Fish or Bird? Red or White?

I exist in prolific ponderings, defined as poetry in motion. As the ripple of our touch sends gentle waves to hearts, we inspire others to create.

Which would you choose to be?

Did you notice the duck’s reflection? Does he even care? And what of the gold fish? Does he dream of flying away with the duck?

Does a house care about anything that exists within or outside of it’s walls?

I always worried about growing old. I am lucky to be alive. My death desires up until 6 months ago were prolific. As far as choosing bird or fish, red or white, i have no answer. Just an abundance of thoughts. And as for the wrinkles… i will keep them. Grateful to be alive, no matter the secret desires.

For now, i remain hidden in the mystery of life. πŸ’œπŸŒπŸ•ŠπŸŽΆπŸŽΆπŸŽΆ

Moving Day is here!

Staying out of the movers way!
Looking toward the day
I can rest my mind and rhyme -Think!
Set up my writing desk
find a place to paint -Dream!
until then, i pledge
to stay out of the movers way.

The biggest day of my life, since i moved to Indiana, has arrived. From this day forward, i move without knowing the future. Security is in the past. Adventure awaits those who walk with eyes wide open.

Trying not to cry! Feeling the exhilarating new of Boston on my brow! My heart is racing, wondering what lies ahead.

And excited to have lots of time to read back posts. See you at your blog soon!

small deaths looming

clipped wings
found the feathers

who wastes their life?
bundled in piles
yellowed-papers
faded ink scribbles

unable to decipher his path forward
white lady
entangles with her promises.

(To my distant blogging friend who inspires. 4/16/2018)

life happens

Do we owe apologies when life happens? My heart β™₯️ is discombobulated at the moment. I miss you dear readers and i made a brief appearance this morning after a welcome disappearance from the world. A friend and i made away to the wooded hills of Brown County, in my expedient retreat from the hustle and bustle of moving. And i stopped to breath. And a few words made it to the surface, popped and left stains on paper. I shared them with you from the encouragement of another. Thank you for reading.

death of an era

I have not been able to read any of your blogs and i want to. I desperately feel i owe you that curtesy and i cannot fulfill that endeavor. I want to be able to think, write and paint. But i cannot. I want to reach out, touch and exchange smiles. But i cannot. I want to scream, be heard and cry. But i cannot.

Life happens. But i am not.

I remain enclosed in self-protection from the chaos of realtor showings, movers approaching with boxes, tape and sharpies. I am spinning and not on tip-toe.

At the moment i remain confused. I do not profess to understand the complexities i am passing through. Your worlds are miles away and cannot be reached. My world is slipping from my hands.

my promise garden

These are moments to cherish. The labor of my hands have shown to say hello, one more time. And goodbye forever.

—-

I wrote a poem to a friend this past weekend. (See below.) I sent it off to him. He did not respond. Silence weighs heavy on my head. I do not understand his absence after sharing his desire to reciprocate. Another of his small deaths looming?

clipped wings
found the feathers

who wastes their life?
bundled in piles
yellowed-papers
faded ink scribbles

unable to decipher his path forward
white lady
entangles with her promises.

pressed tight

Depression. And it’s accomplice, anxiety, arrived today. On horseback.

Out of the blue and bare-naked. Desperate to scare me. Both hoping to seduce.

I had ran away once. Appears now it will be twice.

Glanced to the side. Saw the consequences coming from a ways. It had to be more than a mile.

It was the voices that trapped my imagination. I trembled.

They brought shovels. Dug me a grave. Knew how weak i was and their plans overcame.

I gave in to their demands. Was there ever a chance?

Remember, neither proposed. They married you without consent.

Some day i will wake up.