Tags
bliss, cherokee, connection, destiny, faith, fearless, forgiveness, grace, gravel roads, old maps, passion, poetry, reason, restless, spirit, strength, truth, understanding, wandering
05 Wednesday Nov 2014
Posted in Poetry
Tags
bliss, cherokee, connection, destiny, faith, fearless, forgiveness, grace, gravel roads, old maps, passion, poetry, reason, restless, spirit, strength, truth, understanding, wandering
04 Tuesday Nov 2014
Posted in Poetry
Tags
bliss, breath, connection, conscious consciousness, destiny, faith, fearless, grace, gravel roads, knowledge, life, love, old maps, poetry, reason, spirit, star crossed, truth, understanding, value, wonder
pray me down
another night
when stars are realigned
remembering a space
that never was
a letting go
before the fates
conspired me to holding
your silences
much longer
than your verse
stay the wake
of evermore
a day beyond the last
wherein the light
is waiting
for a voice
a quiet reassurance
of where and here we lay
poetry
and tender worlds
to write
. . .
03 Monday Nov 2014
Posted in a time for telling, Poetry
Tags
becoming, cherokee, conscious consciousness, faith, fearless, grace, life, living, love, old maps, passion, poetry, spirit, strength, truth, understanding, value, wisdom, wonder
Over the weekend, I agonized a bit over making a picture of myself. I tend to love being on the other side of the lens, and in my agonizing I realized why. I like the view and I see (I think) with kinder eyes, especially when looking at those I love. I suspect it’s because I have a deeper appreciation for story.
I thought about a black and white picture that adorns several things here, and why I love it. Surely, I was younger, but the appeal is not that. I love the picture because it represents a time when I was new to the big city, and yet at home most in jeans and flannel. In that perception, not much has changed.
But, a new picture reminds me that I’m not that girl anymore (and yet, I am).
Putting on eye shadow has never been difficult for me. And yet, I can’t help but notice a difference in recent years – the skin moves with the brush as always, but it doesn’t bounce back. I like thinking that the lines in my eyelids, as well as those around my eyes and smile, are etchings of experience, lines of character. They’re proof of the story.
Life is full of wrinkles, and wrinkles are reminders that life has been lived. Regardless of what miracle creams we use, we can’t “un-live” life, and trying to erase the journey seems rather sad to me.
Age is a funny thing. I think of how many times we hear the words, “If I had known then what I know now …” The truth of the matter, though, is that what happened then is why we know what we know now. Perhaps, we should try to appreciate all of the experiences, even those we find to be least comfortable. Life is filled with happy stories, sad tales, and the making of more than a few lines.
“Some women and men over forty spend money fighting gravity with cosmetics and cosmetic surgery. That’s their ball game. That’s their parade. More power to them. There was once this woman named Gertrude Stein. She was the aesthetic opposite of Marilyn Monroe. I never knew Ms. Stein but from what I’ve read about her life I would venture to say that she was approximately (there’s no way of measuring such things…well, there are a couple of ways) a million times happier than Marilyn Monroe. Sexy on the outside doesn’t do much for ugly on the inside. This isn’t to say that Marilyn Monroe was ugly on the inside. I’m sure she was really f…ing gorgeous on the inside, too. Bottom line: sparkle on the INSIDE can enhance ANYTHING on the outside.”
I can’t imagine ever not loving hip hugger jeans, but the days of wearing them with a bright yellow halter are past. Instead, they’re worn with an old t-shirt, a bit of sparkle, and a story. The story is worth every single line.
In that, I am also reminded of words a sweet soul once shared with me. In a moment of madness, I fretted over competing with women younger and prettier. The response is one I hold near to this day, ‘but you’re a poet’……….
fancy this
a truth divine
was never meant
for losing –
and somewhere still
the sea retreats
and never feels the sand
. . .
02 Sunday Nov 2014
Posted in Poetry
Tags
bliss, breath, connection, destiny, dreams, fearless, grace, gravel roads, love, old maps, passion, poetry, relationship, sacred intimacy, spirit, strength, surrender, truth, understanding, unremembered, wonder
01 Saturday Nov 2014
Posted in a time for telling, Poetry, Rambling
Tags
becoming, bliss, cherokee, conscious consciousness, destiny, faith, fearless, grace, knowledge, life, love, morning, old maps, passion, poetry, rambling, reason, restless, seeing in the dark, spirit, truth, wandering
how fragile
this knowing
of all I have searched
in shadows
(beyond where shadows are kept)
and dared flying closer
(lord knows I tried)
to leave without leaving
the essence of none
as touch
(still allowing)
of heaven’s
release
a soft sweet
surrender
as one with the breeze
moves on the light
(is a song)
thru the trees –
willing to wonder
of all I endear
a moment
and I am returned
(unforsaken)
as love in becoming –
flight
without fear
of another beginning
a fortune untold
asleep with my hands
(at work) in my
soul
. . .
31 Friday Oct 2014
Posted in Poetry
Tags
becoming, bliss, connection, conscious consciousness, destiny, dreaming, dreams, fearless, flannel, grace, gravel roads, knowledge, life, love, old maps, passion, poetry, postmark, sacred intimacy, solace, southern, spirit, strength, understanding, value, woman, wonder

morning
and I hear
soul in the rain
dancing the two step
on tin
shimmering light
as rainbows
I colored
of faraway places
retracing
again
soft recollection
of kiss
and caress
storms in the forest
– dreams
we begin
branches
are touching
where music still plays
a murmur
of longing
let loose
to the wind
. . .
30 Thursday Oct 2014
Posted in Poetry
Tags
becoming, destiny, dreams, fearless, grace, gravel roads, kentucky, life, love, old maps, passion, reason, relationship, restless, sacred intimacy, spirit, truth, understanding, wandering
woodsmoke
and somewhere
cedar is burning
a waiting reminded
of all I have known
of paths
through the waking
of wilderness wandered
I still feel
the briars
kissing my bones
at the scent
of blackberries
warm woolen socks
a bed turned
to facing
the love of the sun
patches
laid bare
within this returning
stitched into pattern
my favorite
one
I remember the chill
your breath
was just catching
and I was a moment
held you
this way
. . .
25 Saturday Oct 2014
Posted in Poetry
Tags
conscious consciousness, fearless, knowledge, life, love, old maps, passion, reason, truth, understanding, wandering
close
as another
a silent goodbye
is lost to the whispers
I once held you near
fading the feelings
surrendered to word
laces and graces
willing me home
a trail
where the river
turns toward the sea
a wish
never meant
for a star
times I was certain
nights I was here
led by a dream
forever
somehow
was written in letters
folded by years
ink stained
these fingers
where voice
is recalled
a hush of remember
as quiet resounds
to sit in the still
unwilling
to go
. . .
23 Thursday Oct 2014
Posted in Poetry
22 Wednesday Oct 2014
Posted in a time for telling, Poetry
Tags
becoming, conscious consciousness, destiny, dreams, faith, fearless, forgiveness, grace, gravel roads, knowledge, life, love, memory, old maps, poetry, reason, restless, self, spirit, spirituality, strength, truth, understanding, value, wandering, wonder
I can’t help but notice that at a time when it seems many of my friends are complaining about a loss of memories, I’m finding them.
Last week, I awoke and lay in bed remembering other dreams the same as they would have been years ago, before the heat of day wore them down. Only now, I’m remembering details not as dreams, but as memories. The dreams have become rooted in other dreams, and in pieces of reality – even reality that might have seemed unimportant or transparent before.
I’m not sure of the reasons. Could be a bad bowl of banana pudding or some exceptionally strong nail polish (beauty’s best). I’m perplexed, and intrigued. I only know it is happening, and I’m aware and unafraid of knowing (or not).
Threads once thought to have no meaning are weaved into others, the truth becoming more than one shade of scarlet.
carry me
the only way
on roads you keep
so well
let me sleep
til morning
shakes your faith
in the story
I been telling
of where the sun awaits
and where the trees are bent
beneath the night
my fate
is all but written
by the movement
of your hands
a chapter more (or less)
is free enough
city lights
are faded
tho wing’ed lanterns rise
out beyond the reach
of will and luck
beyond the plans
of where we’d be –
it hardly matters now
just let me wake
remembering
your touch
. . .
Starry-eyed Writer, Cautious Philosopher, Hopeful Romantic
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