachusetts.

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 Art, Poetry, prose

The Poet’s House -Summer

Gleeful sands of mischief
lighten oppressed time.
The celestial sphere pulls
laughter from the land.

And they laid their languished heads down upon the driftwood. Waves lapping the naked feet.

To sleep. To sleep. Under the noon day sun, Souls yearn to caress the rising moon.

To feel. To feel. Wrapped in fallen petals, swept up in leafed-out branches, and grazed by fiery skies, Summer races past their heads.

Pedals anchored to wheels
the goose waves goodbye.

Posted in Art, Photography, Poetry, prose

The Path (a pilgrim’s meditation)

Art has a way of confusing me. My mind never relaxes as I struggle to make meaning. And to make matters worse, the formation of ideas triggers my perfection.

Most of my work on my blogs is far less about perfect poetry or admirable photographs or attracting followers, then it is about releasing unspoken and buried pain and loss. Of making meaning while never knowing why.

The glitter of diamonds is rarely found without first removing the heartache and wiping the tears. —me

I am struggling at the moment. Life has become one long movie cut that keeps getting axed. Nothing feels right. There is no long term goal forming and my energy to pursue an advanced degree is waning. I look at my blogs with a desire to simplify. The blogs are as messy as my life. And still I pursue collecting and creating and coagulating the runny substances that create sticky problems.

Looking at it from a distant, maybe my artist fingerprint mirrors the uneasiness of my stumbling in the dark. I am not a prepared scout on this journey. I am a scrap-carrying, scribbler-eating, thought-crunching gypsy who is more comfortable exploring than settling into a home.

I carry my home in my heart. Even a cracked shell has some ability to keep dreams from fraying into oblivion. I may still arrive at my destination. The long and winding version of finding myself.

Posted in Art, Musings, Poetry

You and Us

I apologize before you get too deep into the muck. My crazy head is a rubber bouncing ball as I jump from topic to topic. I apologize if you are feeling dizzy after reading posts. My life is rarely planned and I go where the spirit sends me.

My Artist Studio Window

My studio is just about complete. It is feeling cozy. Full of all the things I pick up on my walks in the forest behind the house. Where all manner of bird and mammal live. A black bear and a moose were spotted recently about 1/2 mile from here. Do I hope they visit? Yes and no. As I recently set up a bee hive and a brooder with a resident six chicks, if black bear could keep the appetite in check and moose only comes to clown, I am putting out the welcome.

Forest Finds

Do things seem different here on my blog? I feel a different woman lately. I feel freer. Freedom is a lovely thing. I wish you all peace and hopefully poetry flows for us.

Break through
to see you
I invite us into
fluid movement

the whale ascends the heavens
her voice carries us forward
straight lines that converge into wildness
our voices obscure
and abstract is the face

Make like a river and go with the flow. Shalom Jeanne

Posted in Art, Musings, Photography, Poetry

Thursday Doors —Sound Dreams

Letting Go of Control, 2020

Look deep within
to find the shape of you.

In the bliss of life, we sail.
Although nightmares prevail.

Dreams are doors to the unconscious. Yesterday’s dream had no picture. Audio only.

I know I had this dream as someone let me know I was in a euphoric state of happiness while deeply unaware. In this state, I released small sighs of glee and excitement.

I do remember the emotions now after being questioned this morning. I was reminded of the experience and I want to understand more. I searched for imageless dreaming and found relatively little on the subject.

So what would an awareness of life be like if we never sensed objects? What door would mean anything? Every step would be a transport to eternity.

So sleep well friends. Rest a while and may you be blessed with sweet dreams. Sound fantasy without image to bitter the taste.

Have any of you ever had such dreams? I am curious if anyone has leads to read further on the subject. Please send links!!! 😘❤️

Norm 2.0 Thursday Doors

Posted in Art, Poetry, Soul Journal

Woodland Echoes

Printmakers paper, acrylics, ephemera, found leaves, coffee stains, and a piece of my poetry. With painted pages ready to add additional words, feathers, pressed flowers or leaves, and whatever else a heart desires.

Found in the Lost Pile of Civility (Jan 2019)

Seems to me
as we slowly decline
we beat around the bush
contemplate how to survive.

Generations realize this drift
on a sail-less boat
the cloth wrapped around our bleeding hearts
words confessed on bended knees
misses the sliver in private eyes.

Same old, same old story.
The beginning is the end.
The terror in other's minds
now belongs to us.
Realize hungry is,
as was,
and nothing eaten satisfies.

Measure our words against ourselves
need I stand upon a soapbox
add my rhetoric to humanity's misery?

As ash buries the smoldering coals
are we aware we are wandering
found among the lost pile of civility?