Posted in Photography, Poetry, quotes

accused 

Church is poetry. Poetry is life. A life well lived.

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The last payphone

Voices ruminate day and night,
for lusts I abandoned.
The call to pray is strong
on my knees I abide,
aware, I forgave and been forgiven.

I wrestle, guilty mind,
evil lurking,
ringing at my soul’s door.
I pray I’ll be set free,
afraid the logical consequence
decrees the ruin of me.

2Timothy 3:3 unloving, irreconcilable, malicious gossips,
without self-control, brutal, haters of good,

Luke 26:7-8 But to you who are listening I say: Love your enemies,
do good to those who hate you,
bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you.

Posted in Photography, Poetry

Untitled

I can smell the lilacs
lying here with Louie,
forever as friends.

Funny, he understands
my screaming tears,
though they are silent.

Why do the birds,
trying to cheer,
fail to comprehend?

Graciously given wings
is why they fly.
When do Louie and i get a pair?


(Louie is my Maltese and always by my side. Thanks Louie.)

Posted in Memoir, Photography, Poetry

Is there hope?

I’ve gone and done it again,
this crazy, messed up life.
I told myself
clear it out,
hang it up, simplify.
And then it happens. Inevitable!

Everything in my life ends up in disarray. I changed my blog location…from Sweet Promises (focusing on my faith) to Patchwork Girl (which really says it all) and now, two years of organizing, I birthed Seasons. I started posting my poems with the intent to keep that the focus.  And then I added quilting, cooking, photography and gardening posts, on occasion adding snippets of my faith, with tentative plans to add soul journal pages. Ugh! (I actually practiced self-restraint and kept those posts as drafts.)

Too many interests? Perhaps. I thrive on creating. My whole being breathes the art of this world. I see beauty where none exists. There is always an unpolished stone searching for someone or something to make it beautiful. I am that stone. I can be crash and rude. I adapt to my moods. I yearn to always be loving.

Oh yes, did I mention I dabble in photography? If Alice had brought a camera on her journey she would have left us detailed photos of dreamscapes. Objects really are dreams. The small details intermingled with the larger landscape creates our world.

I see myself in Alice. Yes, Alice in Wonderland. My companions on this journey; Jung, Van Gogh, Plath and Woolf. On occasion, Picasso appears. Like Woolf, I journey out returning to my writing desk, in a room of my own. Aptly named “The Refuge”. (Oh, my next blog home?)

There are living souls who enter my life, inspire and encourage, many on WordPress. Your comments and likes give me hope, that what I have to add to the already noisy world, is worth my energy. To you, I am indebted. A little bit of sanity remains within me. Of course there is my family, my husband and three kids, my Louie and a special friend, known to me and I known as well.

And then there is Emily, her poems are dreams. Her reaction to life forever captured in words. Pictures of a heart and soul above this world. I yearn to fly with her. I do fly on occasion but often my wings fail. I understand there is the chance I have lost the light, the clear view of a horizon, being attached to objects down below. Anchors.

Jung and Teresa of Avila developed a concept of rooms within us. Us being the physical, mental, and spiritual. These rooms I see within me are two. One is yellow, bright and cheery, full of books, with the brightest window I have ever seen. A glaring brightness I am unable to look at, occasionally able to glance towards. A security unexplained. Then there is the room of glass. You can see me but not hear me. I cannot escape this room. I am trapped, my mind full of words, unable to speak legibly. Nonsense, really.

“The Secret Garden was what Mary called it when she was thinking of it. She liked the name, and she liked still more the feeling that when its beautiful old walls shut her in no one knew where she was. It seemed almost like being shut out of the world in some fairy place. The few books she had read and liked had been fairy-story books, and she had read of secret gardens in some of the stories. Sometimes people went to sleep in them for a hundred years, which she had thought must be rather stupid. She had no intention of going to sleep, and, in fact, she was becoming wider awake every day which passed at Misselthwaite.”Frances Hodgson Burnett

My Promise Garden
open air, freedom and room
there i learn to fly. Jeanne

Plymouth Harbor

This is the post closest to my heart.
The tears to wash my soul.
The very being of my mind, afraid of the peering eyes.

 

 

Posted in Photography, Poetry, travel

Untitled

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breakthrough, blazing diamonds
i wash my hands,
this guilty conscience

will they let me out?
jump to the depths
of my shadow.


uncover my mother,
her melodic voice
whispering the eulogy

hear the crashing
waves of eternity
pushing up the dead?

Alcatraz. A mysterious place to walk. A place to imagine the confines of oneself, hiding from peering eyes.  It exits from the yard, steps down that lead to self-discovery. There are those who choose to hide, remain hidden even from themselves. A deadening of their humanity.

This being the initial poem, I sense there will be others. This door stirs emotions to capture in words.Notice the heaviness, the peering eye in the door, the entrance and exit, the confines of dreams or shuttered hopelessness. Even safety is found in the fortitude, a personal sense of peril to society, only to find themselves in danger.

I visited Alcatraz in the summer of 2014. Join me on this trip. Immerse yourself in the dreamscape. There is much to explore.

 

Posted in Photography, Poetry, travel

Birds on Tap – Monhegan!

Wow! My trip to Monhegan Island just got better!! Being an avid birder I just may be able to check off a few more birds in my birding journal. So excited! I agree with their sentiments above: This. Is. Going. To. Be. Awesome!! Happy Writing (& Birding & Traveling).

Maine Birding Field Notes

IMG_1030_edited-2“Coffee Warbler” would be a better name for the Magnolia Warbler due to their affinity, and perhaps even reliance, on shade-grown coffee plantations in winter.

Beer + bird-friendly coffee + birds + migration + Monhegan + Kenn and Kim Kaufman = Epic.

IMG_1180_edited-2You never know what will show up on Monhegan on Memorial Day weekend, like this female Hooded Warbler.

For a while now, I have been hinting at a big event in the works for Memorial Day Weekend on Monhegan Island. Partnering with Birds & Beans Coffee, Monhegan Brewing, and The Trailing Yew, Freeport Wild Bird Supply is pleased to announce:

Birds on Tap – Monhegan!

We have the “Birds on Tap!” lecture series at Rising Tide in partnership with Dr. Noah Perlut, and the Birds on Tap – Roadtrip! series in conjunction with the Maine Brew Bus, and now, we’re going even bigger with a…

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Posted in Photography, Poetry, quotes, travel

James Whitcomb Riley

It is no use to grumble and complain; It’s just as cheap and easy to rejoice; When God sorts out the weather and sends rain – Why, rain’s my choice.–Riley When you awaken some morning and hear that somebody or other has been discovered, you can put it down as a fact that he discovered himself years ago – since that time he has been toiling, working, and striving to make himself worthy of general discovery.–Riley

Posted in Photography, Poetry

Michigan countryside

Old houses
dotting open fields,
cows grazing round.

Florid stories told.
The outside revels little,
interior secrets unfold.

True gems of history. I was passing by in the car so no chance to shoot angles or capture the intricacies of the windows and doors. It was difficult enough to get my husband to slow down.