Posted in Poetry

Broken Voices

—I don’t understand. Maybe I never will. It feels rocky. Like a ledge in the abyss. I guess Ill post a poem to feel love. Because im feeling lost on a track going nowhere. Maybe i set the sign in the middle of the track and i thought you hadn’t read all this time. Adrift in space with nothing to hold, i had to find another way.

Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry

Petaled Heart

He loves me
He loves me
What becomes of a broken heart
the forgiving of others
the turning away?

Where to begin my story? The ending is quite clear. The present state of affairs is wiped clean and a kinder, gentler, loving world appears. A fairy tale or truth?

If my heart were petaled, once upon a time, one petal was despair, another pain. Then to equalize my experience, a random lock of love would please my mind. This may sound reasonable. But it remains unbearable. Life becomes a game.

My petaled heart cries “He loves me. He loves me.” It can be no other way.

Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry

Thoughts Resonate —Ishita Gupta Blogger

Ishita Gupta @ Thoughts Resonate sent out a few questions and kindly asked for my reply. 😘❤️ Of course dear. 🤗🎶

  1. What do you love to do, except blogging? I grow a garden, My Promise Garden, which celebrates my grandfather and father’s love of nature. I practice expressive arts, cook, photography, and love music. I learned to play the piano for my personal enjoyment. I hike, bike, and volunteer at a homeless shelter. The joy of children brings me happiness!
  2. Is there anything on your bucket list, which you could share with us? I want to visit Scotland and perhaps stay there for a year in the future. I want to live on an island with someone special, turn off the internet, and learn all about that person! And maybe never return here. 🤔
  3. Is there any place in the world, that you desperately want to visit? Or someplace that has already captured your heart? Scotland. I loved London and Amsterdam.
  4. Do you like reading? If yes, could you share 5 of your favourite books? Wally Lamb, This Much is True. I read all 700+ pages in a day. It was that good. Alias Grace by Margaret Atwood. Love’s Executioner, Irvin Yalom. I loved all of Yalom’s books. I like psychological thrillers. So Spider, Patrick McGrath. I love all McGrath’s books too.
  5. If given a chance, would you like to change something about yourself ? If yes, what? My insecurities. About everything.
  6. What is your life mantra? Church is poetry. Poetry is life. A life well lived. I developed it while blogging.
  7. Do you have any weird phobias? Or any phobias? For a period of time I could not leave the house. Im happy I no longer fear whatever caused me to hide. I cannot drink 7UP.
  8. What does an empty room remind you of? Anxiety. I like my collections and to be surrounded by beautiful things.
  9. What is your biggest pet peeve? Those who don’t read and gather facts before judging. People who jump to conclusions without listening. Harsh people.
  10. What’s your spirit animal? All animals speak in a special language that can teach us. But those that especially touch me are hummingbird, whale, cougar, loon, and moose. They have all appeared in dreams and visions, leaving very specific messages just for me.
  11. What motivates you to write? On my blog, I enjoy the virtual company. Although even here I am rather shy. On my own, to better know myself.

If you would like, do answer Ishita’s questions. And read her blog too. Beautiful, surreal words that find a nesting spot in your heart and mind.

Posted in Poetry

In our midst

If ever the result 
of happiness returning
remains anything other than hope

the beautiful depths
of human illogic
has us trade places
with a suffering lover.

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 Poetry

Stones

I never carved a word
into anything permanent
because “What is truth?” anyway

studying love
i discovered my blank mind
was dangerously close to hypocrisy

i smoked every flavor
sank my teeth into sugar
rubbed my ailments with alcohol

i brushed bugs off flowers
held the leash too tight
fought against God

and other people’s entities
draped as silver chains
and golden idols of mediocrity.

I once made a pile
stones stacked as fences
stretching for miles

met people who stopped to wonder
what energy provoked such nonsense
whether we agree or disagree
someone will come by and pick up a stone
laid gently to stop
only to be thrown

Just wonder how you write? This came to me in the past ten minutes. Is it any good? Make any sense? I throw my life into the poetic mix and wonder do my thoughts matter. Why matter anyway? Just drink my coffee and run. As always, comments are acceptable forms of relating here. Cannot say we wont misunderstand each other. But I will try my hardest to be available. Shalom, Jeanne

Posted in Poetry

Abandoned Voices

Friend,

Everything around us
looks different in your brush strokes
wide swaths of funny

high-rises among rubble
the unspoken razor-sharp bleeds
internal combustion

my dirtied gauze
stops nothing from seeping
puss and white cells and bacteria

festered wounds i picked
until you filled with booze
tempered fury spilt over

until the silent spring
dead upon arrival
we finally met eye-to-eye

voiceless in song
two toddlers in tantrum
with war wounds gone

was anything as necessary
after years of turmoil brewed
than to stand and be alone

Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry

Happy.

No apology necessary.
No mask required.

I hope you wouldn’t expect me to say sorry. The first half of my life was lived behind a mask of guilt, duty, shame, and lies. And then freedom arrived unannounced. As easy as life exists for clover, I too have found this summer easy. I’m living and boundless. Spreading my hope around tree trunks and watching butterflies take to the sky.

I hope autumn promises me the same. And winter pledges no harm.