Rolled

I remember the scent of hay

growing in fields below a setting sun,

waiting

for that moment when ready,

ripe,

ripped,

cut,

severed and laying beneath the sun

drying out,

curling into a remnant of self.

Words pass through days

reaching in deep

pulling out the moisture

the life blood

the force that gave life

and with a last gasp

rolled into mounds

to serve purpose

in new ways under a winter sun,

brittle and cold

yet ready.

Rough and edged with pieces of yesterday

cut down from the beauty of the growth

fodder for life

still of use

sustenance for the hooved beast,

food for the circle

the chain that moves round,

I should be happy to be

when so many lands lay barren.

For I am a part of all,

it is I

and I am stacked and in circles

waiting for the next move.

Work in color

He opens his box of shapes and sizes
No surprises
colors fleeing on windswept clouds
astounded he stares
for each time he opens his box of things
he feels the joy it brings.
He pries back the board so tenderly
afraid for the day
they don’t come out to play
but they know him well,
his favorite shades that bring a light to each day,
playing their role
they soar like birds on ocean breezes
above him, his box releases
without further adeiu
for me and you.
He has to create
these pastel whimsied worlds
for it is his nature
and he knows no other way,
a magician of life he gives away
a piece of himself each day
from the bottomless well he says feels often dry
so his tears he cries
never knowing that each drop that falls
fills that magic box he carries,
he openly shares
for in beauty and love he knows will grow
as the color moves outward
touching each soul
his work in color is never done,
each day has just begun
and the supply paints the world
glistening drops of beauty
filling voids where broken ugliness hides
keeping him alive.

Delicate

Our lives-

pickup stick games

from youth to death

sliding out so carefully

each thought from beneath the balance,

never knowing if one jolt,

one movement affects the next thought

and so on

as we pull each one with carefulness and agility,

observing what is to come next

and then beyond

weighing our choices

as we look from each angle

making our decision

so thoughtfully.

How did they become this jumble,

for this is how the game is played

they are not Lincoln logs waiting to be built,

a pile of shapes and varying sizes,

these slim fragments of color are all the same

as we are all the same

we try in earnest fashion to win each game,

sometimes succeeding

sometimes moving and tipping the scales

this way or the other,

yet we keep going as if there is no other way.

Until the last stick is picked up

we pay close attention to each detail,

if we do this, what may happen?

Not until the game is over,

do we finally realize it was simply a game after all,

it became more fun when we took the risk

and chanced failure to do so,

there was always a do over until there wasn’t.

But if each stick were a person in our lives,

and we kept adding instead of removing

oh what a beautiful shrine we could build,

higher and higher into the sky

we would win every time,

everyone would have a chance or say

and we could live in balance

and harmony

until the end of our days.

 

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.

fullsizeoutput_472.jpeg

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:

fullsizeoutput_473.jpeg

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.