who is responsible? for me… and there is no blame to lay… early the birds chirp. have you ever heard a grumpy bird? not me… and there is no shame today… all ready to plan my day… all these baby steps, these horrid thoughts shed…
(woah, guilt, back off, this is space to spread cheer… your not welcome here…)
my greatest joy to date are all the wonderful people i met at the homeless shelter… witness women struggle and that was the place all my depression and anxiety was shed… found spiritual friends, our souls, a union… our lives, a chorus sung, entwined around a root cause… all else is ignorant complaints surrounding insecurities… playing arrogant games, leveling up our status on the backs of others… who we rise to shout down… how do we think we are better to shine as a star rather than a fellow man? this me, has gleaned wisdom, to spread my cheer…
i no longer look outward but inward and there peace resides and all the world’s negativity slides… i become the stairs to climb and reach my hand down… help my sister find her contentment… buried beside her self… she cries… the bird dead… he shivers… quietly i revive each… not in revolution but in finding solutions and working towards a common goal… no angry bird survives. no angry person thrives…
you breed strife in anger… let the melody ring… freedom is a just cause… a mind at peace is priceless… so sisters join hands and the homeless find a home in my heart.
i may never
meet such a man -again
covered in satin
words edged in diamonds
born in his throat
the fire sparked through
never heard a syllable
the rat-a-tat-tat -thunder
our hearts beating faster
he hides in my hair
a stinger barette
left behind to chew
And automatically, the words became sentences, with stems and petals. Forced from the fertile soil, stories grew arms and legs. They not only held her dreams but they carried her to lands far away.
People have no idea what’s going on in my head. Most days i wish i didn’t either.
the world disappears
nothing exists, drift off
walk between moon and earth
Norm 2.0 Thursday Doors
I am amazed at the number of door lovers!!! This infatuation reminds me when I was contemplating names for my first child. No one had named their child Emily in ages, and wanting a unique name along with a poetic significance, I declared my first born child to be Emily. And for ten years after, Emily was the #1 name in the United States. The name remains popular but not to the extent it was from 1990-2000.
These are pretty average doors. And a window. Right?
Perhaps. They mean a tremendous amount to me. They house numerous family stories. This room was once my daughter’s bedroom until she went to college, then moved to Boston, whereupon it became my writing room filled to the brim with my words, thoughts and ideas for future words and thoughts. And paints, fabrics, cameras, and color.
Now it is emptied of me and awaits a new history. I think I will leave a token of appreciation for the new residents… Maybe a new blogger will move in and share their space with us?
*The color of the walls is Sherwin Williams Anew Gray and the flooring is Spiced Oak. All brand new for a future family.
Photo modified with Pic Collage
Beware the sun setting. This encourages the claws to rise within.
Early this morning i was doing well. It is now mid-day. I feel myself sailing off into the abyss.
This abyss is not heaven. Its hell on steroids. Whether its the packing up of my beloved writing room, or the thought of getting on an airplane Sunday morning, my mind is working up into quite a frenzy.
It has been days of this craze. I am unsure where it stems from. But it has arrived. And I best chill or I will be so agitated nothing will scrape me off the walls.
January 2, 2018
I am quite fearful of sharing the dark existence but on occasion it slips and sails. I am safely back into my cocoon. Well, what was my home. This once rapturous dwelling now expects me to hurry up and wear my wings indefinitely. Be vigilant and ready for take-off. I much rather undress and retire. Lie wistfully contemplating the atmosphere. The soul immersed in each layer, teetering between and through.
So how will my blog look going into 2018. I wish i knew. I have no idea. It most likely will stay this raw, unedited mess that lacks direction. On a whim i may post my photos. Or get ambitious and finish my quilts. Or unpack my paints and create worlds unknown to most.
she never remembers
no matter -how
many times did you tell her
you love and adore
the way she loves you back?
she always tells you
her disease possesses
the curved back, spread
skies and deeper still
the open thighs. no matter,
you have lost her eyes
as she asks for the night
wrapped in television screen
of what might have been
Am i only here
voices calling me home?
fate dropped me off at the corner
i linger -waiting for you
a void lives in this city
night life no longer welcomes
and voices in dreams -scream.