slightest cut lets in life

Church is poetry. Poetry is life. A life well lived.

Like Dicken’s “Tale of Two Cities” I have lived a tale of polar opposites. I have known a dark night of the soul and the fresh morning dew of enlightenment.

No memories can ever be forgotten but they can be forgiven. And the forgiveness allows me to wake up and be grateful for everything. Even the memories that still cause sharp pains. Those are the memories that led me to despair and wrestle in a black, plastic garbage bag until I finally took the knife, I once used against myself, and started cutting open breathing holes.

Hey peoples!!!

I have missed this place. I have missed you.

So what has been going on? So much!!! Sitting under a poetry mentor. Restructuring old poetry and finding myself. Taking piano lessons. Working on Mozart and Tchaikovsky pieces.

I start a new volunteer position in a women’s homeless shelter directing an art therapy group in mid-June. After i take a solo travel trip to Nantucket.

The daily weather is cooperating so tending to my new garden in Harvard Massachusetts. It has been almost a year that we moved to the Boston area. Busy picking up sticks winter strewn about the yard and wondering where to station a summer writing cabin. The best of my days are spent sitting atop prospect hill, watching the sunsets.

I hope to be able to spend more time here at WP. I do hope.

😘❤️🐚 jeanne

thoughts unleashed…

Well… you and i made it to experience another year on earth. I hope the approaching 365 days is good to you… full to the brim with positive thoughts, new adventures, reinforced friendships, old and new, with plenty of time spent writing and working on your craft. Or perhaps experimenting with a new method of expressing yourself. In short, here is to a creative 2019 of souling!

Be well beautiful people. Be well. Jeanne 💙💙💙🎶

Border Wall (chaos ensues)

Border Wall

stone upon stone
i build this wall

Would you still like me
love me
if you knew
the words cluttered inside?

If i painted a picture
of my mind
the tendrils of poison
that caused us blind?

I am careless
and messy
with days i dont care
for you or me
not willing to share
i bury myself
under the sheets
hide for days
nothing to keep
but darkness
and misery
i apologize…

i am lost
thought i was found
just following orders
hardly a time
to celebrate.

Underneath exists layers… this is what hardens our bones. The heart does speak and lightens our loads.

Confession: Army Brigade

I haven’t been reading much blog posts. I find in my depressed moods i can barely emerge from my cocoon… and anxiety is worse to try and read.

Is it selfish to wonder if others are reading me? Heck, i rebel against these letters. Yet, they some how keep the union strong. Unite against me. Bond. The New Army Brigade, 26 letters strong.

They force the issue. I retreat. They win the argument… A thought is but a rain cloud pouring down angst against me. The evidence sufficient to imprison me for years. And the nervous out pouring brings the show curtain down. Behind-the-scenes i dance. The music puts pen to paper, to recite the days events.

I need to rest. I know. But a thinking mind rarely obeys. And so i bore you with my show.

Guess we are even. I am bored by you too. So lets be bored together.

long-winded roads

all these stories
i read them…
pause in the middle
of the road
to notice the caution sign

turning cars approach
from all directions
i wonder
where are the exclamation points, periods, and paranthesis?

i find
these neglected words
dismiss traffic signs
thickly settled, a clue
to, too many people
tracing the same thick yellow line
replacing them with broken hash marks
where passing allowed
accidents happen

poets are drivers, see
fast and frantic
long-winded roads
too traveled to make a difference

Moirai

The way to blue
easily travailed.
The happy path
lingers
sways
a brush of cheek.

Through cracks seen
distance perched upon
dire thoughts
direction whisks
shooting stars
past lost scars.
Tails of disaster
i carelessly imagine
ride the rails.

My darkness exists -allowed
to push away…
i grasp
the dangling strings
held tight
to watch you drown
in tempest mind.

Discerning evil
crept over sky
day rises
of black sun.

Forgiveness returns
the scales
peeled
from glass eyes.