Posted in Photography, Poetry

Abandoned Voices

We learn to accept and mourn. Not necessarily because we would choose to witness changes. Change is anxiety ridden and mental complications arise from foregoing what was once comforting. Rather, we adapt to new surroundings to lessen the anxious feelings.

body aches progress
no rain last night means
the task of watering plants resumes
bee balm has budded and bloomed

the trek up the stones
two black spruce saplings
and mountain ash twigs have rooted
a coyote takes notice
her footprints sniffed and noted

a cooling wind arrives
soft brush against her thighs
lady’s slippers have vanished
printed dress lays longer than knees
feet bare and blackened soil

coyote and mistress howl
between leafed branches a sighting
bones sorted among rocks
abandoned toil to rest
the new moon arrives with joy
Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry

FOTD—Planting Seeds

A few days back, these grape hyacinths were at their peak. As they stood attention, bees collected pollen while the days faded. All holding a promise, that tomorrow, faith rests on fate.

I believe in today. And see the grand scheme rise up before me. I put my hand to the soil and till the earth. Spread my pocketful of seeds with a smile. And water the dirt with tears knowing this too will pass.

fading memories
grandma at the kitchen stove
stirring her pickles

hidden kittens purr
i feeding the baby calf
bowl full of cow’s milk

My Promise Garden arose from my grandfather’s suicide. The vision grows wherever I land. I have held this dream in my heart for 32 years. It only vanishes with my last breath.

Cee’s FOTD

(I have written about My Promise Garden, my brother, and my personal struggles before. They reside, buried in this ever evolving blog’s pages. Maybe those words will bud and blossom too. If I ever find the energy, I may edit my raw words into something more elegant. Until then, I rest in my meager efforts to get across how precious time is. Thank you friends.)

Posted in Poetry

Arrangements

If i were to talk 
because i held a certain trust
that words left on ledges
wouldn’t be pushed
shoved or trampled

what would your answer be?



The flowers carefully cut
each slice affords another view
each decidedly new
to the possibility of desert juice

so let’s drink up under the star’s canopy.



And if the end starts
another conversation
would you stay past midnight
under the blanket tent

I pitched while cleaning house?



Dressed in bleak
we stand and speak
of autumn nights that ramble
while holding hands

and rehearse our final vows.

Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry

Abandoned Voices

Most people endeavor to do life justly and loyally. Although we learn early on just how broken life becomes once the safety of home (our minds and bodies) is lost.

Why should we toil when a flower blooms eloquently without second guessing the push to find the sun?

In fertile soil
promise of milk and honey
hungry bellies bulge

Is it only our thoughts that cause us to fail? “I lack confidence in my voice.” “I tremble at everything I do.” “I worry this charade is a show put on to please.” Sound familiar? Or is there more to life than waking up?

Each day we should learn to take the path of least resistance. We have what we need to grow built into our DNA. You are alive and a million possibilities await.

And when life becomes totally unbearable, when we fail, that too is just. For it is then we learn forgiveness. To stare into a stranger’s eyes and whisper, “I welcome you friend.”

Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry

Wabi-Sabi

I updated my site again. The second time this year. These new beginnings are another chance at survival. Embracing what I will become while accepting the current condition of my heart and soul.

I gently ease into this new idea of me. Playing around with logistics until it feels like home.

This is where I am. Wabi-Sabi. An imperfect ideal of being me.

Posted in Photography, Poetry

Fleeting Floats Beyond

Is it Spring that welcomes you?
Or Summer heated blues?

Nothing stays long enough to know. —Mary Szybist, Incarnadine: Poems

My head aches with worried words
the squirrels chattering all day long
it is “nuts” i say
to play this way
so i venture on.

And in the view
I capture two
spaces, far and near
my heart feels lost
the cost too much
and time wonders why.

Is it Spring
that welcomes us
dancing in the street
where no one drives
the coast is clear
your feet travel far.

I loved you once
and tried again
to be brushed aside
rushing for the sun
where all darkness hides.

I forgot green runs too
so long they last
the brown songs past.

We once walked single file
holding beaded pearls
and slowly

I let go the rope.
Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry

Abandoned Voices

Lady Slipper

Atop the rocky hill blooms one exquisite Lady Slipper. She, a Spring passage to Summer, and I haven’t switched over my Winter clothes.

Lady Slipper 2.0

Three days later pink color appears. Her cheeks ruddy and weathered from sunlight. She glows. A rare sight to behold. A lady has her ways.

The intricate life of the North American orchid ‘Cypripedium acaule’ fascinates. The flower lures bees with smell and color. Once inside the pouch, the bee realizes the store is empty and has only one way out. With such news, the trapped bee scurries to find the exit sign, whereupon pollen deposits and collects. https://www.fs.fed.us/wildflowers/plant-of-the-week/cypripedium_acaule.shtml

What do people know about us? Separate from what we have told, how can others know us? What symbiotic relationships do we pursue in order to fruit?

Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry

Abandoned Voices

Abandoned Voices #2
I can’t keep the magic
happening
while the sky peels
back the gray.
Instead, I make an appointment
to speak to Dr. Such
and so the moment
melts away.

Same scene. Second glance. A vision that keeps turning my head. To walk the valley is difficult. To rise above circumstances, a feat.

The answers to life are buried deep inside each of us. It is the voices we tend to hear that promise love or hope or gifts that steer us off course. We tremble at conflict and derision and loss.

What magic do you hold inside that keeps you moving toward a goal? And when do you become an enemy to prized dreams and visions? What setbacks or traps have you allowed to sabotage your destination?

The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.

W.B. Yeats

Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry, Soul Journal

Abandoned Voices

Abandoned Voices #1
To taste the air.
To know the wind.
To watch a bird
take flight
and welcome home
freedom’s fight.

To touch the ground’s
growing heartbeat.
To know our day’s bleak
as we are weak
to ever soar above.

If we understood each waking hour, what sound emerges for us? What lays at the edge of every step we take? Is freedom ever found?

The glimmer of hope rings true until the descent brings one closer. So how does one revive the home fire when all the logs are burnt?

I hope to continue Abandoned Voices through a series of photos that capture thoughts and answer questions. This being the first photograph, edited.