collision course

Oh my. I think i said too much. I can be quite careless, sparked by passion. Lit by a struck match and ignited by fuel. Kaboom! I have definitely gone off in too many directions.

Without giving away every secret attraction, i best quit while ahead of myself… wait for my senses to catch up.

No worries though. i am rolling towards a cool breeze to sit near the waves. Settle this sizzle. i need to cool off. Lava easily burns. No need to hurt myself or others.

i will find my footing and self-discipline. Discover where i want this blog to go.

What life holds in the cradle of birth waits in the depths of dark…

JπŸ’œπŸ•ŠπŸŽΆπŸŽΆπŸŽΆ

Moving Day is here!

Staying out of the movers way!
Looking toward the day
I can rest my mind and rhyme -Think!
Set up my writing desk
find a place to paint -Dream!
until then, i pledge
to stay out of the movers way.

The biggest day of my life, since i moved to Indiana, has arrived. From this day forward, i move without knowing the future. Security is in the past. Adventure awaits those who walk with eyes wide open.

Trying not to cry! Feeling the exhilarating new of Boston on my brow! My heart is racing, wondering what lies ahead.

And excited to have lots of time to read back posts. See you at your blog soon!

life happens

Do we owe apologies when life happens? My heart β™₯️ is discombobulated at the moment. I miss you dear readers and i made a brief appearance this morning after a welcome disappearance from the world. A friend and i made away to the wooded hills of Brown County, in my expedient retreat from the hustle and bustle of moving. And i stopped to breath. And a few words made it to the surface, popped and left stains on paper. I shared them with you from the encouragement of another. Thank you for reading.

death of an era

I have not been able to read any of your blogs and i want to. I desperately feel i owe you that curtesy and i cannot fulfill that endeavor. I want to be able to think, write and paint. But i cannot. I want to reach out, touch and exchange smiles. But i cannot. I want to scream, be heard and cry. But i cannot.

Life happens. But i am not.

I remain enclosed in self-protection from the chaos of realtor showings, movers approaching with boxes, tape and sharpies. I am spinning and not on tip-toe.

At the moment i remain confused. I do not profess to understand the complexities i am passing through. Your worlds are miles away and cannot be reached. My world is slipping from my hands.

my promise garden

These are moments to cherish. The labor of my hands have shown to say hello, one more time. And goodbye forever.

—-

I wrote a poem to a friend this past weekend. (See below.) I sent it off to him. He did not respond. Silence weighs heavy on my head. I do not understand his absence after sharing his desire to reciprocate. Another of his small deaths looming?

clipped wings
found the feathers

who wastes their life?
bundled in piles
yellowed-papers
faded ink scribbles

unable to decipher his path forward
white lady
entangles with her promises.

Attending the Opera

β€” Read on Fabric on the Daily Post

What are we willing to give up? What would i find behind your curtain as i swing it aside? Have you, will you, consider letting me know?

I wait. Anticipate. Is this a game eagerly played by two? Or only i?

Am i setting myself up for your opera. Life over as fast as it started. Slow. Drawn out misery. Ending with a cry of freedom!

A peek behind the madness of death exists behind every curtain. It matters not your fabric woven. The rapacious appetite for breath carries us along.

I do not plan to go anywhere. Neither behind your curtain. Or stand before it. I want to be your covering. Shield you from peering eyes.

Awakening

hovering blankets of fault
wind swept waves birth
promise awakened

frailty of beauty -come
peer beneath her layers
enchantment greets

Going through the motions

When your heart
lacks love for today
a mere shadow, chasing the sun away
close the curtains
ban the songs
people got in your way.

I remember
a time -certainly
now, not to be high
perhaps it was last night
the outline of a face
traced in the dust, aroused.

You wait for your ship
a turn around
right about face
float until the motion -going
shifts your head.
It’s this tread you dread.