Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry

Unbridled Hope

Linger longer, your storm is stronger. Cast your spell and wear it well. Smile a little wider and breathe the air.

I was digging in the sand with an old metal child’s toy. A shiny new, red-handled, plastic shovel just wouldn’t do. I intended to find treasure and wanted nothing less than rare gems.

The first scoop was fine sieved rock that had been beaten down. Once shell homes, they lay waste to unscrupulous waves. The second scoop was nothing more.

As the sun beat down upon my neck, I could not give up. I grabbed the metal shovel, scooped another bucket full, and behold a pearl appeared.

As I sat on the ocean’s edge, the shovel’s rust mixed with the salty tears and orange ran down the castle moat. And in my hand was the world’s irritants made new. A testament to belief and faith that troubles weary you in the search. At the end, fortitude rewards the heart.

Posted in Photography, Poetry, prose

Morning Musings

Plum Island, MA

In our irresponsibility, we rather blame others for personal shortcomings, than face our own darkness. A true person of integrity would seek truth, regardless the cost to ego. There is sound historical record, although often coerced to fit modern agendas, we embark research in areas of psychological interest. We easily blame religion as reasoning for bloodshed. Perhaps the taste of others misery helps us weather our own storms.

Another turned against humanity.

Crossing over to a twilight zone kaleidoscope eyes feast on dreams and circumstance. Do we fail to see what is happening? The world is not going to end tomorrow, as far as i know. But equally frightening is that it could. And not frightening in the sense that life becomes non-existent, but that while we possessed breath, we missed the purpose of earth.

Sometimes death frees more than the person gone. Other times it chains hearts to dreams and wishes. And then there is death that haunts forever.
I think our Creator is wrong… love will not save the world. Unless love is no longer required to discipline. Unless love is no longer required to forgive. Unless love is allowed to hate the enemy.

Posted in Photography, Poetry

Week in Review: B&W

Endurance. Fire. Water. Emerge. Make a splash. Boundaries and halos. Forgiveness. Clarity. Path forward. Joy. Fog. Agony… The peace promised will arrive on time. Do not give up.

It has been quite a week. How has your week been? Care to share? Please do.

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 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 Musings, Photography, Poetry

Every Child (repost from my other blog)

Once upon a time… magic happened.

I truly believe every child deserves to experience nature and man collide. I have a dream that someday I will be able to open the barn doors at Promise Gardens to suffering children. It is my lasting hope that carries me heavenward.

Continue reading here Soul Signs

Sadness seeps
into other’s bones
where desert rivers once
carried possibility seeds.

Today,
I carry that new wine skin
water sloshing upon my feet
baptizing me whole.
Posted in Photography, Poetry, quotes, short fiction

Portal Vision

Norm 2.0 Thursday 🚪

Stuff your eyes with wonder… Ray Bradbury

The leaves tumbled to form a soft blanket around her worn out feet. She had stopped the lengthy trek into the woods, as she had made many evenings before, to hear the softest of sounds coming from the east.

“Hello?” she managed to ask a feeble question that went unnoticed by anything or anyone, except herself. She continued to mumble her thoughts, losing track of the moon, now turned west and setting, for the hour had come to welcome Pan.

His song grew mesmerizing and cast a glow about her face. The hoofs of his feet took a beat to match her heart. Ivy vines wrapped around her legs and gently lowered her to the ground. She lay silent and watched as a figure grew close, shrouded in cloud, as the fog had grown thick from a cool evening breeze that washed away the heat of the sun’s hour.

“Listen now and I shall follow.” his words he whispered softly to her ear as she dreamed upon the moss and stone. “In the evening I so chose to find a lady to hear my sorrow.” She picked up the largest of the white pearly rock and rubbed it to a mirror. Gazing she noticed her face had softened with heated blush and rouge. With a swipe, her finger licked off the red and she wrote this mystical creature a poem.

Come! o come! Wisp me away
my devilish friend
who comes to stay
in purple passion
and eternal fray.

The sea has brought you wandering
the glen and forest true
to find your maiden
wrapped and warm
with fire in her head.

Come! o come! you hear me say
the years have worn you down
my cheer, not strife
with flute and pipe
the sorrow worn upon a frown.

The oaks are laden with brimming nuts
and food to last our spring
will come and we shall live
in magic harmony,
arm in arm for eternity.

As Pan approached the fairness of her heart, he bent to touch her silken hair, now golden to light time. He grasped her hungrily and the evening’s stars disappeared. The winter of his discontent vanished into spring. And their summer child frolicked gaily upon the streams.

The Pan statue photographed can be found in the woods at Tower Hill Botanic Gardens in Boylston MA. It is quite a lovely place to stir the imagination. Happy writing, J

https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=god+pan+music&&view=detail&mid=A813A86C1207D8D47D88A813A86C1207D8D47D88&&FORM=VRDGAR