On beeing

You never saw

me,

the little solitary beeing

moving about

filling in the cracks and holes

as I sat beneath the summer sun

reaching for the sweetness in my mind

finding the calm

packing it all in tight like an amber suitcase

overflowing as layer upon layer

it rose higher

overflowing in the richness that is life.

You couldn’t see me there,

moving fast although almost stationary,

hovering about the dreams and colors

gathered from experience one by one

friends and memories

each packed away for savoring when darkness fell,

to sustain and revive the thoughts once more

dripping in their perfection like yellow diamonds

sparkling in themselves like jewels,

so precious and a part of this life

sweet and filled with beeing.

I will build and hover about it all

learning and seeing

laughing and fluttering about

bumbling often too but that’s okay

’cause when you’re just going about

the day to day

beeing all you dream,

not even sugar can compete

with the drops of gold

of a heart that holds

it all to share

one bloom of thought at a time.

A bit of whimsy, this pretty little cake made me smile and thought I’d spin some words to hopefully make you feel lighter and smile too.

A scents of peace

Lavender soothes the mind in night

candles flicker their beauteous light,

oil to calm the troubled skin

another day to move through again.

Where peace comes calling, the stars collide

and bringing dust in dreamtime I fly

through midnight grace and images deep

restless and warm I search for sleep.

I hear a song from a passing car

and the lyric soothes as it drifts so far,

I saw the faces from yesterday

in nights sleeping memories they stay.

Like chapters from a story of fear

I feel the menace of the ones I held dear

and running I stop and choose to fight

perhaps I’ll win tonight.

He looks in my eyes with the barrel raised

and winks just once then walks away

the moment passes and I finally breathe

the story of mind does often weave,

the scents of life bring me back to now

and eyes wide open I’m alive somehow

for he knew that I had been within the peace

and with his exit, I’ve been released.

Every night this week I’ve been having some very strange dreams. Last night was like a massacre at the place I formerly worked at, and as I knew something was going to happen somehow, I remembered the only place to hide, yet he watched as I entered and as I rushed to lock the other door, through the window he smiled at me as he raised the gun, I stood my ground and he winked and turned and walked the other way. I was also barefoot and trying to tiptoe carefully through the glass with a young woman I didn’t know who followed me. Strange scary stuff and not sure what it was all about, but it’s been a long time since I’ve had such vivid dreams. Time to release more essential oils into the air for calm before sleep I think. Enjoying them none the less and trying to garner sense from it at the same time 🙂 peace and sweet dreams tonight I pray. K

Effervescence

We slide along gently,
playfully dancing on the lightness of life
while bouyed by bubbles of thought,
slipping and sliding off of one and each other,
merrily we move
water and oil mixing
together yet always drifting
lifting off the bottom of consciousness
we rise.
Colors weaving in and out of ether
happy gasses glistening in our perfectness of self
and propelling us through the infinite
we emerge,
effervescent and humbled at our gravity.
Lightly descending once more
we fall back into the pot of universal brew,
untapped –
we wait patiently for the moment
when freed from our confines
by the rub to shine
and fervent wishes,
we explode across this life
happy in each moment,
blessed indeed
by the beauty of all we cover
with laughter and light
we drift on like magnificent blue balloons
from cloud to cloud
on the air of humanity.

In search of perfection

I’ve got my lime

I’ve got my mint

I left the last of the ice in it,

I found the rum

stole the hummingbird food too,

went round the world (on-line of course)

in search of the perfect mojito.

I love the green that swims in it

I love the drops from the cold as it sits,

To pluck and chop and stir so sweetly

but it always seems to go down too quick

I’ve got more limes

more than enough time

the sweetest man who whips it up

service with a smile

I think I may just have to sit with it awhile,

savor the flavor beneath the winter sun

and pretend like I’ve just begun,

hey bartender, I’ll take one more

as the Mexican perky music plays

I realize these my friends, are perfect days.

Hubby and I grabbed some mint at the farmers market and some limes, whipped up some sweet syrup and relaxed poolside sipping, then hubby found a new recipe, the best one yet and mixed more up the next day. He’s had the flamingo stir stick for over 25 years, must have known it was a harbinger of things to come, moving to Florida and yummy drinks poolside. Life is good indeed. Ribs on tap for dinner tonight and looking forward to that.

Dog poop and yummy food

So our neighbor inquired if we had been, how shall I say it, putting dog poop bags into his garbage can. I stifled a laugh and of course said Nope, wasn’t us. Our neighbor doesn’t use his garbage can, he makes one tiny bag per week that sits on his lawn, soaked by his sprinkler system and I suppose the garbage men get to pick up wet and drippy but “clean garbage” when all is said and done. Well, apparently he had just looked into his can for the first time in forever and found a dog poop bag with a gift within. He was a mite upset about the whole ordeal, and it’s not like he’s an old cranky codger or anything, in his early sixties at best. Now I pick up our dogs gifts that they bestow daily like clockwork, tie it tight and slap it on my back in the pack I carry. I take it home where I have a metal can specifically for these gifts. So flash forward a day and he asks my husband again if he’s seen anyone in his yard depositing Fifi’s little gifts into his trash can. Of course we have not, and once again, no it isn’t us. I figure he must have upset someone in the neighborhood, how I do not know but we hope he puts up a camera and catches the suspect soon. He is not a dog owner or he would obviously be making more garbage per week, I should know, our two are never-ending machines at making gifts. I am still chuckling about it and at least someones picking up their dog poop besides us.

On another note, but a much nicer one, hubby made a scrumptious breakfast today and I thought I’d take a pic and share. My girl Lady G had a post the other day asking about what people are cooking up these days and today we were blessed to partake in this:

Now that there is cinnamon apple bread french toast with real New York maple syrup with chicken breakfast sausage to compliment. See, and you thought this whole piece would be about dog poop, didn’t you? So what’s happening in your neighborhood that’s given you a laugh lately or what’s cooking good-looking? Please share, the world needs more chuckles and growling stomachs.

Gold

Trinkets and tidbits pressed together

reminiscent of a bus with one too many passengers

jostling with each step, each bump rocking

back and forth heaped yet trying to remain

separate in space.

Boxes heaped with rusted bolts and nuts

and the odd occasional I don’t know what

forced like sardines as I search

for the elusive gold.

I know not the name of what I seek,

only knowing when I see it I shall know

that this is the one I had waited for

and I move forward in the crush

glancing here and there

while lost in towering piles of toys and trash

I turn the corner into the fresh breeze of beyond

knowing that today is not the day

to unearth the prize

of a flea market surprise.

Yesterday my husband and I journeyed to Bradenton to visit this big red barn flea market, not in search of fleas, please….I needed a piece of wood or something for my watercolor class that would fit my lap and not be hurt by water, paint, etc….I love the antique areas but there was one crushed area that was filled with to say it politely, junk. Boxes and boxes of metal pieces and bolts, chains, etc….packed so tightly you trip over these remnants from what looks like World War one. I did not find what I was looking for so went to Walmart where I happened to score the last purple ridged cutting board that should suit nicely. Not a flea market find but for 7.50$, I can always use it to cut veggies on if it doesn’t work out for the art thing. this image is not the flea market I attended, this one looks cool (trenton punk rock flea market) or something like that 🙂 Peace and happy shopping folks.

 

With the flow

 

We ripple our thoughts on purpose,

watching them move up and down

coming together for but a moment

then watch as they slip away once more.

We wonder where they move to,

what lies in their depths we can no longer see,

feeling them brush by, leaving just a hint

of their former selves

then dissipating into nothing.

I dream in colors some days

as the rain falls beyond the glass

slippery pearls dripping down one by one

and I lie and watch the slow motion of the fan

circulating on its journey

moving the invisible air around

cooling my body with its quiet touch.

So many things to do,

a million words slipping here and there,

sometimes falling onto stone

permanent marker time cannot erase,

for I leave them behind

like stepping-stones for those to come

to wonder whose hand it was

that etched the primitive images

and what did they mean

back in the day

before their time began.

Thank You, Lord, for the Rain

Thirty Springs of Winter The winds swept in as we sat under the pines and listened to the green ocean high above, swaying, roaring, twirling our hair and the heads of the Ponderosas into one giant …

Source: Thank You, Lord, for the Rain

A gorgeous visit filled with beautiful heart-loved descriptive prose. Please comment on the original piece. Wow, enjoy with abandon my friends.

Dog days

We move
caught between movement of people
and then back again
to the quiet that lives here,
in this place,
where we know what is
and is not,
the faces becoming familiar
and then bags move between doors
and cars
and the quiet echo of empty rooms,
we wonder
and we walk there and smell the remnants
of those we know, wondering
where have they gone?
Sleep comes then,
no longer a need to protect
with the vim and vigor,
we move back into what we know,
the comings and goings-
our everyday people in and out with regulartity,
treats given in abundance
for they know we are suddenly lacking
the newest charges departed,
the faces we remember
our job on the back-burner,
we grow weary and sleep
as you lay by our side
back into the comfort
familiarity suits when needed.
Reminders of endings
as they watch us lovingly,
we are growing older
and you are not aware,
we watch as you grow older too,
napping and turning a bit grey
though you gaze and see still the bits of youth,
we are content in our beings,
moving through the rooms searching for friends
who left their scent in the remnants,
as you have left your mark,
we sleep on content
knowing
this is where the tides sent us to be,
floating on the bliss,
contently wrapped in the fabric
of the lives of of us.

Our friends from back in New York left today, the dogs a bit off-kilter not needing to “protect” the newest members of the pack, I found this pic on the web and this looks so like our girl Chi. Apple is tired, slowing down some days it seems, and I chronicle the lives for they are woven into the fabric that is me, pet owners will understand the inner workings of the mind of a dog owner…or perhaps cat lover too. Some days it makes me sad, getting older, life moving on, but life none the less….some day I too shall be amongst the glimmering stars, but till then, you will hear my words, and I hope, hug your loved ones and know how truly you and I are blessed. and because I know he is watching, hugs from Apple and Chi to Dad….i think your birthday is coming soon…ha! Watch your mail sir! woof!

Barest thought

In the quiet of a morning caught

the spellbinding sight of a rising sun

caught whispering to the soul

caressing the mind with thoughts of a day to come.

Eyes find their way through dream states,

memories of lingering images like wallpaper

strung up on the walls to see

moving through the museum of surreal things

we touch the fabric of that which we cannot name.

Resting on the tip of tongue

we hesitate perhaps a moment too long,

and watching as it fades from sight

the mirage ghost-like and cherished

then silently let go.

Who are we in these moments,

caught between wake and sleep

in Neverland worlds of beauty we wander

thoughts tracing words on invisible pads

and indigo ink mark our passage

lest we forget where we had been

on our return to those foreign lands,

as the clouded gate creaks with age

we gentle push forward and enter

the place where thoughts sit waiting

remembered once more.