Posted in Musings

Families

Families

Families
— Read on bereavedsingledad.blog/2020/12/27/families/

I enjoy Gary’s musings. This particular writing certainly felt familiar. Family is a funny thing. And the thing is, as terrible as 2020 was, it taught me an enormous pot of wisdom. And 2021 will be all the better for my new found knowledge and attempts to keep going forward. To dreams! To visions! To destiny!

Happy creating, Jeanne

Posted in Photography, Poetry

Winter Feast

If I stopped now
would i know tomorrow
the blurred foxglove in hand
the brandished iron in the other
staking the outcome by name.


If yesterday never arrived
do your best dear friend
to remember love
the petaled feet
I swept away, one-by-one, by hand.
Posted in Photography, Poetry

Sacred Rhythm

Intellectual Honesty
Hips shifting. I hang a sign
“My soul is not for sale.”
around my neck.
People approach his upholstered chair
strategically positioned,

it remains vacant
in the consignment store.
I seat my language
upon the landscape vapor
a desert, embellished with torrid tears
helpless hearts, we are.

These frozen moments tucked indoors
you read me as tea leaves
floating swiftly towards the forest floor.

Embellished with a beady smile
you pour favor from a thousand rainbows
upon this ocean corridor.

Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry, quotes

Ever

Ever Forest, 2020


It’s the same story i tell. Because the book wont close, no matter how often and long i beg it, to lock itself away.

“Perhaps when we find ourselves wanting everything, it is because we are dangerously close to wanting nothing.” —Sylvia Plath

Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry

My View in the Evening

Autumn 2020
Morning overture
trek shore of eternal soul
don the evening’s shawl

Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul. John Muir

People. We are complicated and simple. We are shy and rowdy. We are there in the city and here in the country. We are seen and invisible. We exist and then die.

We are, in the quiet pause, an eruption. And will always be the star.