Some say it best not to say everything that passes through your mind. And while I agree, I object! Take for instance the risk of keeping the peace versus being known. Walking on eggshells is painful and inhibits personal growth. I need to roam and if my choices disturb you, well guess what I will say!
Sorry. Yeah! My go to phrase when I am feeling bad. So I drink up! Coffee has been known to be both good and bad for your health. Go figure. It certainly has gotten me in trouble before. I wake up to see nothing in the world has changed since the beginning. When will we learn?
So I get on my soapbox and preach. I can be preachy!
That is me in my preachy mood. Pulling up my big girl pants and telling the world how to live. What do I know? Lots. Like I know that love makes joy makes peace. And couldn’t we all use a bit of grace in our lives? Lord knows I forgiven much. So go be happy! I will too.
you and I
(From about a year ago. Oh, how time can change our attitude.)
When boredom sets in
I grind the wheel,
sharpen the blade.
A slice into misery
cleanses the soul of food gone bad.
Cold showers only waken the dead.
Random good thoughts spill
like what is the bird thinking
perched outside my window?
I find myself wishing to set sail
and dream of doing,
while I remove my wings so frail.
It is a slow morning
that i watch the old dog pant
as the embroiled sun bakes the ground.
Did I sell my soul too
afraid to drink the water
and recoil at the company in town?
I learned to love to paint. My hands trembled the first time I picked up the brush. The lack of color left my thoughts white and afraid to be coated. Today, as always, I question what my paint palette should be. I wonder what color fancies my heart?
I once dreamed of names for my children in high school, thinking of a man I would marry. So why can I not decide today, what color suits my mind? Does not Calvin weave water into ice cubes and Raina forever lick salt from frothy cheeks? Then my heart should beat blue and spill red.
“Color directly influences the soul. Color is the keyboard, the eyes are the hammers, the soul is the piano with many strings. The artist is the hand that plays, touching one key or another purposely, to cause vibrations in the soul.”
As I watch a day progress to the blackness of mourning,
I sit trembling
horsehair brush in hand
tickling my heart with story
and dreaming of my friend.
Come! witness my dance,
Van Gogh swirls attracting light,
ruminate on everything and nothing.
Rush to the calm! Savor community.
Our wholeness, friends,
gives us flight.
Time runs to find me.
The river drags my wings,
obscenely tied behind my back.
My heart held tight to my neck.
Neither of us bothers to chip away at reality. Empty promises dropped into plastic buckets.
You watch as a razor scrapes my chin. Neither of us face the sin.
I slip. My legs sway to the beat of water rushing from the faucet.
A body is nowhere, seen.
Yeah! she wore armor.
Arrested by fear, she loved, loving him, behind his lustrous mirror. A skate in his shoes, unfit to fly, she drowned in midnight tears.
As a romantic heart, she fell, headlong, into the midnight sky. Drained of control, she darned their love and silently waved goodbye.
A feminine lit, from the inside out, she forgot where flowers bloom. And so underneath, the ivy hides, the crystals of many moons.
I sit with myself and listen.
Find peace of mind in treasured heart.