Tag: meaning of life

Posted in Photography, Poetry

2022

Posted on by Jeanne
Wind Swept

Im really looking forward to 2022. Wow! Can you believe how far we have come?

Wind swept
my hair in a bun
half-naked neck exposed
getting cold
perturbed by my lack of sense
holding onto a love 
having been long dead
The chief beauty about time is 
that you cannot waste it in 
advance. The next year, the next 
day, the next hour are lying ready
for you, as perfect, as unspoiled, 
as if you had never wasted or
misapplied a single moment in all
your life. You can turn over a new
leaf every hour if you choose.

Arnold Bennett
How to Live on 24 Hours a Day
Posted in Photography, Poetry
Posted on by Jeanne

I look out the window, unto a world unknown to me. The colors vibrant and beautiful. The stillness broken by song.

Come sit with me a while. Let us stare into the distance a little longer. And wonder what went wrong.

Posted in Photography, Poetry

Meaningful Gibberish

Posted on by Jeanne
Talk to Me (October 2021)
toward the celebration of human life 
as a path to transcendence
i skip past Beethoven
land on middle C

swing past his open mouth
dance with clenching teeth
directed at my absurdity 

our meaningful gibberish 
we only understand 
the moans escape the metal bars
i lie down beside the piled cloth

stained with gilded tears
teach me forgiveness afterwards
when a hush descends upon bended knees
Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry

Lay my Heart Down

Posted on by Jeanne 
Lay my heart down
and weep
what little time remains
I give it all 
to you
the gift of all beauty
hidden from human eyes.
You are only fed to eager souls.

I won’t be gone long. How can I keep myself from being amongst all this grandeur?

I did a little beach cleanup. I hiked miles. I painted. I wrote. Nothing here keeps me from living. Everything here pushes me to go further. The seals and loons. The cawing of crow friends. A shy heron perched as if wind was nonexistent.

The waves rush in with new gifts of sea glass. The waves recede into the greater good. The flow of sea amends all the broken pieces of life.

Be well love, until I return.

Always, Jeanne

Posted in Photography, Poetry

xxxxxx

Posted on by Jeanne 
Cant say i believe 
the words 
spilling
from contraptions of reality
more digital than heart

the love is farce

and wounds bleed 
while you step in line.
To listen to you 
akin to the first 

fire 
shot.  

Love has become cheap tequila
in an unsalted rim.
Posted in Photography, Poetry
Posted on by Jeanne

Im awake. For what reason, i have no idea.
There is no prayer left in me.

I haven’t given up. Im just feeling a bit numb. The curtains are pulled and the heart sinks fast.

Just how im feeling. Wonder who else feels such things. There is no reason to feel this way. Unless these aren’t my feelings so much as how the world appears.

Posted in Photography, Soul Journal

Into the abyss

Posted on by Jeanne
The kind of books that make us happy
are the kind we could write ourselves
if we had to.

It matters not if i am known. Or remain a mystery. The matter is that i am wholly me.

Not wanting accolades or seeking a tribe. The tribe always moves on to bigger houses and better views. I choose to stay in my shell.

And in my space, i read the kind of book that stabs and wounds. If the book doesn’t wake me with a blow to the head, what am i reading for?

We need books that affect us like a disaster. That grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves. Like being banished into forests far from everyone. Like a suicide.

A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us. That is my belief.