Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry, Soul Journal

Thoughts unleashed…

Color Captioned

Every day starts with a new thought. Today was no different.

The past few days I have woken to water views of The Atlantic. Her blue waves are far worse than mine. The first day we met, I settled into the sun breaking free from her horizon. The warmth cut the chill enough to sit on the deck chair and zen the morning away.

I suppose this morning is a warning that the carefree moments never last longer than a brisk wind’s cold slap to the face. She woke up wild. I woke, arms wrapped around a blanket, hot mug in hand, giving thanks for her hospitality the past week. And for a relationship that has just begun.

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 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 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 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!

Posted in Musings, Poetry

Teachers Choice —Anthony Gorman

i sponge words and
slurs off others,

we train our teachers, 
we’re the students,

cause we’re all 
students,

as much as we’re
teachers.

some lessons were printed/
absorbed darker
than others,

and some instructors/
trash compactors heed
their dreams with
more loyalty
than others.

and some just aren’t well
fit for their stations
despite what the
jobs offer,

++++

forward motion
is the goal,

steps small and
slow, reclaim
control,

of progress, not
achievement,

++++

attained with brow’s dirty
sweat paired with
humble intent.

Independent Learner Man

In another life, and in my dreams, I always wanted to be the advocate for educating the whole child. Soul, heart, and mind. Not my flesh and heartbeat child, but the abandoned children who wanted to be seen. Who only asked that others respect him or her and be allowed to fly. To think their own thoughts. To experiment and explore the wide expanse of knowledge.

I never became that teacher. Life turned on me and laughed at how easily it can forbid the dreamers from changing the world. I had hopes to open an independent school. To be an education pioneer of sorts.

Sadly, I will never be that star teacher nor start a revolution to make children happy to be alive. The lost dream dies with me. And as I watch the children shrivel and suffer under our system, I make a wish on a star. It feels too late for me. Perhaps another?

Thanks Anthony for bringing this topic into a poem. My memory of what I hoped to accomplish in my life was jarred. Do read more Anthony Gorman. He has lots to say.

Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry

Seeing with Passion

Evening sparks light

My desire is every person understood we are ever evolving in our understanding of ourselves. Realize we get trapped in sick thoughts to dwell on our failures and shortcomings. Feel ill-equipped to deal with those who harm us. Desire everything that is wrong in order to numb our pain.

But time waits for no one. While moons rise and suns set, you will realize the warmth of forgiveness. Live for that day.

I believe in love and ultimate truth. What remains relative is desire. Desire does not search for or find truth, but rather forcibly bends light, to pompously plop itself down on a pedestal, and demand its way. This is neither love or wisdom.

Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry, prose

The road arrived.

Life is lived on levels and arrived at in stages. —Edwin Louis Cole

Good morning. As the turning of days and as the grass sprouted from winter slumber, I found myself at a point where I realize I can tarry no longer. I must be courageous and serious. I must be willing and full of hope. I must grasp every word that spills from my heart and wring them dry, until I no longer see the darkness inside. What then should I do when the light allows too much room for curiosity? The despair I roam within ebbs and throws me into oblivion. I must be willing to try and write what I set out to create. Even if I fail. I must no longer tarry as if my days are endless. Grey is as good of a place as any to either brighten the world with hope or darken it with tragedy. I hope my efforts will lift us to hear the galloping of freedom drawing ever near. That heaven’s promises of long ago will not cease to keep heads from drowning under the growing storm. I sense the road has arrived. I cannot deny my calling any longer. I cannot be a child of milk and cookies. I must be willing to learn and sift knowledge. To discern the day’s signs and the evenings quandaries. To be, is my last attempt at fulfilling my heart’s rhythm. The beating lasts but a few days more. I am ready to accept my fate. Let it be so.

If we fail
fail to see the wind
coming at the break neck speed
of a metal horse
on tracks,

If we fail
fail in our comfort
food, shelter and clothing
scraped together with goodwill
given as scraps to wild dogs,

If we fail
fail as foreign spies
on fellow citizens
drumming up grievances and rounding up heads
rolling in wooden bowls
we ravish our own hands.



We fail.
We won’t change history any more than armies before us.
We drip in mother’s blood
and scour our bodies of father’s filth.
We bury bones in rags
doused with our enemies vapors. And cheer.
Cheer our own demise as we beg for freedom from our own ills.
Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry, prose

To my own drum

lay ears upon me
the steady beat of fever
the silent wings fly

I miss handwritten notes, long talks, music, and prayers. I miss Indiana friends.

I feel a victim of the present instant gratification culture. Unwittingly, I have been swallowed whole by a mob mentality of shoving and pushing our way to the top. The guise of morality when we know we are sinners. The breach of sacred life has been cheapened with money.

I know myself. But how well? And how well do I know you? Are we all numbers and votes and popularity slogans? Will I be diminished if the politicians and I disagree?

Perhaps I best live and let it all go. Release the slogans and messages, the poetry and art. Let my world be still. To then be reborn, so when I write or paint or dance it means I am living free. To not feed the monsters we all have become.