premeditated murder

you will speak
when spoken to

hollow tin cans
washed and stored
for emergency calls

the sacred wonder
to be visible
behind the jellyfish spine

i spoke
you heard no sound

soap scum
lines the rim
of my mind

careless words
left caressing sores
better left behind

lies
all of them

left you
before i was stolen
my soul ebbs

flows on
toward the echo
wedged inside

relief.

Time, a trusted friend, teaches those mourning, to question and speak out loud. Over and over, Time welcomes Guilt, Anger, and Despair.

Yet, suicide survivors cannot begin to understand… how will peace ever exist in this chaos? Just one word, thought or picture, sends us in a spiral. Those days become wrapped in Sorrow. Then Relief appears. Days saunter on and we learn progress takes small steps.

Our eyes lift and grow wide… a visit. Time, our best friend. Patiently, Time sits, listens for a while. I let Time’s silence be silent, until i can hold it in no longer! I pray to release chains… memories have become a prison. My wishes, a disease. Confusion sets in.

Time please forgive and pardon this aching soul. I beg Relief to visit. A stranger far too long.

πŸ’œj

seeking a writing partner(s)

Do you like writing with others? Need a sounding board? Want to polish your works “before” you release them to the eyes who read your blog? (i am guilty of publishing everything and anything and need discipline.) Then I encourage you to contact me promisegardens@att.net because i am searching for such a person or persons.

First, i should warn you i am highly introverted, never finish a project (but really, really want to publish a book of poems) and get off on long tangents which eventually never resemble what i started. I am currently in-between homes, not organized, have none of my writing or painting tools (the longing for them is burning through the layer of clothes) as they are stored away.

There are positives. I am still passionate about creating with words and color. I am a great listener, so if you need to get something off your chest…. I am married so i wont be needing anything from you except time and a love for poetry, abstract art, photography and listening to the sound of hope.

So what are you waiting for… i am here!

A snippet of what i am currently writing…

I am riddled with holes

as parts of me

begin

to leak out

upon the hard wood floor

a wide-planked pine

circa 1874.

I have been told, countless times, i am archaic. So if that doesn’t scare you, i am game. πŸ˜πŸ˜˜πŸŽΆπŸŽΆπŸŽΆπŸ•Š

My Feathered Heart

Jeanne’s GoodReads Review Please feel free to add me to your Goodreads’s friend’s list. πŸ˜πŸ•ŠπŸŽΆ

My Feathered Heart (original poem)

My review of The Feathered Heart by Mark Turcotte.

I once found a teeny-tiny downy woodpecker feather. At most, the feather measured one inch (2.54 cm) in length. My guess as to the year found would be 2010. I had since lost the treasure to find it again while packing up our house to move. Today’s date 3/11/2018.

The feather, seen above in the bookmark constructed, is grey/black with five incomplete white spots. The spots are not complete circles as the white color lies on the fringe. As such, it mimics my teetering heart, lying on the edge of an invisible border erected by thoughts. It is my feathered heart that led me to find Mark Turcotte and his book of poems, The Feathered Heart.His book will be returned to as often as needed. To remedy my soul with feeling words erected as fences. (I found a used copy, to be delivered just in time for my birthday, through Amazon 😁.)

My wayward feet travel searching for answers. The silences weave protection. The war i battle is not within but from outside the curtained window. I learn to dress in velvet’s hope.

Still Life

Still Life (Fish with Red Bowl)Β 1923-24 Salvador Dali

I’m quiet. Sorry
sitting here
contemplating
the mass of mail -stacked

knee-high and wearing wader boots
slipping off -the rainbow trout
loves the May fly
and a rocky river bottom

you blossom. I promise
to tie loose ends -taut
paint beginnings
bought a pair of boots

scaled back on the email
let’s cast this line out -together
rock the rafters

sailing
back

and forth.

Teeth. Dig In.

Those who do not want to imitate anything, produce nothing. Dali

Plans change. We say one thing and do another. Does that make us hypocrites? Liars? We strive and fail. Damned fools? Or simply tired?

Today, there are no planned adventures until after 2pm (US Eastern Time), where upon we will venture out to St. Petersburg to visit the largest collection of Salvador Dali’s art, outside of Spain.

I don’t do drugs. I am drugs. Dali

Yesterday was a visit to see my Aunt Jeani, Uncle Don, and first, second and now third cousins, in Venice FL. We have not seen each other in 43 years. Last time we visited my cousin Stevie was 12, Tammi 6. My aunt and uncle struck oil in the 1960’s, on their farm in Illinois, and the family took off for California, finally settling in Florida, where they set-up a halfway house for homeless and drug abusers. My aunt and uncle have saved countless people from themselves. And now Tammi is ordained and carries on the halfway home. Some of the patients end back on the street, but those who are determined, find new life, and a reason to live. We had lots to celebrate over a wonderful meal.

What is our life calling? To save ourselves or find life’s oft hidden truths saving others?

Visiting often means reminiscing. My cousin Tammy told us as kids her and Stevie and Sherry would fill buckets full of shark teeth at Venice’s beaches. With hugs and kisses goodbye, after a too short of a visit, our family headed to Caspersan Beach to search for shark teeth.

Our arrival greeted us with a painted shoreline lined with eager seekers. Not a gold rush but a rush to unearth something that is now rarer to find. A storied shark tooth. Every one with me gave up rather quickly, except my oldest daughter.

There was no guarantee her or I would find a tooth. In all those grains of sand, time passes, and often hope of fulfillment. The picture above is my determination paying off.

I wrestled with my husband, son and youngest daughter wanting to leave. But i stuck it out, digging my feet in deeper. It was the turning over that brought up the tooth.

Each of us is worn ragged. Thoughts lodged in crags. The rocks jutting into and between the lines of our existence. Who wins out in the end?

I have no scars to prove yesterday happened. I possess a tooth and a prayer to survive.

Happy writing, J🦈Still Life Fish with Red Bowl Dali<<<<
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