Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry

Sea Voice

Maybe im wrong. Maybe my belief you could surface, that you could soar above the fray…

Perhaps a jaded person is only in need of time? To resurface, resurrect, reconvene, replenish…

What did your water dream infuse you with? Healing. Quiet. Fear. Dismay.

Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry, quotes

Week in Review: B&W

October 18, 2020 Evening (edited)

Good morning. Yes, it is morning where I am. Most likely afternoon and heading towards evening near you. May the days and nights for you be blessed and encouraging going forward this new week. And evermore.

At the moment, my creative life is a bit dulled. Im listening to books on tape to fill my mind with imaginative feasting. I chanced upon Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn’s The Gulag Archipelago 1918-1956 while reading a June 2018 article written in First Things.

Two hours into the book and several poems popped out at me. I love to listen 🎧 and take notes 📝. It helps greatly with my concentration and my comprehension. The takeaway from the first two chapters? Nefarious ideas in the wrong hands are dangerous. Every heart bleeds dark.

How to tell the truth.

the pottery, thrown from the cupboard
lay in pieces, a heap
to bury laughter of the past

they hurry you
to frighten you

their names
slip into insanity
forever vanished from blue sky
broken branches of a dying tree

shaking
dumping
the crunch of littered leaves under foot

notice the still orange flower
silent repression
without the freedom to rise
caught in light rays
turning future seeds into prisons

the passing of past into future
without a map
now becomes silent paths in the gardener’s hands

“If only it were all so simple! If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds, and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart?” Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn

Posted in Poetry

The Last Hurrah

My life lived in thirds. The missed chances, no longer regrets. The regrets never molded by my hands. The mannequin standing naked in the window was never meant to be dressed.

I started filling out Proust’s Questionnaire December 2019. I finished it today. The dream finally clear and in focus.

Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry

Week in Review: B&W

Fruitlands. October 2020.

Sometimes I wonder if I haven’t been here before. Then realize I have. The same desire takes hold as I stare off into the distance. Will I make it back home?

October 2017. Chester and Toby.
Louie looking on.

Life is not slowing down. No matter how often I stop to pause. Chester and Toby had a short-lived life. They lived on the fast track and couldn’t hold on.

Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry

Earth Song

the stillness of earth
a song well versed and rehearsed
watch my shadow crawl

What is going on with you creatively?

The haiku is taken from an expressive arts class 4/3/2020. The photo is from 10/6/2020. Life has been a bit hectic lately. Changes in my life never cease. I put a halt to my REACE training midsummer due to conflicts. My training will resume in February 2021, with a new venue out of San Diego CA.

I look forward to continuing the expressive arts as they bring me much calmness and energy. A centering of my heart is needed in the tumultuous times we find ourselves. And I am rather certain for time to come. Although others I know are feeling a respite coming. My thoughts are knowing whether it is a false peace trembling to capture imagination and souls. Or something so luminous we will barely be able to stand.

My plans going forward, once I am able to mentally give energy to all my dreams, is a new blog, Shed 33.3, to replace Soul Signs, which will incorporate all my life loves. 🥰🥳🎈🎈🎈 Although this blog will remain indefinitely as it captures the impermanence of my being. And of nature’s caress. The rawness, the muddy waters, and the hidden aspects of growth, unequivocally shared.

So stay tuned! And please consider contributing to the adventure with your soulful poems, The Poet’s Wonderment, Gift Crow, Vol 1. Read about this endeavor here. I can be reached at soulcollective67@gmail.com.

Anthony Gorman, of Hands in the Garden and Grumpy Gifts, is also on board, helping create and develop the first handmade chapbook. He can be reached at anthonytgorman@hotmail.com.

Happy writing!! Jeanne ✍🏼

Posted in Art, Musings, Poetry

Lost Love

Love is an idea when
commitment lacks confidence.

—I am only one. I couldn’t hold you or let you go. So we both suffered sunburn.

You are further away from me than I care to acknowledge. Nothing remains to settle my thoughts. I dangle my feet in the shallow; you wade knee deep. I dress in green and swirled turquoise. Beads adorn my hair, swept in a bun. The water laps our passion and icy hearts.

Posted in letters, Memoir, Poetry, prose

diary excerpt —the old broke through

Felt brave -well enough, so i peered into the book and read his words. Our words.

Jan 19, 2017, 2:13 PM

Stopped my thoughts

and when i stopped
writing you
voices flooded in -mocking

“Why are you bothering?”
“You’re not going to make it?”

Concentrate on anything
but this
this tight chest and lorazepam.

The knife digs in -relentless.

“Just take it.” I hear.

Forced to give in
I conquer fear.

i feel safe.
i’m home.
And that can be
a problem
i need to overcome.

Do u think it is social anxiety because i read something and it made sense. But also about attachments and neurosis.

Do u know when u dont answer i can find myself growing anxious. Second guessing myself, not feeling safe for saying stuff i mean to keep to myself. I havent been bothered lately. I find myself looking around but im okay. Just a couple times, anxious, and

upset with myself because of this.

I cant be still not knowing what to do. Should, or rather, i need to talk.

I dont know and that makes it bad. Then another thing, this taking medicine. Should i try to stop. Maybe ill be all right. But what if not. Will it just cause more harm. Fretting that im stuck in this hole. But i dont feel stuck now, everyone is gone. Its okay. Its better that way. This is long.

Sorry.

I only notice when I leave the house. Looking out

the top floor window seemed safe to leave; leaving was a totally different reality.

“What do you think? I feel like i should be able to go outside but find myself sleeping, not able to move.” He didn’t have an answer.

“I think ill be okay. Thought maybe if i came to talk every 2 months…” She continued the conversation but never realized he was closed off to her after too many years of stagnation.

The escape. A shadow dances, from out the corner of her eye. Her mind unable to override the dark sky.

——–

Stopping my thoughts today? Good luck. I finish my papers but when i stop writing it all floods in, mocking me. “Why are you bothering? Your not going to make it?”

After a while, trying to write, i just couldnt write. Couldnt concentrate on anything but this. My chest is tight and hurts. I tried relaxing, taking lorazapam. Nothing works.

Its all front and center reminding me its not over no matter how much i wish and want to be free. I have no answers or know what im doing wrong.

All i did was stop and something took advantage of the weak wall.

The old broke through.

Posted in Advice, Musings, Poetry, Soul Journal

Crayon’s Voice***

Why do we limit ourselves? There is no simple answer.

Life is a celebration and we miss out on possibilities, cornering ourselves into a box. Unless that box is shut off from the world, by well-meaning friends or loved ones, we should not be afraid to be used. (But never abused.) If someone chooses to pick us, color with us, there is no need to cry. A lonely crayon is perfect. A used crayon, worn from tired hands, are memories to linger, lines in the sand.

Happy day to you. Just be. Linger a while in the joy of whatever color(s) you are today. What color are you at the moment? Feel free to let the world know in the comments. ✌🏼 🌈 🎨 🎶🎶🎶

***This is a post from June 2018. Ashley wrote about the drafts folder and mine is plumb full dating back to 2016. I plan on revamping some posts and letting them loose. Others will be trashed. Honestly, my blog(s) need an overhaul. I have changed so much from 2008 until now. My old selves certainly don’t recognize the new me. The me taking on life one day at a time.

Hope you will stay on this journey with me a little longer. Watch for all the changes to come. And know you are always welcome here. ✌🏼🕯🎶💙