Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry

Earth Song

the stillness of earth
a song well versed and rehearsed
watch my shadow crawl

What is going on with you creatively?

The haiku is taken from an expressive arts class 4/3/2020. The photo is from 10/6/2020. Life has been a bit hectic lately. Changes in my life never cease. I put a halt to my REACE training midsummer due to conflicts. My training will resume in February 2021, with a new venue out of San Diego CA.

I look forward to continuing the expressive arts as they bring me much calmness and energy. A centering of my heart is needed in the tumultuous times we find ourselves. And I am rather certain for time to come. Although others I know are feeling a respite coming. My thoughts are knowing whether it is a false peace trembling to capture imagination and souls. Or something so luminous we will barely be able to stand.

My plans going forward, once I am able to mentally give energy to all my dreams, is a new blog, Shed 33.3, to replace Soul Signs, which will incorporate all my life loves. 🥰🥳🎈🎈🎈 Although this blog will remain indefinitely as it captures the impermanence of my being. And of nature’s caress. The rawness, the muddy waters, and the hidden aspects of growth, unequivocally shared.

So stay tuned! And please consider contributing to the adventure with your soulful poems, The Poet’s Wonderment, Gift Crow, Vol 1. Read about this endeavor here. I can be reached at soulcollective67@gmail.com.

Anthony Gorman, of Hands in the Garden and Grumpy Gifts, is also on board, helping create and develop the first handmade chapbook. He can be reached at anthonytgorman@hotmail.com.

Happy writing!! Jeanne ✍🏼

Posted in Art, Musings, Poetry

Lost Love

Love is an idea when
commitment lacks confidence.

—I am only one. I couldn’t hold you or let you go. So we both suffered sunburn.

You are further away from me than I care to acknowledge. Nothing remains to settle my thoughts. I dangle my feet in the shallow; you wade knee deep. I dress in green and swirled turquoise. Beads adorn my hair, swept in a bun. The water laps our passion and icy hearts.

Posted in letters, Memoir, Poetry, prose

diary excerpt —the old broke through

Felt brave -well enough, so i peered into the book and read his words. Our words.

Jan 19, 2017, 2:13 PM

Stopped my thoughts

and when i stopped
writing you
voices flooded in -mocking

“Why are you bothering?”
“You’re not going to make it?”

Concentrate on anything
but this
this tight chest and lorazepam.

The knife digs in -relentless.

“Just take it.” I hear.

Forced to give in
I conquer fear.

i feel safe.
i’m home.
And that can be
a problem
i need to overcome.

Do u think it is social anxiety because i read something and it made sense. But also about attachments and neurosis.

Do u know when u dont answer i can find myself growing anxious. Second guessing myself, not feeling safe for saying stuff i mean to keep to myself. I havent been bothered lately. I find myself looking around but im okay. Just a couple times, anxious, and

upset with myself because of this.

I cant be still not knowing what to do. Should, or rather, i need to talk.

I dont know and that makes it bad. Then another thing, this taking medicine. Should i try to stop. Maybe ill be all right. But what if not. Will it just cause more harm. Fretting that im stuck in this hole. But i dont feel stuck now, everyone is gone. Its okay. Its better that way. This is long.

Sorry.

I only notice when I leave the house. Looking out

the top floor window seemed safe to leave; leaving was a totally different reality.

“What do you think? I feel like i should be able to go outside but find myself sleeping, not able to move.” He didn’t have an answer.

“I think ill be okay. Thought maybe if i came to talk every 2 months…” She continued the conversation but never realized he was closed off to her after too many years of stagnation.

The escape. A shadow dances, from out the corner of her eye. Her mind unable to override the dark sky.

——–

Stopping my thoughts today? Good luck. I finish my papers but when i stop writing it all floods in, mocking me. “Why are you bothering? Your not going to make it?”

After a while, trying to write, i just couldnt write. Couldnt concentrate on anything but this. My chest is tight and hurts. I tried relaxing, taking lorazapam. Nothing works.

Its all front and center reminding me its not over no matter how much i wish and want to be free. I have no answers or know what im doing wrong.

All i did was stop and something took advantage of the weak wall.

The old broke through.

Posted in Advice, Musings, Poetry, Soul Journal

Crayon’s Voice***

Why do we limit ourselves? There is no simple answer.

Life is a celebration and we miss out on possibilities, cornering ourselves into a box. Unless that box is shut off from the world, by well-meaning friends or loved ones, we should not be afraid to be used. (But never abused.) If someone chooses to pick us, color with us, there is no need to cry. A lonely crayon is perfect. A used crayon, worn from tired hands, are memories to linger, lines in the sand.

Happy day to you. Just be. Linger a while in the joy of whatever color(s) you are today. What color are you at the moment? Feel free to let the world know in the comments. ✌🏼 🌈 🎨 🎶🎶🎶

***This is a post from June 2018. Ashley wrote about the drafts folder and mine is plumb full dating back to 2016. I plan on revamping some posts and letting them loose. Others will be trashed. Honestly, my blog(s) need an overhaul. I have changed so much from 2008 until now. My old selves certainly don’t recognize the new me. The me taking on life one day at a time.

Hope you will stay on this journey with me a little longer. Watch for all the changes to come. And know you are always welcome here. ✌🏼🕯🎶💙

Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry, Soul Journal

New Wineskin

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

Proverbial Position: Sit and ponder.

The cliche that “nothing stays the same” happens every new season. Autumn is upon us now and we say goodbye to the childish ways of summer, as the groaning of winter approaches.

I grab my wrap as I head out the door to tend to my six sassy chickens. There are fewer clover plants to pick in the yard. So I bought fresh dandelion greens and watermelon at the grocer. This delicacy, beyond the grains, entices them to brave the morning chill. A chill they never knew in June, huddled beneath a red heat lamp. Where once all six chicks fit into the space of a three month old hen.

This new environment is a challenge for me too. Soon snow will blanket the dirt. Chicken feet are easily frost bitten so I must be cautious with how long they stay outdoors. To grab my scarf and trudge into the bleak day, instead of hunkering on the couch with a good book and fire, will challenge my devotion.

I choose the chickens during a March morning, my daughters texting me, as the two-week, 2020 lockdown, was fresh in mind. There was scarcely tp or eggs, flour, milk, and least of all bravery, on store shelves. We hunkered into fighting mode.

I had always dreamed of having a brood of chickens while my kids were young. Fishers Indiana laws and neighbors kept us from acting upon those noisy desires. Nothing in this town was blocking me from ordering those cuties from a hatchery. With a bit of research and a strong sense of the present world, I added six female Australorps to the online store bin.

This new wine drunk celebrates life seasons and I will keep up. My life stretching to fill new wineskins, to reach the warmth of others in community. These chickens hatched all possibility into me. The bourgeoning of the Little Free Library, my expressive arts training, and Shed 33.3. A renewed outlook sprouting from tilled soul.

At least until the final transformation of ghostly dancing sets eternally upon my bones. My spirit ever free from the confines of flesh. A new wineskin ever new, adorned with ebony feathers.

Posted in Art, Poetry

Gift Crow.

Gift Crow Oil pastel/watercolor 3×5

Hello poets and creative forces. I am inviting interested bloggers to submit 1-3 poems for a handmade chapbook I am constructing to stock my Little Free Library. My library will be unveiled April 2021 and is a project very dear to my heart. I would love for you to be part! Here is a snippet from our town’s newspaper article. That is me mentioned ☺️.

If you are interested in being included in my first handmade chapbook, send me an email with your favorite poems, an intent to submit, any relevant questions, or simply to cheer on my newest endeavor!

soulcollective67@gmail.com

In your poem submission, please include your blog address, all published books, a small bio, and the poems! You are welcome to submit original art or photography as well. The theme for this first chapbook is “A Poet’s Wonderment”! My original art will be the cover titled “Gift Crow” vol 1.

Hope to hear from all of you very soon!

If you are wondering what you get out of this, it will be free publicity and a copy of the book if you provide an address (possibly a small fee incurred through this blog or Venmo… tbd).