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.

 

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

Artful season

Lights strung from trees

setting magic to the night

moonlit backdrop

perfection of a view.

Ghosts of seasons passed

float in the mind untethered

kites of whimsy

behind a smile in memory.

Tis the artful season all around,

the universe of mirth has come unbound

and reaching out into the soul

singing merrily as it goes.

By morning creatures lay deflated

yet my mood is still elated

’cause I’m in a space of light and love

and nothing more I need ask from above.

An image taken/created by  Alison Belsan of downtown Venice Florida. I asked permission to use and have yet to get a reply, so till I’m asked to take it down, I shall give credit where due for this magical image and share. Busy days working, a bit behind in reading and as you see, writing, but should have some time coming up soon to play catch up. Until then, stay joyful, find peace and sharing love and blessings with you all. ❤ Kim

Grace

We had partaken of the graces given

mysteries of life entwined between invisible thoughts,

curving round in circles to return

through ghost-like apparition I feel the words,

the senses gather speed and drift beneath the universe I see above

to find so far away

the heart of the lonely poet.

Where is he when he snips and clips

gathering pieces to put together in random

tandem side by each to make beauty

the works of masters hands reach far

and although the touch is only felt on the mind

the horses still move round and round

to end back where they began

waiting for the next ride to start,

young and old at heart smiles

wanting that one last thrill

before the lights turn down for the night

and the music stops before its begun

humming the tune in your head,

the long lost masters never forgotten

and to feel that within,

the words

the tunes

the music of a lifetime played

snapshots in sepia make me cry

for time escapes no one

and the horses only wait frozen

in shuttered buildings safe

until the next season finds us in line,

we remember and we know

these moments that keep seeping into our lives

as pleasant reminders of simple grace

and timeless memories of a child

who becomes a man

riding round on paper mache dreams

porcelain painted love

cantering on a sunlit beach

as he waits for the others to catch up

he lives to dream another day.

 

Moonbeam levels-Prince (lyrics)

“He said he’ll never keep diaries 2 learn from his mistakes
Instead he’ll just repeat all the good things that he’s done
Fight 4 perfect love until it’s perfect love he makes
When he’s happy then his battle will be won (It’s never 2 late) “

Ghosts dancing

We move between the words

shimmering images slipping into stories

visualizing ourselves whole again

as we feel each selection

as if it were us.

We are spun like silken threads

woven into each piece of humanity

we are no color discernable

simply apparitions of a form

filtering in as the whisper of the wind

that became one with this dance

feeling the pain of the life we had lost.

We are the dancing of ghosts

heartbeats thundering yet still unheard

it is the passage of time that haunts

the knowing that changes had become

a part of us,

as if it had caught us unaware while we stood

staring at the sun above

never knowing that as we wandered the sentences

we gained body

and could finally be seen once more

at least by the invisible crafter of stories

who must have heard

our midnight cries.

How we danced then in joy,

as we spun through rainbow-colored images

surrounded by kin of the world

and we sang the verse of a thousand worlds

as we moved into each moment,

free in our love of beauty and as we watched

the stars moved past like bullets in the night

as they tore a hole into the sky,

allowing the spirit to join,

to gather us as one,

finally giving us life once more.

Beautiful image by-Steven Fresquez -at Fine Art America

http://fineartamerica.com/profiles/steven-fresquez.html?tab=artwork

Spilt drops

We paint our lives with each drop spilled.

Sloshing over the edge with careless hands and words

falling to the paper and running into a river

of thoughts that try to pat dry

and create anew

to cover the blemish of the mistakes

the clumsy errors of a reckless hand

that knocks then rights

extra napkins to hold just in case

it spills again.

In  between the ink-blot designs

we fabricate our fantasies and dreams

and for but a moment live within

the things only we can see,

only we can carry that image of what is needed

and how it will be

for each soul creates its own destiny

for manifesting its way to completion

and blank slates waiting

to try again.

So we tip and spill a bit more

covering the first creation now that it is

and now make something bigger and better

like a vision board of coffee tastings

different flavors and consistencies

all we desire like children we stare

as we walk by the choices

and choose none for lack

of a rainy day resource.

Glass art made by dogs

Unexpected beauty comes in all forms. We slide the glass back and forth, moving from the cool world into the jungle beyond. The Florida humidity is tempered nicely with the cool breeze of the air condition and fans within and some days we partake in a jaunt around the towns, peering into beautiful galleries filled with art creations by various hands, leaving the girls home to hold down the couch until our return…or perhaps to be creative….

My husband found our gift, painted nicely on the sliding glass door yesterday, compliments of one of the girls (Apple or Chi), they didn’t leave any paw prints to sign their name to it, not that we would be able to tell the difference if they did, but here is a beautiful flamingo. I know they made it as a gift to my husband as years ago he used to have quite the collection, and one year we even decorated our tree in pink lights, with a light up lawn flamingo at the top and all sorts of “Florida” style ornaments….it was fun and our families thought us a bit daft but that’s okay. So now we have this beautiful flamingo artwork by the drool of one of the beasties….alas….Windex will have to clean up and leave no trace of the fine work, so I captured it on camera to share with the world what my little beasties like to do when we’re not looking. I’m glad they won’t be asking to go to college to further their career in mouth art, and perhaps an extra biscuit will be in store for them later today to work their tongues into a happy froth and perhaps we will get a peacock next, pretty fan feathers and droppings to accompany.

On a side note, also celebrating today, 2500 followers. I never would have believed after writing here for two and a half years, that so many would want to read my scribblings but I thank you. I won’t draw you a flamingo in drool, no fears, but I am doing my incredible happy dance. Trust me, you don’t want to see that either.

Peace and love my friends,

Kim

100_1782.jpg

In search of perfection….gone.

I listen in the haze of a cloud

Words that soothe and bring a soul strife,

You’re not here

But yet you remain

The magic of modern day life.

Can’t grasp my hands around

This moment that loses itself in time

Another place

Another language

And I am Young once more.

Am I getting older

Or am I merely locked In The

Is sad capsule of time

Buried below bricks waiting, 

for the perfect gawking moment

Of what once was

But is no longer.

I feel the tears fall like rain,

The pity party late for the grand parade

But I know you wouldn’t mind,

Got there

In my own good time

And I don’t need a light,

Too many years and good sense have run by

And I listen with feverish intention,

Watching the new you tube invention

And it’s grips me hard

Each word played out,

Hard,

Like a sledge hammer to the brain

This moment, 

which will never pass again,

And I am no one

And you, 

you are someone

Because you mattered,

And lines will be crossed,

Yet who counts the cost

Just the faceless,

The nameless,

Who stands and dare say it is just….

Whitewash on a wall

Easily covered

Nothing really, at all.

But to those who know,

Who count the score,

Just words in passing

Like the rain that falls 

and then effortlessly moves on

As is intended

Leaving the rest behind,

You are you,

And you were everything…..

Strange imagination

Of cows upon seas

sweet mermaid whisperings to gentle manatees

and birds that fly in wait

searching for what lies below the surface

of a patterned wave

illusions of strange imaginations.

Passing ships in search of a sale

large fish fly at the end of the line

slowly reeled in with gaping mouths

like children who see incredible things

and into the hold for a date on ice

moving beyond view on the waves bound for somewhere.

Why is it this cow,

or perhaps it is a manatee in costume

wanting to be above where the comical people live

a sea cow adrift on a crystal blue meadow

searching for the green of grass to sup,

as it dangles beneath out of reach

what an udder shame I would think

this bull who seems

like a fish out of water,

the things you will see

never cease to amaze

in this riverwalk land.

Image of a piece of artwork found at Bradenton River Walk…ignore the date as usual….I will remedy that soon, when I figure out how…..just a little strange imagination at work on a Sunday afternoon.

Through her fingers-(a short story)

“When all the stars are falling down Into the sea and on the ground, 

And angry voices carry on the wind, 

A beam of light will fill your head 

And you’ll remember what’s been said 

By all the good men this world’s ever known.” Melancholy Man-The Moody Blues

The song played quietly in the background as he looked around the dimly lit room, not sure why he was here, only knowing that the eerie purple “come in” sign in the window called for him to see what lay beyond the shuttered door. 

The old hunchbacked woman gazed into his blue eyes as she shuffled the deck, and reaching out her hand, gnarled and wrinkled like an old withered tree, felt her grasp his fingers with a surprising strength and looked up into her rheumy eyes. She had him hold the cards for just a moment and then pulled them back with a nod, as if he had enough time with her beloved treasure, and then she calmly began to sort them one by one into some kind of order that only she knew. He lifted his hand and ran his fingers through the brown shaggy locks of hair that had fallen into his eyes and then looked at each card she placed had before him.

 “You will return to me” she said with a throaty younger womans voice which startled him, and he watched as before his eyes, she began to change. Her hands that held the remaining cards became smooth and a ring on her finger he hadn’t noticed before began to glow a strange green. Her eyes became a beautiful shade of jade, the rheumy opaqueness now gone. Her hair lay in brown waves down her back and there was no longer even a touch of grey. He looked around the room which hadn’t changed at all and then back at the old, now young woman seated before him. She smiled and handed him an object, a mirror he realized, that was facedown. “I’ve waited as a hundred stars fell, like each tear as the years passed and I knew you’d come, I just didn’t know when” she said passively, then took his hand in hers. 

Confused, he looked down in sudden shock to see that his hand had now become a gnarled tree-like appendage and hers silky smooth like a young woman’s. He lifted the mirror with a trembling hand and gazed at his image, and as her laughter filled the space between them, he heard a scream from within his soul.

Just trying out a bit of short story fun today…..let me know what you think.