Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry, Soul Journal

Abandoned Voices

Abandoned Voices #1
To taste the air.
To know the wind.
To watch a bird
take flight
and welcome home
freedom’s fight.

To touch the ground’s
growing heartbeat.
To know our day’s bleak
as we are weak
to ever soar above.

If we understood each waking hour, what sound emerges for us? What lays at the edge of every step we take? Is freedom ever found?

The glimmer of hope rings true until the descent brings one closer. So how does one revive the home fire when all the logs are burnt?

I hope to continue Abandoned Voices through a series of photos that capture thoughts and answer questions. This being the first photograph, edited.

Posted in Photography, Poetry

FOTD—Bluets

Cee’s FOTD Photo Challenge

Bluet

What delight Spring brings on the heels of a never-ending bleakness buried in snow.

Before the grass grows tall, the shoots of violets, bluets, and trout lily dance atop the forest floor. Before the grand tree canopies, the floral bouquet is gathered to adore.

After we succumb to woodland fragrance, the bumble and honey bee dance to wax and wane their appetite. After the world awakes, we rest in slumber for time’s sake.

To remember the wildflower dotting the woodlands come September will prove beauty’s allure!

Posted in Photography, Poetry, prose

Worried (Thoughts Unleashed)

Borderline Crossing

My mind worries about everything. For instance, I contemplated if I should allow comments or turn them off on my blog. I don’t get many, so that is not the problem. The problem is coming across the right way in my answers. Please don’t get me wrong whatever I decide. I will only worry more.

Cinco de Mayo 2020

Then, I worry about food. My mother was very overweight and I was deathly afraid of ever having to be seen. So I refused food until I became a mother. Then I ate as if I never tasted spaghetti or tuna or chocolate chip cookies before. And I still have a propensity to over eat. I love the taste of food and I am a pretty damn good cook. Just wish I never had seen a plate, fork and knife. I am doomed.

Cape Cod Passions

And the last thing on my mind this morning is a dear friend who sent a note. Should I write back or wait a while? I once confessed a growing love while guilt tripped me up. The feelings were built over tides and shifting sand. I never intended to devour the sour or sweet. Meanwhile, insecurities continue to flourish under the bridge to cause more angst. Oh! to speak out loud, these morning thoughts, chases the sun away. I should go play under the clouds and worry alone.

Posted in Art, Poetry, Soul Journal

Woodland Echoes

Printmakers paper, acrylics, ephemera, found leaves, coffee stains, and a piece of my poetry. With painted pages ready to add additional words, feathers, pressed flowers or leaves, and whatever else a heart desires.

Found in the Lost Pile of Civility (Jan 2019)

Seems to me
as we slowly decline
we beat around the bush
contemplate how to survive.

Generations realize this drift
on a sail-less boat
the cloth wrapped around our bleeding hearts
words confessed on bended knees
misses the sliver in private eyes.

Same old, same old story.
The beginning is the end.
The terror in other's minds
now belongs to us.
Realize hungry is,
as was,
and nothing eaten satisfies.

Measure our words against ourselves
need I stand upon a soapbox
add my rhetoric to humanity's misery?

As ash buries the smoldering coals
are we aware we are wandering
found among the lost pile of civility?
Posted in Photography, Poetry

Must I (Always)

Words are the clothes thoughts wear. —Samuel Beckett
Goodness knows I am worn out
from ideas and thoughts
cleansed papers hung

clothesline heavy with fresh air
sheets of perfection pressed
I wonder how to let go?

I am not the same girl
yesterday was left hanging
I brought scissors today

trimmed his hair
shorter than shoulder length
as time weighs heavy.

Sorry is painted clear
with fog surrounding our faces
and fingernails dug in earth

you reach for my dress hem
frayed from rolling down hills
and I wonder what tomorrow brings?

Mother may I
echoes through branches
as birds escape our dreams.
Posted in Art, Poetry

Ever Land

Ever Land

What do we do now, now that we are happy? —-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 don’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.