Posted in Poetry


day three
i pardon thee
day one and two
faults forgone with oceanic phases

And so it goes… waves rush in/the moon ebb and tide/release your mind.

thank you dear Rory for thinking of me… i do love quotes and those shared are but a few, of many worth your while.

Be well bloggers, j🕊❤️

Posted in Musings, Poetry


i was tagged by GuyorBloke to Three Quotes/Three Days and happy to participate.

Day Two. And then there was history to contend.

Reapply the medicine. Time does heal the sorrow wedged in the cracks. Dig it out. The crusted debris. Tame the queazy stomach.

can’t quit you/so easy

Day Three is ahead…

Posted in Musings, Poetry

deja vu.

Quotes: Invited by GuyorBloke
Day One. I have been here before.

All change demands energy. To recharge, we need to step away and consider the future.

“Why this way?” i repeatedly asked out loud. Of course, as life has proven, no voice replies when needed the most. Alone in that empty room, I silently posed. I traced the cracks and read the signs. Do not cry. You lived. Now walk away. Rest assured, I move forward, knowing, the walls will never speak.

See the source image

i am not good at goodbyes
as i drag my feet
reluctantly wave the past behind

I may not be here, at Borderline Crossing, much longer. I have a new endeavor that requires more of my time and what time will be left over, I may find using to rest in an Adirondack chair, atop our hill, watching the sun set over Mount Wachusett. This, and a glass of wine, will suit me fine.

I have started a new blog. I am not revealing any thing other than that I am excited about this new chapter in my writing. I have yet to consider what to do with what I have blogged here.  A few ideas are floating in my mind… but I am disorganized and nothing may ever come of my efforts.

To those who have ridden this wave as long as I, it has been quite a journey.  For those new here, I may pop in on occasion, if my mind floats back toward the borderline. I have tried to say goodbye, countless times before and have always returned. It remains to be seen if I keep my word and truly move on. For now, i have taken advice to heart, to cut the ties that bind.

And so, I tarry on in dreams, with tears in my eyes. J

Wait! already i revert to my old ways. I have Day Two and Day Three quotes to fulfill for Rory at GuyorBloke. Not to mention a backlogged drafts folder. What do i do with all these crowded words and empty space? Can i save me, after all? Time tells. 😍😘❤️

Posted in Art, Memoir, Opinion, Poetry

Anyone listening?

Authoritative judgement.
She is going for the kill
him and herself
for betrayal and unerrorable
cries, innocence clinging
to madness.

(Me, 3/28/2016)

Consider the following Sylvia Plath quotes. None of these lines are in chronological order.

“Is there no way out of the mind?”

“I talk to God but the sky is empty.”

“I desire the things that will destroy me in the end.”

Her words, ruminating choruses of distraction, hopelessness and hysterical madness. She was not always in such foul moods. Fantastical moments of joy, found in nature, lifted her to heights discovered, absent of anything but quietness.

“I felt my lungs inflate with the onrush of scenery—air, mountains, trees, people. I thought, ‘This is what it is to be happy.’”

“I didn’t want any flowers, I only wanted
to lie with my hands turned up and be utterly empty.
How free it is, you have no idea how free.”

It is existing in either land that dangerously walks a snarling tightrope that snaps.

We must recognize extreme black and white phases of thought, desiring to find safety, grasping onto extremes.

How can we learn to see life neither all good nor all bad? Why is it impossible for some to blend stark opposites to create a balanced life of bitter and sweet?

“I didn’t want my picture taken because I was going to cry. I didn’t know why I was going to cry, but I knew that if anybody spoke to me or looked at me too closely the tears would fly out of my eyes and the sobs would fly out of my throat and I’d cry for a week. I could feel the tears brimming and sloshing in me like water in a glass that is unsteady and too full.”

A definition of depression. I have been there. Below a poem drawing from memory, reflecting a deep despair, holed up inside myself, deep in the belly of darkness.

I am not sick as attested to before
digging up incredulous error.

I cannot wake.
I do not wish for death
death prays for me.

(Me, 3/28/2016)

Some writers find infatuation with feelings. When we are high, there is an exhilaration incomparable. We can fly! When we are low, we cannot crawl. Emotions become muses. They express human existence otherwise glossed over by the day-to-day grind.

In a moment mistakes are made and in hours wiser choices can be noticed.

*I recognize unerrorable is not a word, but it works so well and it can be defined found free of shame and guiltless.

Posted in Poetry

Finding the IMA

I have a macabre fascination with artists who have committed suicide. One, because I love art and the creative process and two, because I have family history of suicides and suicide ideation. In my quest to understand the mind of a person who desires nothing more than to be absent from the present, I have read and reread countless books. Recently, a van Gogh painting was advertised as being on display at the IMA and I knew immediately that I needed to make that a summer destination. This past Saturday my dream came true. I stood before van Gogh’s Landscape at Saint-Remy, 1889, and was blown away by the amount of paint, the number of brush strokes, the myriad of colors and the sheer fortitude he showed in completing a true masterpiece. His painting was by far my favorite of all the works seen, including Gaugahn, Pissarro, Monet and Rembrandt.

“There is nothing more truly artistic than to love people.”

“What am I in the eyes of most people — a nonentity, an eccentric, or an unpleasant person — somebody who has no position in society and will never have; in short, the lowest of the low. All right, then — even if that were absolutely true, then I should one day like to show by my work what such an eccentric, such a nobody, has in his heart. That is my ambition, based less on resentment than on love in spite of everything, based more on a feeling of serenity than on passion. Though I am often in the depths of misery, there is still calmness, pure harmony and music inside me. I see paintings or drawings in the poorest cottages, in the dirtiest corners. And my mind is driven towards these things with an irresistible momentum.”

–Vincent van Gogh

Volunteering at a homeless shelter I come across so many with those same sentiments. There is a little van Gogh in each of us.