Last man standing

We became those,

the last standing remnant of yesterday,

dinosaurs of our existence,

caught between a song and today

for there was nothing else

we could fathom.

We were born this way

so the beauty of each song had to say,

voices without faces

it just was the way it was

and we accepted it that way,

For there was no depth,

no stress,

nothing that got caught up in the way,

and we could sleep at night knowing

we were young

unique,

the last man standing

like the birches in the meadows,

peeling from the outside in,

the scent deep on the air,

we were just that

simplistic like a memory,

got caught in the way.

I sit here today,

the jasmine heavy on the air

like thoughts on the mind,

and tomorrow is yet another day

and it will be what it will be,

and somewhere within,

beneath the cuticle that’s torn,

through each bit of ache

we know it will regain

its strength again.

I know not always the right things to say,

I only can feel what flows like a stream-

slipping past the silent trees that watch

like the nightman waiting for drama,

nothing wicked this way comes

except that which we invite with open doors,

and closed minds,

time drifts down as the night has descended

and a sad country song plays on the disc,

why not me?

and I wonder,

why not?

What we know

John told me ages ago,

like an old time story a memory,

you’ve got to hear this,

means so much,

and I hear the voices now in my ears,

thinking back to that moment

years ago,

bringing it all back on this night

as the wind blows from a different vantage point

a bad world, a mad world

and the wind keeps blowing

the jasmine scent

so unlike bombs in the air

eons away

from what I am surrounded by

and so many changes I cannot quite comprehend.

As he falls, I can only sense

the repeat performance

from so very long ago,

the story of the loss of a man

just like us but not just like us

and I watched his face as he watched mine

above the table each night as he dined

amongst the family that fell

apart one by one

year by year

becoming a story in of itself

of no revelevance

except for those who lived

beneath his stoic gaze.

Did you know I hated him?

For what he couldn’t hold together

and did you know

some days

I hate him still,

although not such a strong hate,

just a mere disinterest at times,

because he represents

something beyond my circle of thought,

like a passing gaze at an accident

that couldn’t help but to happen

but I know he doesn’t condemn,

so not his style,

cause I can listen to my voices,

my Elouise and my Sheldons

who are mired at times where I reside,

and I know we keep company

with this kind soul who could never judge,

after all,

we do enough of that ourselves.

When I ask,

those questions that swirl when I anger,

when patience just doesn’t find me

in it’s eager way,

and the swearing mind has it’s way,

although never leaving the lips,

just the mind, mind you,

it lends itself to its own stories,

tells its own tales…

quite good at that by the way,

but I can still see in my little girl mind,

a man on an ass,

a donkey if one would expect correctness,

who plodded on,

knowing,

expecting,

enduring,

and I wonder why I can’t be

as strong

as humble

as loving

as gentle

and I know because he tells me,

with time it comes,

the acceptance of what is to come

to one

to all

and I’m okay then,

and I can close my mind off

and shut off the noise

and just cry in my silence

for a man who died

like a hundred thousand others

before I became a heartbeat

and I know I am blessed

for he tells me

as no one else

could ever do.

This is his image I knew

and know to this day,

while ghosts haunt me

I still can’t help but to remember

for it was drilled like an endless test,

what we try to escape

will always circle round

to find us in our weakness

and sometimes playing possum

is better than answering the questions

told with angry eyes,

why can’t you be?

why can’t you just tow the line.

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the image that watched me eat, sleep, live….tucked away for years after the fact….I needed no reminders for he dwelled deep within….I still need no reminders, better to leave me to worship in my own way as I chose. One chokes when force fed….I know a few will understand. ❤

Coasting

Not East or West
Ghosts of the light
midnight sweetness like the lost thought
caught in a lyric
from a sad girls eyes
captured on the disc
moving round in time machines,
some coast of a memory
washed away.
Playing the games
as darkness keeps falling like
rain that forgot to come,
so we wait
soaking in the warmth remembering
yesterdays that soothe like a compress
and tired eyes close
as the skin on tile cools
like ice
still melting one drop at a time.
She is the poet of a place foreign to my senses,
captured in photographs
as she sings to me
the lullabyes that calm
songs of video games and blue jeans
stirring the ghosts
spoon by spoon
kitchen implements that create
like brush and word
and how for just a moment I knew I could be her
except for the fear
that always gets in the way
of the simplistic recipes
on how to build
the perfect creation.
Listening to Lana Del Rey (Video Games, West Coast and Blue Jeans) letting the mind decompress….lost in thougt as this girl is wont to do….no apologies….just letting it go….being. Youtube the three songs…..give a listen and drift into the sultry voice….quiet bliss.

Layered lives

One upon one upon one
Varying hues to highlight
the wild side that lies somewhere in between
unseen in itself
but reflected when mixed
in just the right ways.
We move through days like tigers in fields,
searching for the next quarry,
knowing not what may lay in wait
to hinder the ease of the everyday,
subtle shades of passing days,
beneath the fullest moon of pinkish hues
we wait for the darkness to hide,
to become one wih the part we know so well,
to unite and be whole in and of our soul.
Still the trees will rise up to mark the passing sun,
the dial set to what will become,
ticking away like these thoughts that move
in their precision we are caught up
in the watching of what is,
knowing what will be as we sit idly by,
lost in the reverie of everything and nothing,
trapped in the cages built by the same hands that prison
we search blindly for keys
that sit just out of reach
fooled by the moon and her beauteous glow,
caught up still in what we know,
and what we choose to disregard.
So we climb higher looking still
and seeing the vastness of what lay before,
we wonder how to fly,
yet never daring to attempt to try,
fearful from each day that led us here,
we sit and watch
and then we gaze some more
baffled by this life,
never seeing the true reflection
from the layers we’ve added
and gathered
and buried
and what was is now foreign and new
confusing us by the coating
of spots instead of stripes,
torn apart by the clever
we gaze up above
wondering what
exactly
has happened.
Thoughts on a very long day, the full moon, the writings from others who touch us just so, and the hope with each day that comes, will bring the peace of answers we seek. All good my friends, tired and awaiting the moon filled sky….perhaps to tell me why? Why what? you may ask? With a smile she says, darned if I know😊💜🙏🏻☮

Silver lined

Days filled to overflowing

ocean water blue-green cascading around my legs

cool wetness soothing the spirit

just being at one.

Waiting in line noticing the color

pastries lined on silver trays

as the old man ahead decides

wearily leaning on the worn cane

hands thick with worn veins

confusion in his lost blue eyes

she orders for his decision cannot be made

in a timely pace she moves him aside

cast off like a sinking ship

his eyes look down as he shuffles away.

I wonder then, staring at the hues of bread,

when was it last that he felt the ocean

caress his weary soul,

and does he dream of silver lined clouds

his youth so far away

and I know I too shall someday pass into the space

where he resides in slow motion,

and I exit through glass to see the gathering clouds,

gently waiting in a blue sky,

and I know there must be a silver lined thought

waiting there for me to reach

to grasp it firm and hang on,

to fly in the atmosphere of the young,

to remember the importance

before it fades to grey.

I’ve been practicing my artwork again and a friend requested to see a bit of what I’ve been dabbling in. The clouds are with my new indigo waterpaint and the collection below if a little of what we’ve been working on in class……and miles to go before I am any good, but damn, so glad I am blessed to see the colors, not only in the paints but in this life. Spent the morning in the ocean, walking for an hour with hubby and collecting more sharks teeth and “just being”, it had been far too long and the ocean was calm and I am in a good space. Peace and love, K

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Smooth

We stir the sediment

raising the fragments to the surface

under sunlit horizons trickling down

resting below the edge

on the bottom of the mind.

Clarity moves in while we linger

lost in idle conversation the clearing begins

smooth rippled awareness changes

the way we see through

the darkness.

Silken flow of thought

focused and secure in its richness

golden waves make the sweetest of memories

as the clutter moves out of view

and the goodness rises to greet

the open heart.

Seeing through the surface to forever

aware of each breath and emotion,

slumbering thoughts awakened

something so easy

when finally grasped like water falling through

cleansing the palette of a parched soul.

Lit

Black ceiling hangs low

red orange yellow licking tongues

snapping dragons lashing out

lit within moving outward

consuming appetite merely whetted

parched dried lands fuel the beast.

Air filled with the rage of sound

crackling popping snapping creature

man no match for the fury.

We’ve had a spate of brush fires here lately, one less than a mile away although we were safe in our neighborhood, many days you see the smoke hanging like a haze on the air, pushed by the ocean breezes and last night I woke to the slight scent on the air. Dreaming of fire inspiration for this piece. Photo found on the internet.

Goodness

Lost in the grace of soft white

petals soft like butter fill the hand

heavenly scent of delight

a gift of one from the mystery.

Gardenia bloom hidden behind

glimpse of white brought forward to see

like a shy child awkward in her beauty

unsure in a wash of green.

First borne of the new addition

her siblings wait until their time

beneath a spring sun they will come forth

and share their gift to eyes and a scent

to carry on soft winds on balmy nights

slipping in quietly through the window to find

the dream swept souls beyond the wall.

This is our mystery gardenia….not sure why they call it a mystery but it did give one bloom yesterday that smells so heavenly. I couldn’t help but to share. We planted it beneath the bedroom window so as it grows taller, it will find us in our sleep, kissing us perhaps with sweetest scented dreams. There are other buds so more or on the way, a happy thing indeed.

Peace floating

Thoughts lay in tiny bubbles

color of worlds imagined deep within

meditate the way into the dreams

set free the dark in the silence of a fast beating heart.

Latent ideas waiting to be tapped

with a gentle push they fly higher

catching the wind and disappearing into the thinness,

she softly whispers her wish into the night.

Hours pass in a solitude

not quite confined yet trapped momentarily by images

yesterday and the fast paced beat of the fear

to consume or expel into the light

there is only one way to go.

She wears the scars of a thousand battles

invisible to the eye of those who peer within

the balm of time is the salve to heal

and the holes will close

leaving only a faint remnant behind,

of a day in the life better left forgotten

like dust motes scattered

and soundless they blow

into the eternity of space and energy,

watching the specks disappear

and tucking away the memory

of release.

Beyond the seas

Blue skies quietly linger

in the light of a dying sun,

nestled in for the evening

we are swept away on tranquil seas.

Shades and hues of life

linger in the mind sweet memories

captured within for future dreams

washing away the cares of the day.

We watch the masterpieces of the touch

of a universe that gives to all

as our love moves deeper as days pass

rippled on tides of coming Spring,

we slip into dreams wondering

what each tomorrow brings

yet sit content in the now

and the gift of a watercolor image

tucked into the keep

of the heart.

My dreams lie within and beyond the sea,

changing day by day

I dive in a little deeper,

letting it all carry me away

knowing the horizon

is still just a heartbeat in time,

there beyond my gaze and found

by my lingering touch on the water,

I drift on.