Upon a thought of movement

We are quicksand lives

mired and murky in their naivety

waiting for the next flash of something

anything to change the colors that spin

out of our control

like dancing fireflies which mesmerize

we fall silent in their beauty,

in their simplicity.

Jealous in fact I think,

as they flit about like monarchs

so seldom seen yet still revered,

we watch in fascination

enraptured by their beauty

longing to be light

buoyant like air.

Skies change like minds

suddenly

quickly as each day passes

and we move in our directions

when the light changes granting pardon

and we scurry across like rabbits watched

by waiting dogs,

never knowing when the texter may move forward

unaware at what transpires behind the wheel

though in the wrong

clueless to the life that moves

beyond the capsule

of airbags and roll bars,

a hapless victim of the new day.

We heed the call within

at times understanding the words unspoken,

to breathe and move

in an unhurried pace,

to reflect and embrace

to just be at one for a minute

while the stars pass by

unnoticed at times

when framed in the image

of a spring time moon.

Hidden signs

Waiting in his garden abode

watching the comings and goings

blessed in his peace

his eyes gaze forward

as the flowing jasmine crowns the mind.

Years pass by and he finds and gives

a calm to those who happen upon

the soul of the post and green flowing wall,

solitary is his game

being is his name.

Nestled in the jasmine

the scent lay heavy on the air

without a care we walk quietly by

more entranced with star like blooms

he says nothing as we move on

resting in his spot

a regular in this place.

 

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. ❤

We glitter like

Through words spoken
pieces of glitter like sparkling stars
can never litter
in their joyful beauty,
cascading shine beneath the sphere of lives
always seeing that which stands
before in goodness
we bask in the reflection of sincerity.
Life passes like a shooting glow
streaking past as we try so hard
to hold onto the tail of the comet,
reliving our youth
science fiction double features
we laughed and cried and sang along,
never knowing why but living alive
in that moment as we looked around
realizing we are all so different
yet not so very apart,
gathering the belongings of our upbringing
we moved like hobos for the exit
stage right or wrong
we knew something was waiting
just beyond the door,
another night
another show
always new and different
but the soul never changed
as the curtain fell,
somewhere there would be a light
over at that special place
where the good times never seemed to end.

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😊💜🙏🏻☮

Indigo

Mixed hues of indigo

pulling forth from the dampness,

the simmering clouds

of a gathering storm,

mind twists with winds of time

triumphant in the learnings

of letting go of needing it all.

Left the few behind like shooting stars,

too fast to keep up the speed

stopping beneath the swaying branches

of a thought that sought peace.

New colors and voices of the invisible

standing, waiting for the beginning once more,

taking the stage at intermission

to slip in and stand in the light

for just a quick second and take a bow

to those still seated,

not ready for the end of the act

but knowing there was always more to come.

Universe changes the known

into the new and unexplored moments

we find ourselves a part of like a grand surprise,

flowing into the life that has become

the flavor of the day

on indigo backdrop we spatter the words like glistening stars,

waiting for the sign

that we are heard.

I wish to thank you my friends for your patience lately while I’ve become quite caught up in the whirlwinds of life, friends in to visit for a week, work kicking up the schedule with more hours and trying to work in practice on the watercolors for the next class. A new color purchased, indigo, I am in love with its shades and what I can create with a sky. I miss you all, am playing a bit of catchup, but you are never far from my thoughts ❤ with love and blessings and as always, thanks for sticking around. Kim

What price?

What price is paid

by the dreamers who gaze

on the midnight sky in love

with the universe?

Through dreams below a moon

who laughs in white silence

peering through to catch in slumber

the mind lost in other worlds,

does it know of our visions?

What price is paid by the hopeful heart

who wishes as a star falls on a calm night,

the glittering spark that shoots past much too fast

yet caught in the memory with a smile?

I know of no value worth pennies or millions

that compare with the view of a night sky,

below in a forest or beside the gentle waves

inspiration shimmers like a belief in more,

like the truth that we are one with it all.