Posted in Photography, Poetry

And furthermore

And furthermore
Im not so intimidated 
by your wild accusations
of leavening my bread
with words of dread

Im beautiful in all my imperfections
of wild nights of flurry
honing my feminine skill.

I refuse to be cancelled
corralled into new wineskins
that drunken my enemies
full of venom and hatred

All while I preen my peacock feathers
glistening in the sun
my perfume captures the essence of every women unsung.
Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry, Soul Journal

Making Meaning

Pebbles

Honoring creation, realizing there are no mistakes. We are born whole, flung into the air, and immediately plopped into crisp blankets. Fresh fabric woven to caress our skin. The fortunate ones know love from the beginning.

The wailing ensues. Lost in the noise of moving parts. Who can understand the tragedy of dying?

I gather stones like bread crumbs. Each shape resembles a thought. Each thought encompasses a season. Each season of drought, famine, abundance, joy, grief, weighs heavy on the mind. Until. Until i lay my heart on the rock bed and weight the tears. I either sink or rise. And the vapor of breath becomes a fog. The inner vines of making meaning tangle up the process, and threaten my life.

One day at a time. Release the illness. Gather the rocks. Warm yourself with their captured sun. Notice the colors swirling within. Grays, blacks, oranges, blues, greens. Reds and whites too.

Posted in Photography, Poetry

Spirit of Place

Evensong June 3, 2022
in a search 
that brought me here
upon a helm
of transformation
to cleanse my thoughts
of introspection
and focus on people’s healing

the task is naught
i often fear
then hope arrives upon the clouds
to shelter us from sudden doom
and resume our fervent cry
in hopes the heavens hear
the daily drumbeat we supply
All sorts of lovely June 3, 2022

Last night i took the time to acknowledge how grateful i am for all this beauty surrounding my senses. Peace resides here. And within my body.

There will always be turmoil in the world. We must search for the presence of the Creator in whatever place we call home.

Posted in Photography, Poetry

The Path

The Path

Trust not in oppression, and become not vain in robbery: if riches increase, set not your heart upon them.

Psalm 62:10

Knowledge is fickle
bending and swaying through mouths
foisted upon a dark horse
swiftly the war mounts
against innocent hearts

fervently pray for peace to return
that men of courage
break this bondage
may we rest our eyes on beauty
and smoke the sky with incense

Since January 2019 I feel a call to be a peacemaker. While i do not entirely understand the path i walk, i do focus on ways to be productive in pursuing peace among men. Differences aside, i do hope we all agree that riches are fleeting. What is everlasting is the spirit of love.

Posted in Photography, Poetry

I look out the window, unto a world unknown to me. The colors vibrant and beautiful. The stillness broken by song.

Come sit with me a while. Let us stare into the distance a little longer. And wonder what went wrong.

Posted in Photography, Poetry

Meaningful Gibberish

Talk to Me (October 2021)
toward the celebration of human life 
as a path to transcendence
i skip past Beethoven
land on middle C

swing past his open mouth
dance with clenching teeth
directed at my absurdity

our meaningful gibberish
we only understand
the moans escape the metal bars
i lie down beside the piled cloth

stained with gilded tears
teach me forgiveness afterwards
when a hush descends upon bended knees
Posted in Photography, Poetry

sea glass rising

Eastport, Maine
Can you know this feeling
peering underneath blue
hollow bones trapped in bearded wrecks

seashell words
smashed beneath waves

gutted hearts
tangled, twisted ‘round our legs.

Who dare put out our fire
feet ensnared with desire
upon this sandcastle built?

Come find me washed ashore
waiting for your adore
disappearing…

yet some more
sea glass rising.

Yet some more
sea glass… rising from the dead
we dance together at last.
Posted in Photography, Soul Journal

Into the abyss

The kind of books that make us happy
are the kind we could write ourselves
if we had to.

It matters not if i am known. Or remain a mystery. The matter is that i am wholly me.

Not wanting accolades or seeking a tribe. The tribe always moves on to bigger houses and better views. I choose to stay in my shell.

And in my space, i read the kind of book that stabs and wounds. If the book doesn’t wake me with a blow to the head, what am i reading for?

We need books that affect us like a disaster. That grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves. Like being banished into forests far from everyone. Like a suicide.

A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us. That is my belief.