Purple hat

She sits in her chair

needles moving in and out with rhythm

only she hears as her tired hands feed

her purple hat of love.

Her hair falls out piece by piece

until she shears it into emptiness

falling at her feet she knows it will return

someday once more.

Six long months as the winter snow falls

she wears it as she stands beneath the skies

her universe swirling all around her

but her faith guides her forward.

Where has that time gone she wonders

as she tucks the cap away with one last breath

she smells the clean fresh scent

no longer reminiscent of the poisons it once caught.

Reminders of years long gone

and no longer in use it waits patiently

her reminder of love woven into each loop

by her mother’s hand,

she is strong now and free of the murderous cells

and yet she still wonders her purpose

as she writes in the darkness

her hands moving on keys

keeping rhythm to the sound only she hears

as her lullaby to yesterday plays out

and she smiles for she is blessed

and she has not forgotten

the purple hat or all of the love sent

to her through the years.

Reminiscing earlier as I was in a thrift store I saw a cap similar to one my mother made me back when I had cancer. I still have the hat my mom made but was surprised I couldn’t recall the year I went through chemo, was it 9 or 10?years ago? and then thinking it really doesn’t matter for it too (the cancer) was a gift, enabling me to begin writing once more, to look at life much differently and with a peace and joy in my heart, and in knowing there was a higher purpose for me, that I had things to do. Chemo began after Christmas and lasted into June….so long ago, but really in the big scheme of things, such a short bit ago.

Time of space

I see words that flow into my being

caught in the beauty of images before me

positive and negative

like magnets as a child, repel and attract

a thousand bits of fragmented metal

creating an image with an invisible force.

I find it all important in the big picture

as dreams take me into strange realms I’ve known,

places I feel I’ve been before

reliving moments perhaps from centuries gone

returning round to end back at the start,

with a strange and pleasant catch in my heart

I know that I am where I need to be,

everywhere and nowhere

depending on the moods of the sun and sky

feeling alive in the spaces

connected to the dots

picture formed complete

frame to make it art

or shred into pieces to blow on the wild wind

it’s always free no matter where,

the ashes of the stars fall upon me

and I am anointed with positivity.

Inspired by the following words: Negative space…I wondered why it couldn’t be positive space or both? I like positive…things to ponder in my mind….

“Negative space, in art, is the space around and between the subject(s) of an image. Negative space may be most evident when the space around a subject, not the subject itself, forms an interesting or artistically relevant shape, and such space occasionally is used to artistic effect as the “real” subject of an image.”

The Wishing Well

A magnificent piece of brilliant depth, I can see those sad tired people in the park. Michael has done a wonder with this piece. Please stop in and pay him a visit, and feel free to comment on original post❤

The Poetry Channel

There are pigeons
on the plaza
pecking for crumbs
at the foot of the
fountain,
at the feet of
park bench fixtures,
who cast day-old bread
on the ground
and toss pennies
on the water.
Children run,
scatter the birds,
wishing tbey could
fly.
While gazing from
cold benches,
hooded eyes
watch coppers
glitter and flash
in the winter sun,
wishing
they still believed
in wishes,
wishing
they could still
run.

M. Zane McClellan

Copyright © 2016
All rights reserved

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Blue worlds

We move between places in blue worlds,

ripples on water move through my inner soul

carrying the  feelings of peace through beauty.

Skies meet where the world connects

and we drift on faded memories

music fills the space where silence lays.

We are not separate from these images

for we become a part of all we see

slipping away to glistening shores

we find ourselves always searching for more.

The answers sit on shelves in pages

and we flip each one so eager

like children aware of adventures to come,

and we fall into the dreams of light

frolicking in the waves of mood

diving under for treasure

we hold it close with love.

The thin white line between here and there

ruptured by the rays of the sun

coursing through it finds us waiting

a bounty of blessings come true.

 

“And it’s only what you do
That keeps coming back on you
And it’s only what you say
That can give yourself away

Underground sight and sound
Human symphony
Heard the voice, had no choice
Needed to be free”

Read more: Moody Blues – Blue World Lyrics | MetroLyrics

Angels

And we wore white like the angels,

in our minds we remember visions of beauty

images forever embedded on holiday cards

and we closed our eyes at night

saying our simple prayers

for peace and good will

and with the hope come dawn

we too could be as beautiful

and filled with light as they.

Movies inspired through long winding lives,

as fires burned these memories come back to find

the faded smile of dreams of youth,

how we moved to goth and darkness

only to fight our way back out

into wooded hues and colors befitting

a child of nature.

She had the eyes filled with such peace,

and for years I became her,

hair and clothing to try to be in that peace

that emanated from somewhere within,

only to find as the flames died down

that it had always been there

I just couldn’t see

that all I strove for was always a part of me.

In peace I reside,

beside the still waters and evening tide,

when the moon hangs balanced

between sheets of silken white

I hear her small laugh across the universe

reaching my ears

and I am that child once more,

but an angel in waiting

no more.

My friend rekindled my thoughts on my favorite lady of my college years, and with the fires in Tennessee bringing thoughts of the movie Always to my mind, little nudges bring inspiration when least expected. I am blessed. I no longer wear continual white/cream clothing…red wine can sometimes take its toll, and food, and dog prints, etc…..beach driven hues worn now but it’s all good.

Garden of souls

Did we know then as we moved through the darkness

searching for the light with each day that passed,

our vines reaching

twining in and amongst the hardness of the world,

never allowing anything to put up a wall

to our destiny

that we would be in this here and now?

How we began so small,

tender stems reaching for the sun

as if it meant death to relax a spell

that we would be torn apart and trampled upon

ground into the earth

to begin once more

before seeds could be planted ensuring

all of the tomorrows that would be.

Emotion and thought become leaves

that begat flowers of quiet grace

that decorate the landscapes of our human minds

and somewhere within

there lies this amazing power that gives growth its chance,

we rise and rise a bit more

curving round through each instance

creating a secret garden of the soul

tended and cultivated to become

the entrance to forever.

We wind and move

push and pull our ways out of the despair

to find that bit of sunlight that waits patiently

and around us, the angels watch from afar

guiding us to the destination

we grow strong and live in joy for our moment

and with the coming of the moon,

curl around to sleep until the light rises again

and we can dance on the whispering wind,

delicate and silent in our garden

we will dream of eternity

as beautiful as the stars that sing lullabies

to our vain petal ears.

We will move in and amongst

these walls we create,

although some will reach outward and away

with leaves reaching towards the sky,

wayward vines catching all that move by

they too hold their purpose

to go higher and farther than imagined

and leaving behind those that can only dream

clinging to their arbors

afraid to make that leap,

and in doing so, wind and twist and wonder

never able to realize how high is the sky?

 

 

Nothing sacred

Life with a cat tells you……

Nothing is sacred, the Queen sleeps where she wishes, will move anything out of her way to make it “her” spot, will attack if you move too quickly so cannot be decked out for the season, yet becomes a part of it regardless. This is Smokey, and this is her new sleeping nook…..glad we didn’t put anything fragile up there. Little freak.

Painted words

The skies filled my head with a thousand words,

pinpricks of ink dotted the invisible lines

filling them with the finest of art

channeled tales from beyond.

They had no name,

those who whispered their secrets to me

in the deepest realms of sleep I wandered

with quill in hand and a pot of color

as dark as the midnight skies,

I wrote as the eyes remained closed

and locked in the world where everything spun

and nothing much seemed to make sense,

just ancient markings on parchment

stacked in random disarray

I sorted through so many pages

knowing that somewhere within

the secrets lay.

I gathered them in my mind,

mixing them like flour and salt

and yeast to rise them higher

hoping the truth would surface

and lay like cream on the top of the jar,

yet all that remained were foreign tongued symbols,

marked with some importance

in a fiery red mark like the dying sun on a horizon.

I closed my eyes as the pen began to stir,

as it swirled across the waiting cloud

I began to understand,

it wasn’t the words that were so important,

but the invisible thought between the spaces

where creativity remain waiting for exploring,

and a sign to mark as my own,

all my heart ever wanted or dreamed

was sitting there in plain view,

words that were always waiting to be made,

on pages that could only live

if I were to give a part of me.

 

Sparkling

I saw you there in that space

between each bubble that lifted to the sky

the essence of you so light and magical

like tiny fireflies in the light

rising higher into the darkness,

you moved away before I could reach you,

I heard the small sounds on the air

like cosmic laughter

as you played your games

and I held the stem as if holding it

would be almost as good as holding you,

and you rose as I tried once more

but you had become a thousand stars

and I saw you blink for but a second

as if to say no fears,

it’s all gonna be alright.

The mirage of golden lightness carried me

through the night of tortured sleep

as I called your name

you kept deftly slipping away

like champagne tears into nothing

and the taste so sweet on my tongue,

memories of apple trees and summer sun

as the glass lay empty in my hand

the essence of you now gone,

as I looked up one last time

in time to see the lace of clouds move in,

and as the skies cried as if to say

you would return to me some day.

The sparkle of memory always stays in my mind,

as the pop of the cork releases the mood

of gaiety and New Year essences,

the nights of the universe always know when to find

the girl in the forest speaking to trees

with a long tall glass that holds so well

the line of bubbles that rises like thoughts

of a yesterday to relive once more.

For some reason while shopping today Prosecco was on my mind, to see the tiny bubbles dance in joy-picked up a bottle and look forward to the smiles, celebrations and star filled nights. Life is but a dream, but such a good one at that❤

Beyond dreams

The mind slips into that quiet place,

the place right before surfacing from sleep

as cool breezes blow through cracks in the window

heralding the journey’s end

as eyes slowly fight to reach the top

and the mind tries so very hard to recall

the shape and colors of the midnight dream

as it slips away like a solemn cloud

into a waiting sky.

She waits in these places often

like a soul on a journey that has no end

she slips into the shadows to watch

as the swirling atmosphere takes her somewhere far

and the only one left to hear her sigh

is the coming moon on the horizon.

She knows sweet Luna well,

guiding her since birth she trusts the words

and images she sees

when she returns each time she knows

it won’t be the last.

A thousand days have left her spent

and ten thousand more still remain

as she walks over mountains of memories

and sits beside the waters in stillness,

knowing the ripples will come and go,

messages passed in hasty moments

but on her mind it always rests,

the place that brings her comfort

the heart of the dream

where she is blessed.