Posted in Art, Poetry

Ever Land

Ever Land

What do we do now, now that we are happy? โ€”-Samuel Beckett

I got lost in the brush
and need a match
to burn the bramble in my heart.

Please paint my face
a vivid blue
for falling in love
with you.
And match the lips
the same turquoise
and Ill leave tracks
across the desert valley.

Follow me... I donโ€™t deserve
forgiveness or a lengthy song
for ever believing
in this wrong
just remember black as black is
black drawn down my back
your tense smile, found
as fortune approaches.
Posted in Art, Photography, Poetry

at the altar.


Exit left… continues. 4/25-6/22/18

pieces exist
all about
to afford
the chance
i be found
beneath rubble
kicked aside

Merry-go 4/25-6/22/18

lost
and wild
she twirled around
the story ever changing
each token took to spoken
unbound

Silence engulfs. 4/25-6/22/18

why i am
i am not here
to garner attention
i am here
to figure me out

in a public fashion
i stride toward the shore
words splash against my skin

life of sin
and so much more

Posted in Art, Musings, Opinion, Poetry

My Feathered Heart

Jeanne’s GoodReads Review Please feel free to add me to your Goodreads’s friend’s list. ๐Ÿ˜๐Ÿ•Š๐ŸŽถ

My Feathered Heart (original poem)

My review of The Feathered Heart by Mark Turcotte.

I once found a teeny-tiny downy woodpecker feather. At most, the feather measured one inch (2.54 cm) in length. My guess as to the year found would be 2010. I had since lost the treasure to find it again while packing up our house to move. Todayโ€™s date 3/11/2018.

The feather, seen above in the bookmark constructed, is grey/black with five incomplete white spots. The spots are not complete circles as the white color lies on the fringe. As such, it mimics my teetering heart, lying on the edge of an invisible border erected by thoughts. It is my feathered heart that led me to find Mark Turcotte and his book of poems, The Feathered Heart.His book will be returned to as often as needed. To remedy my soul with feeling words erected as fences. (I found a used copy, to be delivered just in time for my birthday, through Amazon ๐Ÿ˜.)

My wayward feet travel searching for answers. The silences weave protection. The war i battle is not within but from outside the curtained window. I learn to dress in velvet’s hope.

Posted in Advice, Poetry, Soul Journal

All that matters today

Get lost.

Be found.

Lost and found all over,

again and again and again.

To the world

we simply are

dust in the wind.

Here one day, gone tomorrow.

Sooner the better?

Better not be today. We have poems to write, quilts to sew, books to read, flowers to grow, cookies to bake, children to rock and souls to listen to, to hear their story. 

This! This is all that matters!