you and I
you and I
Ever so alone in the world
years into days,
days on end a blur.
Time to dig the earth
find the roots of torment
as people weave within,
rattle my soul.
How does one understand truth? Truth was set in stone long ago. The greatest of commands, to love. Peace of mind blooms with watered intentions of serving others. Do not murder. Do not plant false lies. Do not appear as love with malice for others in your heart. Find your sixth sense and do not be fooled easily.
Often when we are hurt, our initial reaction is retaliation. The anger burns hot inside. Emotional self-discipline circumvents such reactions. I consider myself in-training. To find strength a cure.
Being honest but peaceful and forgiving paves a long road home with hope. Sometimes walking away, when possible, is best. Remembering to breathe.
Courage to exit and enter the world.
Disclaimer: This post is from three weeks ago. Whether i agree or disagree with these thoughts today or tomorrow… well, they happened. And i write them down, for good or bad. My words and I, we belong to each other, united in this marriage for the long haul. Good luck to me… right?
I know i am nothing to you. I am nothing and nobody… simply a body with breath that speaks timidly.
And i wonder, in my mind, why. Why i dont turn… run.
Run from this insanity. You could never know how pained it is to write, when writing pains me so. My mom insisted “Be a writer.” I can’t write. I object. Writing is a prison and my heart desires freedom. To dance.
I am a dancer. As i swim deeper, the ink sashays across the paper. A pirouette for me!
A vision of a knife carving in ice, the motions of my mind, drawn. Images to blind.
I Bleed. I retreat. I refuse.
I kick and scream… demand the cage door open.
Is death the only way out?
Death to potent dreams has already strangled this blood from flowing to the ocean floor… where darkness, lit by sun, is a home for all i cant speak. Or write. Or be.
So why tell you? I know i cant and so it soothes. Id run if you obliged.
And this, all a dream. A dream that stares from every corner. Mocks me religiously. And maybe
i shouldnt spill so freely…
splatter the whiteness of your eyes.
Popping on to WP… to say HI! And to give everyone who follows my blog an update as to what I HOPE happens in 2019.
First, and foremost, I have missed all of you lovely poets, artists and dreamers… HOPE you are well and busy as my world has been quite busy too. Beyond moving to a new town and making friendships, selling and buying a new house and making it my home, and living on the East Coast and acquiring a love of my new lifestyle, I am embarking on quite a creative 2019.
My newest interest is felting wool roving into landscapes… taken from my photographs of an enchanting New England.
The ‘Yellow Wood’ piece is not quite complete as i am awaiting Highlighter Yellow wool roving. These pieces are smaller… generally 4×6.
My piano lessons are going well. I am tapping away and happy to announce i will be able to play simple versions of ‘White Christmas’ and ‘Jingle Bells’ at holiday celebrations. My Christmas cards are written and mailed. I enjoy the daily stroll to our post office in historic Still River. The building is not manned but does house mailing supplies and is a convenient drop-off point for stamped parcels. It is a beautiful landscape and well preserved for generations and those to come.
We had one snow fall in November, which unfortunately has melted. I was able to capture the beauty for memories and inspiration.
I bought an Underwood office typewriter in HOPES i could produce unique and one-of-kind poetry chapbooks for my favorite poets. The typewriter, turns out, is in need of extensive repairs and i am waiting to hear the prognosis. I HOPE to hear good news soon. It was my intention, after all, to create beautiful chapbooks for the poetic souls who capture my imagination daily. If all goes as originally planned… i will be setting up a section on this blog to sell those books, along with my felted landscapes, and perhaps expand to sell mine and other people’s paintings. Stay tuned!!!
And, if you have read to this point, without losing interest… i am most excited to announce i have embarked on a six-month writing adventure with a published poet who is quite extraordinary in his writing: Nicolas Samaras.
I am equally intimidated by his word prowess. My goal is not necessarily to be published … i am much too shy to have the world seeing my thoughts on paper. But i took the bullet that has been wanting to pierce my skin and watch me bleed… i take hold my stained paper and profess to be ready! The funny thing is i have been plugging away at this blog for eons… most of what is on here is complete gibberish… I believe it is time to shine the apple.
Get ready for an all new Jeanne on WP in 2019. And you? What are your goals for 2019?
A piano came with the house. And I sat down with wonder. How does one play a song? Through arched fingers i pound, as elegantly as possible. Or as angrily as appropriate. The sound reverberates around. Or did it begin, start within, to flow through my veins? And perch a tune on fingertips?
Yes! piano lessons, teach me. Release me from this body. As a critic, shed my skin. Please, come bow with me in the end.
(Lessons are going well. Six lessons in and I can play simplified versions of Camptown Races, Yankee Doodle and Row, Row, Row Your Boat. I will spare you the torture. I am enjoying this experience though!)
i am spending a significant portion of my morning on social media because, well, i have been stimulated. Which basically means my brain is cooking up ideas and piling up future projects, while a myriad of unfinished projects patiently weep… waiting for me.
“Off on another excursion, yet again! Are you?” my conscious is seething.
I found a new place to contemplate, meditate, evaluate and prescribe healing into my life. Isn’t it breathtakingly beautiful?
Here is my latest blast from my soul…
Learn to take the heart ache and make love soar… not for fame or fortune. Rather, love is more precious than gold. It mends differences and brings the world a peace unlike any other emotion.
Even those who purport not to have sold their soul have become slaves. Wisdom rarely prevails and minds change with every wind direction.
Church is poetry. Poetry is life. A life well lived.
I read this article…
Here is my heart reaction, in words.
This is equally tragic as 9/11. The voices of those dead in Chicago cry out for us to take action. How do we react? We dissect each tragedy and look for blame. Is there blame? On who or what? Scholars divide the problem into money, race and gender. But i say the problem is time, compassion and heart. We are too busy to listen to the kids in first grade who open up and tell about their life.
Once trust is earned, the problems surface. These children are calling out for help.
The little child tells me he will never make his momma sad and be like his older brother. He wants to read and learn. But then he enters sixth grade and they bully him into submission. Take his backpack and books and call him shame. “Shame on you for listening to whitey! They hate you. Dont you remember?” Those words echo in his head and dig into his heart. I scream in a whisper. “I care. I am white. So what? Can you not see my heart. It beats for every death you celebrate. Every life you snuff out.”
To the kids i knew at School on Wheels. I hope someday we hug in heaven. ❤️❤️❤️ Or even better we run into each other some where in this world!
wish i understood
perhaps, i do
a bushel covered
beside, i fathom
of life… to shine!
of earth, surface
the charred forest
scattered to four corners
the huddled masses
spirit… to be!
of souls, breathe
a hush spreads
across the sea
buried, uncover me.
for the longest time
i sought a chair
wooden and sturdy
alone in the forest
it sits bare
the glowing gown
seen through and torn
resembles more the air
breezy and blown
four circles rising above
the center of all
A new experience presented itself within a community to celebrate positive energy. This was most of the group’s first time being together. The hour started with rhythmic drum beats mimicking the heart’s life force.
There were 15 of us, each with a drum and another percussion instrument. This video is the third of four sets, each naturally lasting between 12-13 minutes. The group leaders did little to manipulate each interval of creative expression. They flowed as swiftly and gently, or vigorously and bountifully, as the Nashua River, deep in the Valley of Oxbow.
As the hour progressed, a golden hue encompassed us. We said farewell to the sun. Then to each other. Look forward to another drum circle September 12.