Posted in Musings, Poetry

buzzing… trying again

Summer 2018

I am…
Absolutely disorganized.
Fundamentally curious.
Passionately involved with life…

love spins around me
pinned to my dress
notice his black and yellow
swaggered heart?

——–

Hey! I am still here. Certainly that statement is unbelievable to me. And since this happens to be an old blog post I unpublished, and republishing for any number of reasons, I wonder what you have been up to? With me, who the hell knows. I certainly do not have a clue as to where my life is heading. Well, i kinda do.

A photo montage of my vintage button and 1950’s fabric collection. Merrigold. Marmalade. Ginger. Clay. Olive. Seaweed. Pine. Tawny. Carob. Coffee. Metal Honey. Flaxen. Mmmm… metal honey.

My mother told me as a child I was born in the wrong era. Is that even possible? Perhaps she meant wrong world. Which possibly explains the significant interest in UFO’s by treasured friends and others.

Seriously though, why are any of us here? The answer for me is not to sell books. Or become published. Other than supporting WP to have others peer into my mind, what is there? Keep up if you can. Tomorrow is not so far away.

Do not turn that radio dial. You are not lost. I AM.

Posted in Photography, Poetry

Far and Wide Her Wings Spread

Whispered Myth
Just below the surface lies
a weathered heart
shriveled from windscape
and bolting sun
harassed by a fury mind
full of horrid song.

Hear the chorus
beating the ceremony drum?
Notice the rustling grasses
break free from their dying arms?
Her nest, airborne
now drifting on the waves
of an endless tomorrow.

Where to land
where to roost
no lover to confess
her secrets saved
for stone arrest
in silent reverie.
Posted in Advice, Memoir, Musings, Photography, Random, Soul Journal

Hate on me… i lied

Bittersweet: Seen the Light

What am i doing here this morning? Did i not say i was gone from WP? Well a thought entered my head after reading a post in a closed group i belong to on FB… and decided to share here as well.

So, what is the group? Survivors of Suicide. A group i did not sign up for but was rather pushed into. And i reside there eternally.

I am healthier today. Actually quite happy. It hurts to say i am happy. I wear my brother’s pain… my grays and blues. Back in black on sunny days. No hat can hide or sunglasses conceal my tears.

Regardless i have survived two suicides and countless hopes to die myself. What follows is my posting to the group this morning…

“At some point life becomes unbearable… my mother was miserable and trudged through life. Her desire to die was known growing up and affected us children, as much as if she had died. I started to desire death at 8 years old. Then my grandfather did die by suicide… gunshot to the head, two months before my wedding. My desire to die increased and my happy day was miserable… it rained as my dad drove me to the church. Then, a rainbow appeared as i got out of the car. A tinge of hope engulfed me. That sparkle flickered for years. Fast track to March 1 2008 and my brother died by suicide. I was still a broken girl with dashed dreams (moments of hope sprinkled in) and felt compelled to leave this earth too! I spent days staring out the kitchen window while holding a knife to my neck, ever gently scraping… singing a lullaby to myself. Oh! and the knotted ropes in my mind would magically turn into snakes, dance in my head while telling me peace came with death.

“Lies!!!” i screamed back.

Today? Ten years later and 51, I have never felt so alive!!! I do not think about the past… my environment has changed. I live in a new house, a new town/state, surrounded by beauty and inner peace… everything before today was all a nightmare.

(To everyone in the FB closed group i told them ‘So glad you all are here. Talking. Suicidal thoughts are a disease. A product of overgrown emotions that do not know to express themselves outward. I went to therapy for ten years… my escape was to pack my bags and get the hell out of hell… i stay in this group because i cannot leave my brother. I so wish he was here. He would be happy to know i made it out alive.

Hope this isnt too harsh. It was my reality for 50 years.’)

I am always available to listen to you too. promisegardens@att.net

Posted in Photography, Poetry

phoenix street

braver roads

wrote it
now own
the words
“stinging nettles”

popcorn, chips
no escape
writhing grapes
glowing flames

pardon me
hold on
wash away
this grin

funny spill
easy swipe
to wipe
pain away

hoping still
you catch
a wave
to ride

reach high
brave sky
then crash…
burn hotter

smoke longer
grow stronger
pardon me
i must

move on
edit words
i cringe
then binge

ego “POP”
then flop
down…
down, down, down…

halfway there
then stop!
stop, stop
stop stop stop!!

sToP!
i drop
roll away
the fear

(since i cannot concentrate, i might as well write… something needs to get done around here. 9/19/2018)

Posted in Poetry

storm to safety

winding up
to blow over
everyone
and everything
that stands in my way…
i sense no path -forward
or backward
isolated in a forest
with overgrown fears
closing in
surrounding my feet

i change my mind -escape
and morph into another
hiding once more
an invisible ticket
expired and worn
barely readable
the conductor puts on his glasses
and hangs his head…
the fog thickens

expands

and -poof
persistence
fades as quickly
as memory
is no path
to walk
or hold hands.

(tough morning… so i wrote in hopes peace could ensue… 9/19/2018)

Posted in letters, Music Video, Musings, Photography, Poetry, quotes, Soul Journal

personal musings unleashed…

I see far too many people who are not thinking… and well i have to turn away and protect my thoughts. composting logic
reality forced anger
paths burdened with tears

My religious views are Work-in-Progress and my political views are Independent. I am a free thinker who will listen and either agree or disagree with you. My main philosophy is that life is precious regardless of your worldview. So act like life matters and we will get along just fine.

Side note: Most people, family included, have or had no idea I struggled with suicidal ideation since age 8 until 50. My brother acted on his depression. I wanted to but was fearful of the consequences. We wonder if people who die by their own hands go to heaven. I wonder if we will ever learn to listen and hear people. Even in their silence there are clues… i saw my brother’s anger mixed in with his smile. I was too caught up in raising my daughter that I chose only to see his love for me and Anna and Jeff. I walked past his anger and should have called him to talk. 💔 I play that look over and over in my mind. Like today. I dislike what i see in so many eyes and feel helpless. Daily. How do we fix the pain that surrounds us? How? 💔🌏

Literature is strewn with the wreckage of those who have minded beyond reason the opinion of others.

A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction. –V Woolf “A Room of One’s Own”

Well… i am off to assemble a “Room of My Own” and enjoy what are the last few weeks of a gorgeous summer. Life is different in Massachusetts. It is a good change for my mental health. A much needed change and very few sour notes exist in my song book. Grateful for the positive energy surrounding me.

Posted in Memoir, Musings, Poetry, Soul Journal

personal musings unleashed

We really do not know each other, do we?

Years were spent cultivating all these hateful thoughts. Up until today, all that is wrong with life, seemed to be my fault. I easily accepted blame and never fought the day my mom banished me from their life. I was not the daughter she wanted and I constantly told myself it was my fault. I really believed awful things, that ruminated in my inner conversations. I tortured myself with thoughts of hangings, driving over bridges and splashing into rivers, jumping from a third floor apartment window while pregnant with my first daughter. Or recently, recklessly scraping a knife across my neck and wrists, aimlessly staring out the kitchen window above the sink, while I witnessed a small trickle of blood seep out. The drops slid down and pooled near the drain. Blue dreams turned red. Hot and bothered, I quickly fed myself more lies.  I truly believed I did not deserve life. Lies I recognize now. Lies taught to me. Lies I easily fall back into when I am not staying present in the day.

I am not looking to place blame. Oh, well I will blame myself for getting caught up in a web of lies. Lies that told me I am no good…

I  believed that I was no good for the longest time. Therapy has done wonders for my soul. My heart and head no longer bleed needlessly. Only when I forget who I am.  I have learned to fight back. I am not cut by my own hands or any one else’s for that matter. Not anymore.

During this personal awakening, I have ventured to places I should not have. I became too brave and traipsed where I did not see the wrongdoing on my part or the wrongdoing of another. I enticed it to go on longer than it should because of feeling alone. Sometimes I want to indulge myself more. Whisper sweet things to strangers. They do not mind. Neither do I. But I am hurting people, including myself. It just has this turn on not easily turned off. Then realize I am not truly alone.

I live in a self-enclosed loneliness because I am afraid of true love. I begged for love during childhood and I simply do not understand real love. When it showed up, I fought and fight against it. Trying to convince others I am no good. They should kill me too. Surely make it easier to die, than by my own hands. I even had a cop ready to take his gun from his holster. I pushed just enough. But really not enough. I retreated from the edge. The dryness I remember. The trying to swallow while the heat rose from my feet. What was I asking for? Was this fight really worth anyone causing harm to another?

All these words sprout from somewhere deep… some words remain shallow and swim close to the edge of my skin. Others are dying for air and I happily let them out. Luckily for me, the words mostly die the minute they hit the atmosphere. Nothing survives without oxygen and these thoughts greedily suck up all the oxygen my body consumes. Often I am left with little but carbon dioxide. I am not a plant. Not even a humble clover or Venus Flytrap, as some men like to portray me. I need oxygen. I need to breathe.

——–

I know what would have happened to me had my past plans come true. But do you? Or would you even care?

Heck! You do not know me. Why do I think you do? Or want to.

How much do we want to know about others? Or others to know of us? It is easy to write. Well, not always. I struggle and then I struggle again, with posting. But I do write. And I do post. It is all here to read. Until it is no longer.

I think and rethink myself over. Over and over I turn the bells in my head and they always ring twice and I still never hear them. Do you?