growing up

Were you allowed to express yourself growing up? Or were your passionate explorations squelched?

Arts were a forbidden country for me. A taboo. Superstitions of poverty and starvation, my becoming promiscuous, rang from my mother’s mouth. Dad silently agreed. When i turned 18 i told them i was going to college. When they did not listen, i screamed “they couldn’t keep me imprisoned.” Dad reacted otherwise. His anger boiled over. I submitted and got married and had children. Then grew up. I became bold and started writing. Bought paints and danced on paper. Looked through a camera lens to find moments worth holding.

My heart reopened as a bee flew past. He promised fruit in my life if i would spread open my wings.

I fly away to dream.

peril

The deepest,
darkest
rises in the fog,
burned away -hidden desire.

Oh, why feel
so free
behind the screen?

And how our creator
tapped into the sensual,
leaves us mourning
the loss of soul.

Unknown

Love me while i am here
or don’t love me at all.

As i, my song,
lives as breath

fluid as the river,
passed through and over.

Sing the path.
Walk the earth.

Vapors exist, retract,
birth the unknown.

As i, my song,
lived in breath. Depart.

Three days. Three motivations. Day 2.

A Guy called Bloke nominated me to share my motivations and I happily oblige, feeling motivated to share my inner thoughts. Why not? πŸ˜œπŸ’•βœŒπŸΌ

Glad you bother to read my posts at all! What, with all your responsibilities, who am i to take up your time?

This is the path unfolding before me. A red carpet spread to the ends of the earth, piled high with rocks and sand and twigs and leaves. Accompanied by the fragrance of flowers and promise of new Days. While Nights wander aimlessly toward silence and i reside peacefully as billions of stars awaken.

Oh! This too! Or better yet, make some of your own art! Grab a brush, paint, and go! 🎨 β˜”οΈπŸŒ΅πŸŒΌπŸ„πŸπŸ‚πŸΎ JπŸ•ŠπŸŽΆπŸŽΆπŸŽΆ

My Feathered Heart

Jeanne’s GoodReads Review Please feel free to add me to your Goodreads’s friend’s list. πŸ˜πŸ•ŠπŸŽΆ

My Feathered Heart (original poem)

My review of The Feathered Heart by Mark Turcotte.

I once found a teeny-tiny downy woodpecker feather. At most, the feather measured one inch (2.54 cm) in length. My guess as to the year found would be 2010. I had since lost the treasure to find it again while packing up our house to move. Today’s date 3/11/2018.

The feather, seen above in the bookmark constructed, is grey/black with five incomplete white spots. The spots are not complete circles as the white color lies on the fringe. As such, it mimics my teetering heart, lying on the edge of an invisible border erected by thoughts. It is my feathered heart that led me to find Mark Turcotte and his book of poems, The Feathered Heart.His book will be returned to as often as needed. To remedy my soul with feeling words erected as fences. (I found a used copy, to be delivered just in time for my birthday, through Amazon 😁.)

My wayward feet travel searching for answers. The silences weave protection. The war i battle is not within but from outside the curtained window. I learn to dress in velvet’s hope.