Church is poetry. Poetry is life. A life well lived. Nothing remains at the end of every truth a handful of stars shine -die. The same person -born changes appearance new thoughts and old intermingle within our DNA. There is always something worth fighting for. Some times those things are greater than ourselves. Other times,Continue reading “Shed Appearances”
Weekly Photo Challenge Another person doing his thankless job and keeping all safe on the slick Chicago streets. This post is for those who do their job, not knowing who is noticing their hard work, “Thank you!”
Indy Reads is a nonprofit bookstore run to support literacy programs for adults and families in Central Marion County and the City of Indianapolis. This was my first visit and well worth a trip from anywhere in Central Indiana. Paperbacks are $5.99 and hardbacks are $6.99 and they have rare books for sale as well. Continue reading “Indy Reads”
Photo modified with Pic Collage Beware the sun setting. This encourages the claws to rise within. Early this morning i was doing well. It is now mid-day. I feel myself sailing off into the abyss. This abyss is not heaven. Its hell on steroids. Whether its the packing up of my beloved writing room, orContinue reading “December 22, 2017”
A feminist as Virginia Woolf? I should say my concern is not as you think I should be rather, I climb the hayloft to dream passing cautiously the tangled bull cow desperate to be free. A Room of One’s Own she declares I hardly agree despite this venturous solitude of heart only room for wordsContinue reading “Roots (questions)”
Collage Have you made yours? Written your book of life? It will serve you well. Childhood school 3rd-5th grade. It is now for sale. Memories are stepping stones to future endeavors and concurrently sticking points to moving on. I would go out on a limb and say most of us have recollections somewhere tuckedContinue reading “Roots (a million dust particles)”
deep pursuits along the barbed wire fence -blue skies rain wounds heal- in solitude this walk ensues.
I wonder what life looks like to those lost in the dust? To the people barely alive because the art of life has been lost. To live years without writing or dancing to music and paintings. A grey, cold existence. When reawakened days become fuel for a soul that sings.
“Are you a teller?” “Do you mean a confessor?” “No. I mean a teller. A teller of stories?” It seems fitting one should stop here and think, am I? Are we? Someone once encouraged me to be a writer. She was a shield from the world. I hid behind her in fear. ********************************** Eyes pierceContinue reading “Roots (storyteller)”
“Bet you dont know?” smirks a friend. “No, i dont.” A splendid confession I was proud to concede as honesty has always been a good friend. The problem was doubt sunk in. “What should i know?” “I dont know.” A pause ensues and confusion from both parties. Together we pondered “What is there to know?”Continue reading “Roots (endless conversations)”