Gently we go

Into the memory bank to make a withdrawal,

gently we go into our days remembering

as an image comes to mind,

when things are broken we need to gather

the proper tools of love to fix the pieces.

Holding carefully we examine the thought,

swept through this waking dream we conjure

the invisible lines that separate us from now to then,

retracing the steps through magical realms

and revisiting the sacred spaces of our youth.

We affix the pieces together like a puzzle,

knowing just where to place each one

to complete the image just so,

we smile in our perfect innocence

and turn the page to find

the next adventure.

Why this image brought me forth

from a mid morning daydream of bears and special places,

of doing the best to mend,

and as my finger traces I go back to the days

of reading such sheer magic,

a gift from someone,

but pencil images in hard covered volumes,

fill a mind with wonder

at the simple things

that gave a smile.

Our pup Apple was a bit gimpy yesterday and although we made it through our morning walk this morning, she is having her moments of limping and quite clingy, following me everywhere through the house. I remembered this picture and pulled it up on-line, how I wish I had a magical wand to make her leg return back to her normal marching gait, but for now she will sit beside me in slumber, resting against me as she has her doggie dreams where she chases the varmints like a young girl again. Peace and a lovely Tuesday my friends.

As good as spring

I adore this artwork and as I watch the trees around me begin blossoming as I’m on our morning walk, this reminded me of the simple beauty that can always be found if we only look. Great quote too, I have alot of friends as lovely as the Spring, truly blessed. Please leave any comments on the original post.

Blog de companie

“When spring came, even the false spring, there were no problems except where to be happiest. The only thing that could spoil a day was people and if you could keep from making engagements, each day had no limits. People were always the limiters of happiness except for the very few that were as good as spring itself.”
Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast

 

spring-delight

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Art – Spring Delight by Vladimir Kush.

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Take two

Words swirl bitter

with hints of underlying unforgiveness

for what is will be

as you say there was never another way,

I caution you of the change stirring

like a hurricane brewing on the coast

it will arrive before you expect

for wearing excuses and blinders

you will drown in your own belief

that you cling to like a raft

as it sinks and drags you under.

I see in your eyes you know this truth,

and I am not the one to save you

for I can only ask with no judgement

take heed with these things which you say,

for you will be on that island alone

stranded by your own will

as you ask for favor

yet turn blindly away when offered,

change is coming and it may be slow

but it will arrive

and I will feel sorry for the child within you

that says over again that it’s always been this way,

and I will say one last time

you,

and only you

can change your way.

Thoughts that have been on my mind since last night, a conversation with a gentleman at work, who had words with one of my co-workers. She was gone when I was shutting down ten minutes before the shift end, and she is always there and often stays after the shift to “chat.I do not know why she left so early, I could not ask her. But he made sure as he tried to cover his own behind by letting me know his words he had used and his thoughts on things that had transpired, of which I was not around nor aware of.  I calmly and as nicely as I could, gave him my view on only what he had said to me, not what was said between them (as I still do not know the whole story). I stood up for what I believed in, said the words carefully and with no malice-watched while he back pedaled and explained weakly that when he grew up, that wasn’t such a big deal, it was how he was raised. I only said, “the word you used is Unacceptable and I take offense at it too, only you can change you.” I don’t do well with politics, and I am also professional enough to know that some things should not be spoken about at work or ever about others. I will always defend when the “race” card is brought forth in a “not nice” way, and it may not be much, but for me, it’s a start of a long road that lately seems to be getting longer by the day. I apologize for this rant but it was something I needed to get off of my chest. I will not stand by and hear that word without saying something. It’s a tough haul, being at work and being civil when you just want to shake some sense into someone.

One at a time

I counted them all,

slowly savoring the moment in my fear

of not getting to the end,

of leaving one forgotten behind.

This is what had to be done,

seeing the images that left my thoughts jumbled

like graffiti images on walls

wondering whose hand did create,

what pain was felt when the slashes erupted

in spray painted skylines of wonder,

whose soul could feel this deeply

and were they just another number I counted

on infinite hands.

Could I be as he or she,

living in this bottle contained of joy and peace,

carefully sprinkled like stars on the heavens

and dusting the earth with an Oz-like magic,

could I invoke that smile through tears,

when hope seemed like the midnight sky

letting no light in through steeled clouds,

I still counted them all for I could see

behind the curtain there lay

another like me,

and another and like Pi

going on and forward forever without end,

could I too grasp the immense constellation

of this thing we know as love

and acceptance,

and the glow of warmth filled as I asked

and I knew the sensation of falling into it all,

lost in this pillow of a thousand feathers

and buoyed by the collective

of the universe together

holding hands to catch me as I fell.

When there are no words to describe

the flight of a million blackbirds in the sky,

dotting the blue with such beauty

turning the sun into a speckled yellow robins egg,

cracking the sky open as they dive and soar

I stand in awe some days

by these things I’ve seen

and these feelings that drift through,

I count them all,

for they are all so important

to my heart,

to remember

for when I no longer can

I hope to know once upon a time perhaps I had.

 

not today

An amazing piece of work by Michael over at the Poetry Channel. Please leave any comments on his page, stay awhile and visit, he’s on fire lately with great pieces and gives great food for thought. (Not that he isn’t always amazing that is)

The Poetry Channel

​Lives
are memories
in reverse
linearly confined
by the rules
and structures
some hard and terse
and I am ill-defined
a-linear
constructed more
the way thoughts
come to my mind
where memories
and dreams commingle
jig-sawed and juxtaposed
pieces of both
floating freely
for me to assemble
I suppose
but life
is having
none of those
not today.
~
M. Zane McClellan
~
Copyright © 2017
All rights reserved

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Watercolor world

Dripping from the palette

this watercolor world slowly blending

into colors of the emotion

coming together in beautiful unison,

an artists touch of thoughts

expressed on parchment weathered,

her life unfolded through her memory

captured and hung

a moment of her life

movement bleeding from pigment.

Changes in hues of yellows to blues

roots grown in deep so strong

yet the sense of floating amidst the falling

and being a part of the view

as the wetness dries becoming

a dash of echoes broken yet together still,

and how I longed to be the hand

that held the portal to create

the majestic find of a universal truth.

Beautiful art: Anna Armona Watercolor Painting

Treasured

What is it there beneath the lid,

creaking wood of memories crypt

remembered scent and sound of days

so far gone by,

useless bric-a-brac hovering

on the edge of a thought

almost forgotten,

but not quite yet.

Are there stories in there lurking beneath dust,

has it been ages since the light has seen

these images of yellowed tattered remnants

of broken hearts and letters from loved ones

now gone into the ethereal skies

waiting without another chance to be,

or to whisper a final goodbye.

Are there fragile pieces wrapped in silk,

tucked in gently lest they break from handling,

a feather from somewhere on travels afar

or rocks in shades of mysterious caves,

reds and grays,

stacked upon books saved for rainy days,

what treasure is there

buried in your mind,

words left to find

to write,

to live a life of their own

to be shared,

to be gathered and loved.

In soft smiles

I pluck them out one by one

petals falling to the ground

still beautiful but too far gone

one by one I lift each petal,

softly smiling as I smell their scent.

I gather the nicest of the petals in my hands,

carry them through the room to the half opened door,

the steam of the shower greets me

along with “is that you”?

and then laughingly he says,

“I’m glad you’re not a robber.”

Because he’s armed with nothing

except drops of water, a towel and a smile.

I toss the petals at his feet

decorating the bath mat with loveliness,

as he looks at me a bit bemused

but what’s a girl to do

when a hand full of beauty

is all that now remains of these stemmed wonders,

he laughs softly and I smile,

I gather them up as he stands and watches,

and the humid air hangs

like the sound of our day,

little things to make him smile,

I had no rose petals,

but the tired tulips will do,

just for you ❤

He (super hubby) told me to buy some new flowers while I was out shopping and when I returned and began pulling out the dying tulips out of the vase that had only lasted a few days, they fell apart all over the counter. I gathered the petals up and when he was coming out of the shower, scattered them at his feet with a chuckle. I think he enjoyed my fun humor, and the new flowers have now taken over in the vase. Hope they last a while longer, much cheaper too. Have fun my friends, smile, laugh and love. K

Dog Years

How I love dogs, and this is so heartbreakingly beautiful, please leave any comments on Kens blog, 🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾

rivrvlogr

Dog Years.jpg

Dog Years

White paws tread a path that only she can see
Dreams of days when rabbits ran at first sight
When she could hear a rabbit before seeing it
When she could hear a rabbit
Or see it

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