The year 2018 is locked away. The key, fiery hot, so as not to entice people to hold on. Look back.
I look forward to 2019. My prayer focuses on the war of words, which has reached a feverish pitch. I honestly hope people’s superiority complexes does not burn down houses; leave room to erect new powers and diminish freedoms.
I smell the fires burning and there is little relief. In our condemnation, humanity in one fell swoop, dresses outlandish lies with mixed-up truths.
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 ever satisfies.
Measure our words against ourselves
need I stand upon a soapbox,
add my rhetorict to humanity’s misery?
As ash buries the smoldering coals
are we aware we are wandering,
found among the lost pile of civility?
The magic rises
as a moon shifts
this world affords
the negative wove into my life…
like a knife it carved it hollow…
and my answer back
is to refill my soul with marvel.
The positivity of 2019 is tasty. I promise friends and loved ones to lick my lips long after i make this vow to pursue only what strengthens my resolve to live.
The Seven Bridge Writing Group begins January 8. The inevitable question of why and how and current goals will most likely be asked upon arrival. So i will prepare an answer for the facilitators and my fellow sojourners. In addition, in preparation for the writing group, I am reading Pat Schneider’s “Writing alone and with others”. Seven Bridges is affiliated with the Amherst Writing Group and more information for a local group, in your area, can be found HERE!
I am also busily felting creations… here is my newest 5×6 whimsical floral
Well… you and i made it to experience another year on earth. I hope the approaching 365 days is good to you… full to the brim with positive thoughts, new adventures, reinforced friendships, old and new, with plenty of time spent writing and working on your craft. Or perhaps experimenting with a new method of expressing yourself. In short, here is to a creative 2019 of souling!
i recognize not
the girl in a mirror
i should be progressing
but my mind rattles.
here, sit awhile,
i promise not to startle…
then off i dawdle
to find some words,
express my heart
though rather curt
i sought me
lost along the way…
oh, but i found
amusing visions yesterday
(i brought home their cans and put them in the recycle bin.)
toil in my brain,
promptly tempt my lips
with your sexy care
my heart resides
the trash can
ugly and obscene
insides even so…
forgive the past
the broken walk
tripped up feelings
hoping i return -explore
Not sure i belong here… getting a feel! Bathing in WP love from many of you. I oft question my idea that i am a writer. How do i escape what feels like a prison? I get in these rotting moods… where i trash everyone and everything. I want to purge… i purge… than wallow in my loneliness.
Go ahead, throw me back in the pond!
On another front,
a new home,
a new town…
the comfort found
slowing my pace of life.
Popping on to WP… to say HI! And to give everyone who follows my blog an update as to what I HOPE happens in 2019.
First, and foremost, I have missed all of you lovely poets, artists and dreamers… HOPE you are well and busy as my world has been quite busy too. Beyond moving to a new town and making friendships, selling and buying a new house and making it my home, and living on the East Coast and acquiring a love of my new lifestyle, I am embarking on quite a creative 2019.
My newest interest is felting wool roving into landscapes… taken from my photographs of an enchanting New England.
The ‘Yellow Wood’ piece is not quite complete as i am awaiting Highlighter Yellow wool roving. These pieces are smaller… generally 4×6.
My piano lessons are going well. I am tapping away and happy to announce i will be able to play simple versions of ‘White Christmas’ and ‘Jingle Bells’ at holiday celebrations. My Christmas cards are written and mailed. I enjoy the daily stroll to our post office in historic Still River. The building is not manned but does house mailing supplies and is a convenient drop-off point for stamped parcels. It is a beautiful landscape and well preserved for generations and those to come.
We had one snow fall in November, which unfortunately has melted. I was able to capture the beauty for memories and inspiration.
I bought an Underwood office typewriter in HOPES i could produce unique and one-of-kind poetry chapbooks for my favorite poets. The typewriter, turns out, is in need of extensive repairs and i am waiting to hear the prognosis. I HOPE to hear good news soon. It was my intention, after all, to create beautiful chapbooks for the poetic souls who capture my imagination daily. If all goes as originally planned… i will be setting up a section on this blog to sell those books, along with my felted landscapes, and perhaps expand to sell mine and other people’s paintings. Stay tuned!!!
And, if you have read to this point, without losing interest… i am most excited to announce i have embarked on a six-month writing adventure with a published poet who is quite extraordinary in his writing: Nicolas Samaras.
I am equally intimidated by his word prowess. My goal is not necessarily to be published … i am much too shy to have the world seeing my thoughts on paper. But i took the bullet that has been wanting to pierce my skin and watch me bleed… i take hold my stained paper and profess to be ready! The funny thing is i have been plugging away at this blog for eons… most of what is on here is complete gibberish… I believe it is time to shine the apple.
Get ready for an all new Jeanne on WP in 2019. And you? What are your goals for 2019?
I haven’t been reading much blog posts. I find in my depressed moods i can barely emerge from my cocoon… and anxiety is worse to try and read.
Is it selfish to wonder if others are reading me? Heck, i rebel against these letters. Yet, they some how keep the union strong. Unite against me. Bond. The New Army Brigade, 26 letters strong.
They force the issue. I retreat. They win the argument… A thought is but a rain cloud pouring down angst against me. The evidence sufficient to imprison me for years. And the nervous out pouring brings the show curtain down. Behind-the-scenes i dance. The music puts pen to paper, to recite the days events.
I need to rest. I know. But a thinking mind rarely obeys. And so i bore you with my show.
Guess we are even. I am bored by you too. So lets be bored together.
I want to change my blog. Im tired of this one… what the hell were any of these words for anyhow. I say… “burn all!”
I write in vain most days. I approach the feelings inside and tape words to each thought. Most poems make no sense… but yet they are liked. Is it the poems or me that are liked? Would people bother to spare my feelings from criticism? Rejection? So decide Jeanne… are your words worthy?
I say they face the electric chair. Away with them… all these torturous words. Left alive, the poems rise, stalk and become jury and judge. Have me crucified.
Stop. Don’t bother to try and refresh yourself. Im guilty as hell. No one need remind me…
Are my words done? Dissolved in the cursed spit of mouths? Should i start over again?
Why bother? I have never felt so discouraged as tonight. I stare at my fingers as they clearly follow orders… the thoughts rise as smoke signals. I quickly wish to disappear as they solidify my future.
Perhaps this is where i will be happiest. The land of silence.
Be. Gone. From. Here.
I am afraid to leave. Still, i want to run. Escape the hell created. As i quietly shut the lid on this opened box.
A piano came with the house. And I sat down with wonder. How does one play a song? Through arched fingers i pound, as elegantly as possible. Or as angrily as appropriate. The sound reverberates around. Or did it begin, start within, to flow through my veins? And perch a tune on fingertips?
Yes! piano lessons, teach me. Release me from this body. As a critic, shed my skin. Please, come bow with me in the end.
(Lessons are going well. Six lessons in and I can play simplified versions of Camptown Races, Yankee Doodle and Row, Row, Row Your Boat. I will spare you the torture. I am enjoying this experience though!)