Posted in Art, Photography, Poetry

Sewn (reblog)

I dabble in photography and this blog i share (see link below) always satisfies when read, with varying ways photos impact. Click link to see work displayed. This particular post is especially drawn to me as a quilter, lover of fabric and the process of piecing together lives.

“For over a decade, Sewn has taken shape from altered, chopped, merged, and recomposed photographs. …

By engaging with the photography in this way, I create work that deals with the notions of truth in photography and its impact on identity. Using family photographs and those from my family’s past albums as material for the work, the resulting imagery tells a “new truth” with reimagined memories, situations, and experiences.”
— Read on photolicioux.wordpress.com/2018/06/20/sewn/

Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry, Random, Soul Journal

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. 💜🌏🕊🎶🎶🎶

Posted in Musings, Poetry, quotes

May. Math. Motivation.

“The pages are still blank, but there is a miraculous feeling of the words being there, written in invisible ink and clamoring to become visible”
–Vladimir Nabokov, Russian-American novelist.

Ghost numbers
count the stars
watch them disappear
in the design of colored pencils
write the formula out
solve the mystery of time.

Suppose the creativity of your design is based on numbers and then add us all up and develop humanity.  Add a God to the formula and hell brakes loose. Ego disrupts the original plan and all along time we are born into this chaos.  Moms and dads prune the branches of desire but the warmth of the sun and the chill of evening do nothing to sever the consequences.  We are doomed.  Or maybe not.  Someone will solve the mystery of time.

 

 

Posted in Musings

May. Math. Motivation.

“Histories make men wise; poets, witty; the mathematics, subtle; natural philosophy, deep; moral, grave; logic and rhetoric, able to contend.”–Sir Francis Bacon

Sir Francis Bacon developed the scientific method but most certainly did not understand human psychology.  History, yes, except Bacon failed to see men can chose blindness over sight. Philosophy, yes, except man’s hunger can be shallow and the meatier books are left untouched.  Moral, yes, but Bacon overlooked those who understand beauty in good will.  Logical, yes, except he did not mention men choose to falter under pressure rather than argue.  A cold beer always trumps logic.

Mathematics is subtle? No wonder the psychology of man continues to elude.  Man remains abstract, archaic, elusive.  If there is order in math why is there chaos in the heart and soul of man?

Posted in Musings, quotes

May. Math. Motivation.

No heart is warmer than in a snowstorm.  Jeanne

Where is the logic?

“The ‘Muse” is not an artistic mystery but a mathematical equation. The gift are those ideas you think of as your drift to sleep. The giver is that one you think of when you first awake.” –Roman Payne, novelist, poet and adventurer

A blank mind retreats -exhaustion
cold weather resides
you shiver and shake
take refuge under quilted warmth
drift to sleep
in catatonic mode
witness the Muse
at the end of the bed
melting the icy neurons.

At first light
the heart shines hotter
than any sun.

Posted in Poetry

Hello world

Journey to understand.
May your road be blessed.
Be brave. Inquire and share.

Reflecting,
I realize my voice matured.
Masks removed
Time grows

running forward and only walking backward.  

For the children we are…
cheers!