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?
What am i doing here this morning? Did i not say i was gone from WP? Well a thought entered my head after reading a post in a closed group i belong to on FB… and decided to share here as well.
So, what is the group? Survivors of Suicide. A group i did not sign up for but was rather pushed into. And i reside there eternally.
I am healthier today. Actually quite happy. It hurts to say i am happy. I wear my brother’s pain… my grays and blues. Back in black on sunny days. No hat can hide or sunglasses conceal my tears.
Regardless i have survived two suicides and countless hopes to die myself. What follows is my posting to the group this morning…
“At some point life becomes unbearable… my mother was miserable and trudged through life. Her desire to die was known growing up and affected us children, as much as if she had died. I started to desire death at 8 years old. Then my grandfather did die by suicide… gunshot to the head, two months before my wedding. My desire to die increased and my happy day was miserable… it rained as my dad drove me to the church. Then, a rainbow appeared as i got out of the car. A tinge of hope engulfed me. That sparkle flickered for years. Fast track to March 1 2008 and my brother died by suicide. I was still a broken girl with dashed dreams (moments of hope sprinkled in) and felt compelled to leave this earth too! I spent days staring out the kitchen window while holding a knife to my neck, ever gently scraping… singing a lullaby to myself. Oh! and the knotted ropes in my mind would magically turn into snakes, dance in my head while telling me peace came with death.
“Lies!!!” i screamed back.
Today? Ten years later and 51, I have never felt so alive!!! I do not think about the past… my environment has changed. I live in a new house, a new town/state, surrounded by beauty and inner peace… everything before today was all a nightmare.
(To everyone in the FB closed group i told them ‘So glad you all are here. Talking. Suicidal thoughts are a disease. A product of overgrown emotions that do not know to express themselves outward. I went to therapy for ten years… my escape was to pack my bags and get the hell out of hell… i stay in this group because i cannot leave my brother. I so wish he was here. He would be happy to know i made it out alive.
Hope this isnt too harsh. It was my reality for 50 years.’)
I am always available to listen to you too. email@example.com
I suppose i should shed light on why i chose this song, these lyrics, on this day. Yesterday was my youngest daughter’s birthday. So my mind automatically drifts to birth as amniotic fluids flood in…
reds, oranges and yellows
fill my mind
she was born three weeks late… scheduled for a c-section on a monday, she arrived days earlier, on saturday, with the nurses finding no heart beat on the monitors, i lay tied to an operating table, subdued by mighty drugs and gasping air…
baby’s gasps silent
and then i asked “is she beautiful?”
days later i held her
eager to go home
i caught a fever
days ensued and now years later
still plays as she wanders
in fogs of her own.
a baby died
the same day
in the same hospital
that my first child
to a mother
shaking in the wind
afraid to hold a tiny hand
limply reaching to wipe a tear
the news ripped our ears
and not to be out done
my son born
before the doctor
a frantic cabbie
and gassed-up taxi
new york bore silence
as we upstaged the world news
and i slid into oblivion
a homeless man
stationed on 71st and second
hunger pains surrounding me
i wondered how i
could move further
amazed at my strength
men were fed
so yeah… this! my morning chatter… watered by coffee
and last night’s final curtain… to be painted… as this is a photo edited for study
Then back to a routine. Wake up (no more early, summer-shiny mornings here in Massachusetts) make the coffee, pick up my pen and paper, drink three cups of that caffeine and sugary cream… it feels like a new beginning today. Everyday is technically a new beginning. But today is special. This trip to Iceland, has not even been over for 24 hours and the repercussions are over flowing.
I am grateful to come back to beauty. My yard is invigorating. I am settled here. This is home.
I am planning my day. First, picking up Louie… oh my! Cannot wait for his kisses. Then do my grocery shopping, finish unpacking, do laundry and decide how i spend my dearest time left in Massachusetts. There are numerous job opportunities i could pursue. And there is my writing, quilting, painting, photography that awaits. My projects are numerous. I am running in so many directions. I need a plan of action.
I wrote a few poems on the plane as i headed towards Boston… i would fall asleep to a new song i just love “ Your Ghost” by an Icelandic artist Axel Flovent (link below). He also performs traditional music. It was the only song i listened to for five hours going to Iceland and for five hours coming back to the states. The lyrics are beautiful and the music is soothing. While listening, i would wake up with words to write. I look forward to sharing those poems soon.
Or maybe i have changed. In more ways than the inner the peace i feel. Maybe i stop the rush. The urge to post emphatically. And i save the creations and share them in a chapbook. About Iceland. About love. About life. About us.
For now, i “Save the Words” to be savored. Let them be felt in your hand and caressed. Will they be like scratchy wool or silken sheets? Suppose it would depend how you are experiencing the world. Me? How am I experiencing the people around me? Quizzically. Too many are spouting their significance when none of us are significant while being bravely unique.
To this i say, i am learning to be happy while still realizing my creative work is a progress. I, myself, mentally am a piece of art. Formed and fashioned. Years of sorrow kept me hardened but today i am receptive to the sun. I no longer hide from the day but courageously face the good and bad that surrounds.
I see far too many people who are not thinking… and well i have to turn away and protect my thoughts. composting logic
reality forced anger
paths burdened with tears
My religious views are Work-in-Progress and my political views are Independent. I am a free thinker who will listen and either agree or disagree with you. My main philosophy is that life is precious regardless of your worldview. So act like life matters and we will get along just fine.
Side note: Most people, family included, have or had no idea I struggled with suicidal ideation since age 8 until 50. My brother acted on his depression. I wanted to but was fearful of the consequences. We wonder if people who die by their own hands go to heaven. I wonder if we will ever learn to listen and hear people. Even in their silence there are clues… i saw my brother’s anger mixed in with his smile. I was too caught up in raising my daughter that I chose only to see his love for me and Anna and Jeff. I walked past his anger and should have called him to talk. 💔 I play that look over and over in my mind. Like today. I dislike what i see in so many eyes and feel helpless. Daily. How do we fix the pain that surrounds us? How? 💔🌏
Literature is strewn with the wreckage of those who have minded beyond reason the opinion of others.
A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction. –V Woolf “A Room of One’s Own”
Well… i am off to assemble a “Room of My Own” and enjoy what are the last few weeks of a gorgeous summer. Life is different in Massachusetts. It is a good change for my mental health. A much needed change and very few sour notes exist in my song book. Grateful for the positive energy surrounding me.
A new experience presented itself within a community to celebrate positive energy. This was most of the group’s first time being together. The hour started with rhythmic drum beats mimicking the heart’s life force.
There were 15 of us, each with a drum and another percussion instrument. This video is the third of four sets, each naturally lasting between 12-13 minutes. The group leaders did little to manipulate each interval of creative expression. They flowed as swiftly and gently, or vigorously and bountifully, as the Nashua River, deep in the Valley of Oxbow.
As the hour progressed, a golden hue encompassed us. We said farewell to the sun. Then to each other. Look forward to another drum circle September 12.