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 Musings, Photography, Poetry

Lay my Heart Down

Lay my heart down
and weep
what little time remains
I give it all
to you
the gift of all beauty
hidden from human eyes.
You are only fed to eager souls.

I won’t be gone long. How can I keep myself from being amongst all this grandeur?

I did a little beach cleanup. I hiked miles. I painted. I wrote. Nothing here keeps me from living. Everything here pushes me to go further. The seals and loons. The cawing of crow friends. A shy heron perched as if wind was nonexistent.

The waves rush in with new gifts of sea glass. The waves recede into the greater good. The flow of sea amends all the broken pieces of life.

Be well love, until I return.

Always, Jeanne

Posted in Photography, Poetry

xxxxxx

Cant say i believe 
the words
spilling
from contraptions of reality
more digital than heart

the love is farce

and wounds bleed
while you step in line.
To listen to you
akin to the first

fire
shot.

Love has become cheap tequila
in an unsalted rim.
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, Poetry

Im awake. For what reason, i have no idea.
There is no prayer left in me.

I haven’t given up. Im just feeling a bit numb. The curtains are pulled and the heart sinks fast.

Just how im feeling. Wonder who else feels such things. There is no reason to feel this way. Unless these aren’t my feelings so much as how the world appears.

Posted in Photography, Poetry

Transitions

Back to writing in September is a good feeling. Like a mug of hot something, to keep the cozy from draining into a cold stream, my dreams begin to fly.

A truer voice burgeons
a bubbling cauldron of choice
i claimed red yesterday
but today i dive
into a black pillow
to soothe away the abstract.

My pen no longer idle
the paper no longer clean
i wipe away the tears
and bury the past between
what lies ahead
and stare straight away to dream.