Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry

Tender Green Shoot

In every vision black consumes the mind. Defines the boundary line.

In moments of clarity I sing. In moments of despair I moan. In this moment I spy the green seeping from your eyes.

We step in the shallow pool where leaves gather in cooler days. The reds, yellows, and oranges ripen with the setting sun. Browns crunch under our shoes. Your fingers wrap around my wrist, clenching my pulse to see if I respond. I don’t. But I do.

I reach for the new growth you promised me years ago. I see it now. The tender green shoots sprout from your heart.

Posted in Musings, Photography, Soul Journal

Alone

Yesterday, so many old feelings returned. Im angry. Im hurt. The relays of old films played all day in my mind. Scenarios I thought Id forgiven.

I was triggered into old patterns of behaving. Im utterly sad. After the heated emotions, I remind myself to keep forgiving them, so Im spared further damage to my heart.

I suppose I’m depressed too. My soul is tired and art has lost all color. Damn if I haven’t fallen hard.

I know this too will pass. The sun will shine again. But I am broken and hurt and mad.

Forgiveness promises very little in the midst of anguish. In the morning I plan to rise.

Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry

Ego



“You’re on earth. There’s no cure for that.” —Samuel Beckett
I fight against 
two diseases.

Covid has an ego
and you bow to it’s confines.
Fear is the last death of humanity
to be obeyed
and breathed as decay
to satisfy another ego.

Nature tames and destroys.

We often fawn over a bird song
but turn our eyes away from the blood
on an eagle’s beak.
That very beak eats
should it’s appetite seek you.

My mind is cruising around the mountainous thoughts rising. What are we doing? Saving our selves or destroying others?

I see this time in history differently. Many believers hope people will return to God. I see the fear pushing more people into the dark. Worshipping people who carry a motto. I see them birthing destruction far greater a war than all wars together. Not caring for others. Rather, turning inward and away from spirit. Saving themselves while blaming others..

I see the scenario much differently than most I know. The destruction of goodness to usher in a masked sense of security. Death wins again.

Author’s note. I wrote this at the very beginning of the pandemic. I did not publish for various reasons. Does it feel right now? Not really. I am hoping a conversation starts… I am listening.

Posted in Poetry

Liberation

I can’t remember my name.
Born yesterday
in an eggshell, cracked
i found out
he liked his eggs over easy
i preferred to be hard-boiled.

And when i can’t
became i don’t
or won’t or worse
it was my will that shattered his ego.

Today i rest my head
a chicken feather pillow
stitched by hand with dissolving thread
he triumphs
the surgery was all i needed.
Posted in Photography, Poetry, prose

Morning Musings

Plum Island, MA

In our irresponsibility, we rather blame others for personal shortcomings, than face our own darkness. A true person of integrity would seek truth, regardless the cost to ego. There is sound historical record, although often coerced to fit modern agendas, we embark research in areas of psychological interest. We easily blame religion as reasoning for bloodshed. Perhaps the taste of others misery helps us weather our own storms.

Another turned against humanity.

Crossing over to a twilight zone kaleidoscope eyes feast on dreams and circumstance. Do we fail to see what is happening? The world is not going to end tomorrow, as far as i know. But equally frightening is that it could. And not frightening in the sense that life becomes non-existent, but that while we possessed breath, we missed the purpose of earth.

Sometimes death frees more than the person gone. Other times it chains hearts to dreams and wishes. And then there is death that haunts forever.
I think our Creator is wrong… love will not save the world. Unless love is no longer required to discipline. Unless love is no longer required to forgive. Unless love is allowed to hate the enemy.

Posted in Photography, Poetry

Week in Review: B & W

August and ever after
Do you know golden
the sticky glazed lover lips
washed in sunny hues

Happiness matters
on stormy seas of teared eyes
blinked in snug smile

We’ll camouflage
the pores which hold memories
blackened by torrent

Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry

Petaled Heart

He loves me
He loves me
What becomes of a broken heart
the forgiving of others
the turning away?

Where to begin my story? The ending is quite clear. The present state of affairs is wiped clean and a kinder, gentler, loving world appears. A fairy tale or truth?

If my heart were petaled, once upon a time, one petal was despair, another pain. Then to equalize my experience, a random lock of love would please my mind. This may sound reasonable. But it remains unbearable. Life becomes a game.

My petaled heart cries “He loves me. He loves me.” It can be no other way.

Posted in Poetry

Stones

I never carved a word
into anything permanent
because “What is truth?” anyway

studying love
i discovered my blank mind
was dangerously close to hypocrisy

i smoked every flavor
sank my teeth into sugar
rubbed my ailments with alcohol

i brushed bugs off flowers
held the leash too tight
fought against God

and other people’s entities
draped as silver chains
and golden idols of mediocrity.

I once made a pile
stones stacked as fences
stretching for miles

met people who stopped to wonder
what energy provoked such nonsense
whether we agree or disagree
someone will come by and pick up a stone
laid gently to stop
only to be thrown

Just wonder how you write? This came to me in the past ten minutes. Is it any good? Make any sense? I throw my life into the poetic mix and wonder do my thoughts matter. Why matter anyway? Just drink my coffee and run. As always, comments are acceptable forms of relating here. Cannot say we wont misunderstand each other. But I will try my hardest to be available. Shalom, Jeanne