Indy Reads

Indy Reads is a nonprofit bookstore run to support literacy programs for adults and families in Central Marion County and the City of Indianapolis.  This was my first visit and well worth a trip from anywhere in Central Indiana.  Paperbacks are $5.99 and hardbacks are $6.99 and they have rare books for sale as well.  Currently (1/12/2018) they have a complete set, five volumes, of Virginia Woolf’s Diary for $60.00.  And they have a great collection of Poetry….

I ended up purchasing some modern poet’s books I had never read before and whose style I enjoyed by a quick glance.

Nicholas Christopher The Creation of the Night Sky
Carolina Ebeid You Ask Me to Talk About the Interior
Chuck Carlise In One Version of the Story
Catherine Barnett the game of boxes

Indy Reads has a quality children’s book section. Do note the children’s books are not organized in any fashion so you should plan on spending some time looking through the shelves of books.

They have a Facebook page, a website, and always need volunteers.  Oh, not to forget, they enthusiastically support local artists and writers with ongoing programs and opportunities to display works for sale.  If you ever find yourself in Indy, do stop by.

knowing (part four)

you jumped

skipped, hopped over

eight years gone missing

the quiet of forest -misleading

as the twisted twigs show

the contortion of thought

peeled slowly…

you had every reason to believe

the smile, wink and nod of moonlit glow

was your savior unknown.

*my photo

Thursday Doors – January 11, 2018

Thursday Doors January-11-2018

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

img_3049
House of Blues Entrance (Gospel Brunch)

The house was hopping
Souls set free
The world woken
The Lord spoken to me.
These toes were tappin’
chairs set aside
no sittin’ lookin’ pretty
church is alive…

I would go to church everyday if the Lord spoke to me as He clearly had the house rocking in Orlando…  The Brotherhood sung us to heaven and God’s glory shone like the lighthouse these men are.  To live their lives for others a gift to humanity and they brought joyful sounds along with them to Orlando.

Enter the gates and bring a joyful sound.
Praise the creation as a soul unbound.
No earthly worries allowed here,
just lay them at the Lord’s feet.

A long time ago, 1992, I  was invited to a co-worker’s church.  I accepted.  I brought my then two year old daughter along and I sat in the farthest pew from the front.  I certainly felt unworthy to be in the crowd of rollicking, holy rollers, speaking in the Lord’s temple.  I was fallen to the soil in a heap of ash, barely breathing, wanting all breath to cease.  But there was an existing spark, buried, and my co-worker recognized and ignited it…  well, sort of.

Toward the end of the service people were invited to the alter to be blessed by the Word and she encouraged me to go forward.  I took my daughter with me.  The Deacons prophesied over us Psalm 91.  For those not familiar with the Bible, Psalm 91 concerns angels and their watch over His children.

At the time, I was unfamiliar with the verse and left church feeling no different.  About a year later we moved to New York City, my husband obtaining a postdoctoral fellowship with Prof. Danishevsky at Sloan-Kettering Memorial Hospital as a cancer researcher.  The Lord knew I needed plenty of help raising a toddler in New York City.  He sent His angels to surround my daughter as I navigated the city streets with a two year old who refused to hold my hand.  She had two near-death experiences, but an unseen hand saved her from perishing.

New York City was a wake up call.  I am quite naive about the earth’s perils.  The world is a dangerous place to exist.  New York City turned me into an angelic mother.  I declared there would be no more messing around.  I had to become serious in the plight of motherhood.

Now, where are the angels I need for this last daughter?  Send them, quickly!!!

Blind Mess

Frenchy’s Clearwater FL Mandalay Beach

Their only words. Agree? Someone, somewhere does not.

Don’t need to know if you like my words

your sweet suggestions quite absurd.

Its not how many like you, love or adore you, but how genuinely they care for you. That is how i judge.

thinker and willow

Photo: Hands in the Garden

Willow sway -no other tree,
hiding secrets -you and me.

Gently gliding, dancing free,
inviting patrons to listen…

feel the breeze.

I love other blogger’s posts that take me back in time. Personal time.

When my Anna was born, we planted a willow in the backyard to commemorate her future. It was a twig, no more than a 1/2″ circumference and about 3 feet tall. It grew quickly, soaking up the swampy spot in the yard. In less than six years, it stood over 15 feet tall and 3 feet around. It was a magical playground. Summer picnics and stories, shared with stuffed toys and imaginary friends, were abundant.

Being a soft-wood tree makes it easy prey to storms. One fateful summer, her willow was blown over. Everything inside me was invested in that tree… and in her. Lost to the wind… My dreams for my daughter were broken.

It was prophetic, that summer storm, but I was too busy to hear.

Tragedy has struck more times than I dare count. Grief is my dearest friend. Hope is but a splash of dew that fails to quench desire. Joy is bittersweet.

Even this week has been countless disasters; small and large. Seems silly. To think storms break us, but they do. Even the small storms are difficult to overcome.

Who knows the future? The only way we stop mistakes is to consider the past. Resilience, like the willow, comes from making our roots deep.

So, as the hummingbird who sits through the storm, head down, in prayer, I face the world which threatens me daily, knowing love overcomes all.

may my faith always be
at the end of the day

like a hummingbird…returning
to its favorite flower.

–Sanober Khan, Turquoise Silence

Still Life

Still Life (Fish with Red Bowl) 1923-24 Salvador Dali

I’m quiet. Sorry
sitting here
contemplating
the mass of mail -stacked

knee-high and wearing wader boots
slipping off -the rainbow trout
loves the May fly
and a rocky river bottom

you blossom. I promise
to tie loose ends -taut
paint beginnings
bought a pair of boots

scaled back on the email
let’s cast this line out -together
rock the rafters

sailing
back

and forth.