Posted in Poetry, prose

Freakout Voice

Hypocrites. All of us jaded. (WP library)

Unfortunately, this is true. My mind is running ragged. Throwing thread-bare cloth to the ground. Nothing fits in the tired luggage i lug around.

So i am sitting here. Typing on my phone. To an audience i cannot smile towards. Or notice the faces that hold an ounce of cure. Hoping fate drags me from this gear that imprisons my soul.

Contradicting myself, i slump back into my head. Wallow in my memory, to bank an unknown future on prayer alone.

Alone.

Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry

Sea Voice

Maybe im wrong. Maybe my belief you could surface, that you could soar above the fray…

Perhaps a jaded person is only in need of time? To resurface, resurrect, reconvene, replenish…

What did your water dream infuse you with? Healing. Quiet. Fear. Dismay.

Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry, quotes

Week in Review: B&W

October 18, 2020 Evening (edited)

Good morning. Yes, it is morning where I am. Most likely afternoon and heading towards evening near you. May the days and nights for you be blessed and encouraging going forward this new week. And evermore.

At the moment, my creative life is a bit dulled. Im listening to books on tape to fill my mind with imaginative feasting. I chanced upon Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn’s The Gulag Archipelago 1918-1956 while reading a June 2018 article written in First Things.

Two hours into the book and several poems popped out at me. I love to listen 🎧 and take notes 📝. It helps greatly with my concentration and my comprehension. The takeaway from the first two chapters? Nefarious ideas in the wrong hands are dangerous. Every heart bleeds dark.

How to tell the truth.

the pottery, thrown from the cupboard
lay in pieces, a heap
to bury laughter of the past

they hurry you
to frighten you

their names
slip into insanity
forever vanished from blue sky
broken branches of a dying tree

shaking
dumping
the crunch of littered leaves under foot

notice the still orange flower
silent repression
without the freedom to rise
caught in light rays
turning future seeds into prisons

the passing of past into future
without a map
now becomes silent paths in the gardener’s hands

“If only it were all so simple! If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds, and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart?” Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn

Posted in Musings

Ponderings

They who love in excess also hate in excess. —Aristotle

Avoid men or women who refuse to have their soul pierced with any thoughts other than their own.

Avoid men or women who champion their politics over knowledge, wisdom, truth, or charity.

Avoid those who choose to exterminate you over good-hearted conversation. A debate is always worth having when answers are greatly needed. Avoid those who avoid the hard questions.

Any voter who ignores reason and relies on a deceitful heart truly imprisons their neighbors.

Simply put, avoid anyone who blindly follows an ass.

Posted in Poetry

My Ann

I’ve worked hard and long,
longer than a shadow at 6pm.
Myself, tripped up
her arms around corners
hands to shut me down.

You tell me your name
pen and paper
written in letters,
some make sense
others regrets.

I need your something,
to feel better,
together,
Ann and I
needle and thread.

Drafts Folder 2016. Still unsure of this poem. From where it departed? Another life lived?

Posted in Poetry

The Last Hurrah

My life lived in thirds. The missed chances, no longer regrets. The regrets never molded by my hands. The mannequin standing naked in the window was never meant to be dressed.

I started filling out Proust’s Questionnaire December 2019. I finished it today. The dream finally clear and in focus.

Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry

Week in Review: B&W

Fruitlands. October 2020.

Sometimes I wonder if I haven’t been here before. Then realize I have. The same desire takes hold as I stare off into the distance. Will I make it back home?

October 2017. Chester and Toby.
Louie looking on.

Life is not slowing down. No matter how often I stop to pause. Chester and Toby had a short-lived life. They lived on the fast track and couldn’t hold on.

Posted in Photography, Poetry, prose

Hush

Quick, tell me, what is the state of the world?

On a July morning, in the height of summer, the ants are busy on the sunflowers. Today, I wake to the same routine regardless of the weather. The coffee poured, I light a candle.

They are hens in their own right.

Glistening green in the sun’s heightened shadow, I wonder if i should write a letter to a friend. The thought fleeting. I don’t want to add my emotions to his already pocket full of pleas. I let my mind settle into this opened space. Drum out the crinkle of autumn leaves and find solace in my reverie.

When we return to the land, will our hearts be able? The hours bend into baskets, carrying our troubles downstream, where the beavers damn us for wanting freedom. Will we ever furnish a house with all our plans?

You see me. I love 
my love in thought.
Can you know
the waiting fires the bones?
Posted in Art, Musings, Poetry

Lost Love

Love is an idea when
commitment lacks confidence.

—I am only one. I couldn’t hold you or let you go. So we both suffered sunburn.

You are further away from me than I care to acknowledge. Nothing remains to settle my thoughts. I dangle my feet in the shallow; you wade knee deep. I dress in green and swirled turquoise. Beads adorn my hair, swept in a bun. The water laps our passion and icy hearts.

Posted in Advice, Musings, Poetry, Soul Journal

Crayon’s Voice***

Why do we limit ourselves? There is no simple answer.

Life is a celebration and we miss out on possibilities, cornering ourselves into a box. Unless that box is shut off from the world, by well-meaning friends or loved ones, we should not be afraid to be used. (But never abused.) If someone chooses to pick us, color with us, there is no need to cry. A lonely crayon is perfect. A used crayon, worn from tired hands, are memories to linger, lines in the sand.

Happy day to you. Just be. Linger a while in the joy of whatever color(s) you are today. What color are you at the moment? Feel free to let the world know in the comments. ✌🏼 🌈 🎨 🎶🎶🎶

***This is a post from June 2018. Ashley wrote about the drafts folder and mine is plumb full dating back to 2016. I plan on revamping some posts and letting them loose. Others will be trashed. Honestly, my blog(s) need an overhaul. I have changed so much from 2008 until now. My old selves certainly don’t recognize the new me. The me taking on life one day at a time.

Hope you will stay on this journey with me a little longer. Watch for all the changes to come. And know you are always welcome here. ✌🏼🕯🎶💙