My Feathered Heart

Jeanne’s GoodReads Review Please feel free to add me to your Goodreads’s friend’s list. 😁🕊🎶

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.

Shed Appearances

Church is poetry.
Poetry is life.
A life well lived.

Nothing remains
at the end
of every truth
a handful of stars shine -die.
The same person -born
changes appearance
new thoughts and old
intermingle within our DNA.

There is always something worth fighting for. Some times those things are greater than ourselves. Other times, it is ourselves we fight for. When we are able to simultaneously fight for all these things, we triumph.

Personally. Collectively. Battles.

Currently I am reading a very short book Sacred Geometry and set out to notice shapes and patterns in my photographs. Actively identify the photo’s composition, that was not purposely planned out, retracing my whimsical approach to life, intentionally finding what was pleasing to the eye.

This flower sums up life. Do you recognize the flower able to bloom wherever it finds footing? Often called grounding, it is connecting with ourselves, whereby one is able to calm the soul. Learning to thrive in a foreign land set against you, name the battles.

Notice the petals, some tattered, are not symmetrical. The space is full and empty. The rocks worn smooth from salty waters, leave stained memories. Immersed into the green, jagged leaves, symmetry unfolds. Layered upon each other, they peek from behind, nourishing each other with their varied position in time.

Odd. Count the petals. Twenty-three. One petal missing, to make it an even 24, or is this space purposely left open, as a fill-in-the-blank? This question remains unanswered, teaching us to be grounded while going along, while the tears flow.

Waking Up

I believe inside each of us resides a broken heart that never received the love needed. Our job is to heal those wounds, as revealed, and to search for those yet uncovered.

It came to me -a dream
And so my friend,
he has a name -Goy Peppo.

My constant companion on this writing adventure, Goy “Penguin” Peppo. He hardly believes I have shoved out all these words, nonstop, since 2008. Its akin to puking… i slowly loose the burden, strung around my neck, threatening to hang me.

Certainly there are people who would loved to have seen me dead. Growing up, there were kids in school who harbored ill desires toward me. At home, my sisters regulated me to a corner of the room, size of a cardboard box, and threw my clothes on top. I was invisible to my parents who walked right past and never noticed the tears.

Nights. I remember being in the dark, listening to the laughter coming from the living room. My parents and sisters would make pizza and popcorn and watch tv. It didn’t matter. I held my breath, covered my face with a pillow, in hopes the world would disappear. I would wake to silence, thinking I was dead. Imagine the disappointment when my wishes had not come true.

So, Goy searches for Words of Wisdom, in hopes, with time, I can be as loved as him.

Wharton “It was easy enough to despise the world, but decidedly difficult to find any other habitable region.”

Woolf “I thought how unpleasant it is to be locked out; and I thought how it is worse, perhaps, to be locked in.”

“I’m Nobody! Who are you?
Are you – Nobody – too?
Then there’s a pair of us!
Don’t tell! they’d advertise – you know!”

Alcott “I keep turning over new leaves, and spoiling them, as I used to spoil my copybooks; and I make so many beginnings there never will be an end.” (Jo March)

Frost “Poetry is what gets lost in translation.”

Plath “Yes, I was infatuated with you: I am still. No one has ever heightened such a keen capacity of physical sensation in me. I cut you out because I couldn’t stand being a passing fancy. Before I give my body, I must give my thoughts, my mind, my dreams. And you weren’t having any of those.

If you expect nothing from anybody, you’re never disappointed.

I feel my words are changing as I am healing. Becoming one heart. Whole. I hope I am growing as a writer, expressing the deep caverns, still not lit well enough to explore.

Writing is a discipline as any other creative endeavor. What we give of ourselves, to both the process and the outcome, is what eventually is criticized. What remains unsaid, at the end of the day, will wait for tomorrow.


With winter here, my mind turns to cozy. The Cozy Book by Mary Ann Hoberman is a delightful children’s picture book by the US Children’s Poet Laureate (2008-2011). Did you know there was such a title and honor?

I discovered this gem of a book, as a parent, who loved to read to her kids. This is a great book to snuggle up with in the deep winter, and discover all the elements that leave you feeling cozy. Think conversation starter!

Today, The Cozy Book serves as inspiration to finish writing my own vision of delight. My storyboard is all laid out as Lois Ehlert instructs, i have an illustrator, my friend’s son (see below), but the words choke.

If you desire to follow Christian on instagram. ccollins_art

See, the problem for me is the story is a vine, tangled and rooted in my soul, and perfection is difficult when the mirror reveals all your insecurities. Deep flaws.

Nothing i imagine satisfies. The words don’t leap off the pages as they should. The magic of the place doesn’t sing.

This dream of putting together a children’s book, has been in my heart since my grandfather’s suicide. This 32 year old project desires to finish strong. I really need to get this done.

So do you need some advice to finish a project your working on as well? I believe we need to fly off the page and write! Or listen to these successful authors…they have actually accomplished much!

Choice Lines and Whole Poems

This is my first reading of any e.e. cummings poems. I had known of his work, his famous small-capped letters, daunting space and rhythmical ribboned lines, as if his typewriter chittered and chattered like a coal-engine on break. I am fascinated by how his words freshly play, so dazzlingly display on paper, obedient to his hand.

All selections contained in this post are extracted from my current reading of erotic poems, e.e. cummings.

poem xi. And in particular “reckless oral darkness”

poem ix. And in particular “flower of madness on gritted lips”

poem xvi. And in particular “pink propaganda of annihilation”

poem xxi. Is an incomplete Picasso in words… a poem to introduce capital letters. Although i see several of his poems incorporate such steeds; the brave few letters to stand tall.

My favorite poem today is xiv. Photo follows.

This book of poems is a must on the poetry bookshelf. A sin to read and not to have read sooner.


her in all nakedness of thought

lips on the verge of parting
bare throat and burgeoning breast

her assiduously known perfection
a superficiality token
of the artist’s great worth

for the raw is valued far less than the sculpted
material to be pillaged and looted

rather than applauded and curtsied
eyelids and nostrils tremble of desire
her thoughts naked and shamed.

A poem to pave my way to see the Rodin Sculptor and Storyteller art exhibit at the Art Institute of Chicago.  I think I will go alone. If possible.  This will leave me more time to sit and ponder and not be shoved towards the door. Rodin is not to be taken in an hour. Even a day is not going to be enough to fully appreciate the exhibit.  Now to plan when to go…

Poems: A Reading of the game of boxes


A book purchased at Indy Reads. I like her style, voice. Poetic fragments of stories told in concise language, with much left to imagination. The subject matter of relationships, both with lovers and with children, give reason to celebrate our excess and absence of connection.

Chorus (p.19)

The ones we love fall asleep
to our abandon,
we are always abandoning them
and then finding them,
we’d be lost could we not
abandon them, could we not
find and abandon them.

Tell no one where we go at night
in our sleep, how far we walk,
toward what, but accompany us
to the soundings, the quicksands,
and the rocks.

Her average rating on Goodreads is 3.69. One critic gave her zero stars, stating he “was pretty unimpressed by this work…nothing challenges, nothing is unique or traditional.” He goes on to say “it reads like someone who wanted to write what she always thought poetry was but never considered what it could be.”

Another reviewer gave her one star with “reading this collection is the limited range of poetic resources on display…the plainspoken voice can only carry a reader’s interest so far.”

For those who enjoyed her poems, one reviewer was “won over by the plainspoken…playfulness and the repetition.”

Susan said “you need to read if you are of this century but also a little bit lost in the past.”

Other words to describe her were “abstract but not over the edge”, “easy to read with a density to them”, “Surprising. Haunting in a delicious way.” and then “the language of the poems…often felt unfinished or like they were missing something or like I was missing something.”

Poetry, for the consumer, is really about the pull into the story far more than the textbook understanding of what a poem is or could be.  The Game of Boxes is 4/5 stars for me, but then I am not a critic of poetry, but rather a consumer. So really, what do I know about critically assessing others language other than if it moves me, like a man leading in dance, then I confess my love.

Indy Reads

Indy Reads is a nonprofit bookstore run to support literacy programs for adults and families in Central Marion County and the City of Indianapolis.  This was my first visit and well worth a trip from anywhere in Central Indiana.  Paperbacks are $5.99 and hardbacks are $6.99 and they have rare books for sale as well.  Currently (1/12/2018) they have a complete set, five volumes, of Virginia Woolf’s Diary for $60.00.  And they have a great collection of Poetry….

I ended up purchasing some modern poet’s books I had never read before and whose style I enjoyed by a quick glance.

Nicholas Christopher The Creation of the Night Sky
Carolina Ebeid You Ask Me to Talk About the Interior
Chuck Carlise In One Version of the Story
Catherine Barnett the game of boxes

Indy Reads has a quality children’s book section. Do note the children’s books are not organized in any fashion so you should plan on spending some time looking through the shelves of books.

They have a Facebook page, a website, and always need volunteers.  Oh, not to forget, they enthusiastically support local artists and writers with ongoing programs and opportunities to display works for sale.  If you ever find yourself in Indy, do stop by.