She lay face down
water lapped her skin
blue now from delphinium petals
laced around her sin
He parted the sea where she lay
traced his chin
coarse whiskers whispered
secrets she began
Their bodies rose
hovering the waves
lessons taught in verb usage
as their souls witnessed death
and of a life left obscure
while the grass grew around
two hearts as one
with a million eyes to watch
the atmospheric pressure
build bare hands to cover
private thoughts
and of heavens to come
Tag: soul soil
Move Beyond —Thursday Doors
in silence. 6/4/2020
The present day, particularly this morning, I was spiritually, mentally and emotionally engaged with Revelations 1:4-6. And something profound changed my outlook, which threatens my old way of being for the past 12 years.
That I have not been living in freedom is the absolute truth. I have been chained to fleshly desires that have threatened my peace. And I in turn have threatened others peace of mind.
I heard a knock this morning. It was a knock only for me. Although we all are given the invitation. Some of us recognize the offer, while others deny the sound as anything but reality.
And I answered. I entered a sanctuary where truth took hold of my soul. I released my grief and abandoned my grip on things that never belonged to me. They were a safety blanket that brought comfort and fellowship. But no relief. They were the fantasy of my efforts.
In the dark I can see. The light is my peace. And the peace resides in me. Manifests outwardly as a poetic life well lived. And unless I slip, which often occurs, I feel steady. I am steady today.
Shalom, Jeanne
Contagion
I keep recycling these magical thoughts in hopes mushrooms sprout where all can watch and wonder how love works.
What does this even mean? I suffer alone under my floppy summer hat. Hold a candle to my eyes and you will find invisible tears streaming inside where evaporation cannot happen.
I will spare you the grey clouds. Maybe there never were silver linings in my mind. The hypothetical me exists alone.
(I hope DeAnthony will always remember I cared. And he makes his momma happy forever.)
Summer Discoveries
I dig deeper. There is no secret to be found in my endeavors. Rather, to discover the gentle floating of a petal on a cool pond come summer, satisfies.
I think I am going down another rabbit hole.
two standing
the corner grocer
door ajar
bargaining
playing a game
hands and mouths
moving time
wind remains the same
talking of wrinkles
a brown bag bottle
hands in the air
surrounding the chill
grandpa let go of the throttle
Week in Review : B & W
There was one too many people who took it upon themself to deflect and blame and incite and flame hatred against sisters and brothers. And if we cannot find it in our hearts and minds to be personally responsible to protect a sister or brother in harms way, how the hell does love win?
Its unfathomable to think one can use a uniform to justify brutality. Maybe this time police reform will happen? Which politician will stand up and bring real change in policing policy? Who?
In the mean time, I hope MLK supporters and other civil rights protectors, will not get lost in this chaos. That forgiveness and love will pave a way forward for those who stand for an innocent life stripped away.
Abandoned Voices
We learn to accept and mourn. Not necessarily because we would choose to witness changes. Change is anxiety ridden and mental complications arise from foregoing what was once comforting. Rather, we adapt to new surroundings to lessen the anxious feelings.
body aches progress
no rain last night means
the task of watering plants resumes
bee balm has budded and bloomed
the trek up the stones
two black spruce saplings
and mountain ash twigs have rooted
a coyote takes notice
her footprints sniffed and noted
a cooling wind arrives
soft brush against her thighs
lady’s slippers have vanished
printed dress lays longer than knees
feet bare and blackened soil
coyote and mistress howl
between leafed branches a sighting
bones sorted among rocks
abandoned toil to rest
the new moon arrives with joy
FOTD—Planting Seeds
A few days back, these grape hyacinths were at their peak. As they stood attention, bees collected pollen while the days faded. All holding a promise, that tomorrow, faith rests on fate.
I believe in today. And see the grand scheme rise up before me. I put my hand to the soil and till the earth. Spread my pocketful of seeds with a smile. And water the dirt with tears knowing this too will pass.
fading memories
grandma at the kitchen stove
stirring her pickles
hidden kittens purr
i feeding the baby calf
bowl full of cow’s milk
My Promise Garden arose from my grandfather’s suicide. The vision grows wherever I land. I have held this dream in my heart for 32 years. It only vanishes with my last breath.
(I have written about My Promise Garden, my brother, and my personal struggles before. They reside, buried in this ever evolving blog’s pages. Maybe those words will bud and blossom too. If I ever find the energy, I may edit my raw words into something more elegant. Until then, I rest in my meager efforts to get across how precious time is. Thank you friends.)
Arrangements
If i were to talk
because i held a certain trust
that words left on ledges
wouldn’t be pushed
shoved or trampled
what would your answer be?
The flowers carefully cut
each slice affords another view
each decidedly new
to the possibility of desert juice
so let’s drink up under the star’s canopy.
And if the end starts
another conversation
would you stay past midnight
under the blanket tent
I pitched while cleaning house?
Dressed in bleak
we stand and speak
of autumn nights that ramble
while holding hands
and rehearse our final vows.
Abandoned Voices
Most people endeavor to do life justly and loyally. Although we learn early on just how broken life becomes once the safety of home (our minds and bodies) is lost.
Why should we toil when a flower blooms eloquently without second guessing the push to find the sun?
In fertile soil
promise of milk and honey
hungry bellies bulge
Is it only our thoughts that cause us to fail? “I lack confidence in my voice.” “I tremble at everything I do.” “I worry this charade is a show put on to please.” Sound familiar? Or is there more to life than waking up?
Each day we should learn to take the path of least resistance. We have what we need to grow built into our DNA. You are alive and a million possibilities await.
And when life becomes totally unbearable, when we fail, that too is just. For it is then we learn forgiveness. To stare into a stranger’s eyes and whisper, “I welcome you friend.”
seasons: a poetic journey 