Posted in Poetry

Anne Sexton

I am reading again. The often mundane exercise proves fruitful. This assumption of ripeness, of flower blossoms in winter and February fruit to be discussed elsewhere and later, keeps me hovering over her words.

Why I chose this, or any particular book, is beyond knowing. Or perhaps, since I had two copies of “Words for Dr. Y. Uncollected Poems by Anne Sexton.” edited by Linda Gray Sexton, her daughter, and while in the process of delivering unused things to be recycled at the transfer station, I noticed the red cover on top of the heap of books. It is a rather blatant clue. And a favorite book of poems.

I opened the pages eagerly and directly to page 33. She writes, “I begin to see. Today I am not all wood.” An imagined crackling fire roars behind me. It suits my mood. Her words, sparklers, ignited by an awakened spirit. No soul dulled by faulty wires would read those words with premonition. I declare, “I am a tree with budding leaves and spring rivers dancing at my feet, to quench my thirst.”

Still, just weeks ago, in my journal, I wrote, “Struggling. With my writing and my confidence. I have little ability to sit quietly, alone, with my thoughts and let them emerge. Form bubbles. Thought bubbles that I can sit inside and look around. Set up shop, gather my dictionary, thesaurus, pens, pencils…”

I will take what little I am given in direction and move forward. Jeanne

 

Posted in Musings, Poetry, Soul Journal

procrastinate

time
to realize
keep to yourself
no one really cares
birthing embitterment of power, now
lost

oh! Dear bloggers. You are a world of its own unto me. I appreciate each and every one of you!! You rock my world!!

Some of you have been on this journey of mine, and of yours, for years. Some bloggers have vanished from sight, succumbed to an unknown planet. Ghosts of oblivion. Sounds peaceful doesn’t it? Oblivion!

I have reached the conclusion i need a blogging break. I am worn from reading and writing, selling and buying, moving from the Midwest to the East Coast. My life is an upheaval of beliefs of not only myself and of the world, but childhood memories. Strangeness ensues. Again.

It will take a lot of self-discipline to keep from reaching out. I need refuge but i also need connection. So no surprise if the exodus doesn’t last. I realize this disappearance will likely be short-lived. Although i need a long time away…

My writing and painting is my essence, now packed in boxes. It is confusing to be wrapped in paper instead of leaving my thoughts upon the blank silence of white.

Confusion is driving me over the edge with no place to find respite. I need to renew my faith. My hope has dwindled. My humanity has been charred. Tomorrow i leave for Boston to find that needed place called home.

I love you. Thank you for being loyal bloggers. I hope you will be there when i am back in the swing of blogs. Right now I can’t keep track of me enmeshed in this business of posting and waiting to hear what the critics think.

I rely too heavily on the social likes. I need to be content with me without relying on you to feed me worms. I need to find my wings. As a bird or a butterfly i am unsure. I will gladly accept either persona.

I know i am not the rock star some other writers and photographers and painters are and i am perfectly happy to be me. I accept myself as is but i believe with breathing room i can emerge from this self-induced cocoon and become greater.

A writing mentor told me blogging is good until you get hung up in the business of blogging. I am there and have been there a few years.

Lost.

So off i go…

oh! For those who are connected with me in other ways, please keep in touch! I will need your support. Thank you! And if you want to keep connected, and do not have a way to contact me, leave me a message below. I will reach out to you.

Be well. All the best, J❤️🕊😘