Love is Art is War

It was true
only partly true
truth used to
bludgeon
soulish art
blue
black
and blood red

a gift offered
given free
not subordinate
no obligation
joyous debt of love
and gratefulness
gentle stroke
of affection

parlayed by
double edged
word sword
cruelly
crippling

mangled limb
will it tame
resistance
heal
take up the tools
of change
again?

Seth Godin's "Linchpin" has wormed it's way into some of my dark corners; casting soft ambient light on what seemed like sharp edgy shadows. This poem came out like a soft boiled egg from a surprised hen's backside.

Keep Breathing

Rock hard

it lays imprinted

a cold indention

imprisoning

the naked skeleton

of what used to be

wrapped in

soft warm sand

hardened now

to enfold

only a fossil

lonely bones 

laying

still and quiet

where once

the breath of love

etched life

stirring the soft clay

of their hearts

to give

Little Red Riding Hood

Galloping
through my night
it took a
long panting dream
to finally catch a corner
of her red cape

exhausted
relieved
finally making contact
the full red hood
took its time
to slip back
exposing
not a wolf
but a papery
crone
gumming
her lips in
a wide
trick
of a smile

I woke up from a long dream of chasing Red Riding Hood last week. She gave me quite a run. I was gasping and giggling nervously when I came to. I would include it at HCB, but don't know how. :) So, I'm playing on the sidelines. Reading the other poems about a character in a book has been fun.

Colors of Promise

Rainbows have magnetic appeal and attraction for me.

There are traditional rainbows of the arched variety. Sometimes doubled. They range from thin to thick, close up or far away. Some are more vibrant than others. There are sundog patches in the sky. Moon rings around the moon and lunar rainbows.

Lunar rainbows are quite rare - I have seen only one. It was the time between dusk and nightfall. I didn't know its name, but it entranced me. I tried to get people's attention to see this unusual, improbable and seemingly impossible occurrence, but few came. A stranger and I stood for a long while in silent appreciation and awe. Wonder knitted our hearts together without words. We both knew we were witnessing splendor.

I have experienced rainbows that have been gifts, sent to speak comfort, give courage, help me cope, promise hope, reassure me of protection and assure me of love.

I have driven through them in a car, had them wrap up our house and follow our ferry's wake on the Puget Sound.

Once I had an extraordinary experience of driving many miles with the fat foot of a rainbow directly outside my car window, keeping fear from crawling in the door.

Sometimes I've seen a rainbow and absolutely known it was for someone else. I passed it on.

There have been many times when I've sensed there was a rainbow close by, but I couldn't manage to see it. It still mattered.

Sometimes, I shyly ask for them, like inviting a caress. Once, I asked and didn't get a real rainbow but immediately heard "Rainbow Connection" on my shuffling ipod; He chuckled, I had to laugh.

Do you have a rainbow story. Tell me, share it.......... please?  

Music For Us Commoners

Yesterday, Maureen Doallas posted a video of an aria of La Traviata being sung at the market in Valencia. The produce venders / singers come out one at a time from behind vegetables and fruit, in their aprons, to mingle with the puzzled crowd. The atmosphere slowly becomes attuned with the offering. Wine is handed out; hands touching hands. By the end people are wiping tears, smiling and singing along with the musical manna falling around them.

One of my favorite words (Italian) is lagniappe; a beneficient kind of extra, an extra we weren't expecting but immensely glad to have.

I don't have to crane my neck or get my knickers in a knot to have lagniappe. I don't have to race or shove anyone to have it. I don't have to worry when the next time is. I can't buy it. It doesn't store up or save. I only have to be here. Or there. It will find me.

It is always a surprise, generously provided by the loving hand of the Artist who created artists who create art.

To enjoy it is simply to notice. I wonder if noticing is one of the deepest and most profound forms of worship.

Go Ahead, Push In

Chris Brogan is a master blogger and prolific twitter user with a huge following. One of the big boys in social media. I found one of his tweets fascinating on twitter the other day, it said: 

Excited to be at #smcdallas tonight. Make sure you say hi. Don't say, "but you were swamped." Just push in. :)

It never changes - we have more influence than some and less influence than others. It is uncomfortable thinking we might be a 'pest' to those we admire. 


Push in. 


They might be spending loads of time alone. Their phone might not be ringing. They might not get any presents, cards in the mail or invitations. Their activity / full life could be initiated mostly by them. We think hoards are clawing at them and they wouldn't want to talk to us. This might be true ~ maybe it isn't true.  


Push in. 


Some of the most interesting relationships I have are a result of wriggling into 'the circle' of people who drop hands to let me in - graciously including me. It is extremely hard to do and vulnerable, but the alternative robs both of you. 


Push in. 


I love being pursued. My husband finds it quite delicious when I want him ~ which I do, often. The Lover of our souls....He likes it too. A lot.


Push in. 


Have you ever pushed in or wished someone else would have? 


Push in. 

Sweethearts

When was the last time you laid 

on the ground, on your back 

watching clouds?

 Dazzling blue sky, sunshine 

and a cloud parade 

will cure whatever ails you. 

Good Rx. 

I captured a few  

heart shaped clouds 

 overhead today. 

Someone was playing

with me.

He captured my heart. 

Again. 

Thanks Milton

Reading a post today with a reference from Milton brought back some bad memories ~ "they who have put out the people's eyes, reproach them of their blindness."  


This has happened to me, maybe to you. I could never understand the dynamics until I read this!


Someone verbally, emotionally or physically abuses you-then they ridicule you for the instinctive shut down response that happens. "Looks like you're shriveling up".


Often, the abuser becomes the victim, turning the tables with, "you/they hate me". Instead of taking responsibility with, "I hurt you/them".  


Leave. Run. Guard your heart better. Do.
I did. I do. I will. 

Sentinel Trees

Sentinel trees 
proudly

guard my river 
like stags 

their
leafless branches 

 trophy antlers

covered 
in velvet moss

outlined 
backlit

by a stroke
of sunshine's 

gold

The Love Stomp

Many of the things on my bucket list are checked off. Not completely, but many. Some things, like stomping grapes in Italy with my skirt hitched up, barefoot with other women of all ages, laughing  and  dancing with abandon; probably won't happen. Only in movies...progress, you know.

Last winter we visited the folks in North Dakota. My mother in law was in the later stages of Alzheimer's, still being cared for at home by Gordy. His hands were full with those legendary 36 hour days.

He was quite adept and efficient in caregiving, chores, housekeeping and cooking. Quite a thing for a farmer who had spent most his life outdoors. Noble man. Tired man.

Craig and Gordon took off for some manly time together, letting me enjoy sitting with Myrtle. She napped most the time, causing me to look around for something, anything to do. Something constructive.

I decided upon changing the sheets and washing their bedspread. I forgot they had a mini sized washer and dryer. The sheets fit one at a time, but the bedspread would have broken the thing and not come clean.

They live out in the country in a tiny prairie town. The closest laundry mat is at least 22 miles away. Determined to think creatively, like a pioneer woman, I put it in the bath tub with soap and hot water. Mistakenly, I thought I could swish it around like the women down at the river do... in movies?

Wet, it weighed a ton. Wouldn't budge. My back almost went out trying to swish it. Any desperate woman would do the same; I hitched my skirt up around my hips and climbed in. I stomped that thing silly. Stomped it clean. Sudsy laughter with tears came when mom curiously stepped around the corner to have a look at the commotion.

For once, the confused, uncomprehending look on her face wasn't there. Stomping grapes for the Italian wine harvest did not surprise her at all. Her smile was priceless, like we were having fun, doing my dream together.

It has been crossed off...the love stomp. This is as good as it will ever need to be.

This is dedicated to Russell also known as @LuvStomp on twitter. His username actually tweeked my memory for this post and gave it a title. Thanks brother for letting me use it.