deja vu.

Quotes: Invited by GuyorBloke
Day One. I have been here before.

All change demands energy. To recharge, we need to step away and consider the future.

“Why this way?” i repeatedly asked out loud. Of course, as life has proven, no voice replies when needed the most. Alone in that empty room, I silently posed. I traced the cracks and read the signs. Do not cry. You lived. Now walk away. Rest assured, I move forward, knowing, the walls will never speak.

See the source image

i am not good at goodbyes
as i drag my feet
reluctantly wave the past behind

I may not be here, at Borderline Crossing, much longer. I have a new endeavor that requires more of my time and what time will be left over, I may find using to rest in an Adirondack chair, atop our hill, watching the sun set over Mount Wachusett. This, and a glass of wine, will suit me fine.

I have started a new blog. I am not revealing any thing other than that I am excited about this new chapter in my writing. I have yet to consider what to do with what I have blogged here.  A few ideas are floating in my mind… but I am disorganized and nothing may ever come of my efforts.

To those who have ridden this wave as long as I, it has been quite a journey.  For those new here, I may pop in on occasion, if my mind floats back toward the borderline. I have tried to say goodbye, countless times before and have always returned. It remains to be seen if I keep my word and truly move on. For now, i have taken advice to heart, to cut the ties that bind.

And so, I tarry on in dreams, with tears in my eyes. J

Wait! already i revert to my old ways. I have Day Two and Day Three quotes to fulfill for Rory at GuyorBloke. Not to mention a backlogged drafts folder. What do i do with all these crowded words and empty space? Can i save me, after all? Time tells. 😍😘❤️

When life takes over

Sure, I would love to dream
all day and whittle time –away
then, life takes over
and I left spinning to take cover.

When I was young
I dreamed of spending time
in a one room beach house
filled with only memories.

Now I live in a mansion
filled with torture of mind
and the walls speak
hold me prisoner for the rest of time.

(Authors note: My husband thinks my poem is too dark so i let him make his revisions as seen below.  My poem is a metaphor of the mind. Can’t speak to his.)

Sure, I would love to dream
all day and whittle time –away
then, life takes over
and I left spinning to take cover.

When I was young
I dreamed of spending time
in a one room beach house
filled with only memories.

Now I live in a mansion
and as life’s task take over
I cannot find time to play
with my treasures.

untitled

When did I lose my way?
Call me crazy, -i see
your point made last week
how jumping up and down
can hurt my head
and soon after -i broke
and all this time
i had been searching
and you found me
and i sink deep into you.

Dancing out to sea

April is National Poetry Month. I love, love the idea as poetry is my writing of choice.

So, this morning my thoughts turned to why I write. Good question? Tough to answer I suppose. Certainly multi-dimensional for me. I communicate in print being an introvert. Posting and publishing is my move towards letting myself be seen. Seeking friendship. Would love to hear your reason.

I am reading Sylvia Plath’s Journals. The entries express something universal for writer’s who struggle with publishing. Comparable to falling in love, bearing a tender soul, subjecting your essence to possible damage but also kindness and appeal. In silence writer’s read each others journey. It is risky to know a poet who dangles in the dark. Sylvia’s words are poignant memories, raw as if yesterday, others appearing in real time. Perhaps those voices speaking do not really exist. I tend to get lost in that world and soon feel like Alice. In wonderland. chasing the White Rabbit. “I’m late, I’m late for a very important date.” Perhaps not.

I realize so much of what I throw to the wind is incomplete. I put my poems out there, as raw as they are, my thoughts not able to be still. I cannot fence them. They pray for freedom, seeking refinement in open space, sailing away from me. Juvenile poems comparatively with polished poets.

Incomplete poems return
asking for pardon
failing to accomplish my hopes, they wish to be forgotten.
Certainly need tailoring;
a dress you can not walk in, the hem dragging you down.
I wearing “The Red Shoes”.

The words needed step up
bow and take their place.
I cannot expect
everyone will be moved.
The purpose is not popularity but to show my heart.
My heart truly is the star.

As a writer, I am forging ahead, towards being the best I can be given my circumstances. I am clay and God is my potter. I am a believer in God. I am a believer in Jesus. I am not asking you to embrace my beliefs but rather witness what the relationship does for me. I admit it is my lifeline. I wouldn’t know how to keep on living if it wasn’t for these chances to make a life that is lived, worthy of being a part of this great big universe that never seems to end.

There will be an end for me.