A wave of relief, made by the sound of my steady heart
rang loud in my ears
-he loves me.
A wrinkled brow ends with the heat of his chest, not a care in the world
-he loves me.
My mind is as crystal and clear as spring water, not a sound of a demon in there
-he loves me.
I could dance, maybe fly, to him words I confide, with no worry at all
-he loves me.
His love is not quite ordinary, the way he shows me mine.
The dearth some days consuming,
other ones do shine.
Even when waning moon doth beg
for the day to turn anew,
His softly uttered suplication
turns away my blues.
Maybe we pair are typical,
with bits of joy and heartache.
Our brimming hearts still love, overfill and sometimes break.
He couldn’t fill my lack that stacks. My heart; that yearn that burns, my unsteady head. My longing pining, whining, crying, “come to me”. There are no more words so stern, the steady head right now. Just me listening to the high tide words so deep, just need to sleep. It strikes my senses, wet ink spreading, words of incense intoxicating. Palpable is my glum, there is no rule of thumb. I’m alone, my mother’s busy. While others snuggle, I’m caught in a muddle.
Oh my heart, heel yourself.
He just doesn’t want to dance.
Shards of glass, fine as dust.
Good-bye, my sweet Ignorance.
I’m a wilted rose in the ceramic vase I made. But that was a year and a half ago. My contacts dried up in January and it’ll be March tomorrow.
My hair is much less lustrious then it used to be, much too brown now.
My clothes are plainer than five years ago, and I don’t feel sexy
There’s a speck of water in my stem, but no one cares but me. Although maybe they do care and pity me, but won’t say anything because this is the life I’ve chosen.
But today I drove to the city with all the windows down. I let my hair loose and it flew around me with no gravity. It was warm so I smiled, and I felt 16 again.
But my spirit stopped when the car did. My hair didn’t dance, but turned mousy. Glasses pulled heavy on my brow. This isn’t me.
I’m evergreen, like pine. I’m a dance on the hands of time. And there on my mousy coat is a sheen that you’ve never seen. Yes, it stings. A sheen that brings a sting. A feeling thing thats meaning gets lost. It’s luster is muddled, but there. I know it’s there.
Greed made my face green.
The mirror was far from me.
This evil green monster came swirling around me.
A clear curtain transforming
an opaque barrier wall.
Replacing a kind face
with malice and gall.
Friend turned to enemy,
our love is at stake.
It’s mine, not yours,
not yours to take.
The yolk from the whites,
the church from state.
Like homeland from colonies
we were on the brink.
In a blink, a bat of an eye,
who I am began to fly by.
My sweetness soured
and whispered goodbye.
My soul gripped by Satan,
his hand fingering my chest.
Oh wretched sly snake prodding me to his nest.
I see you now, cretin,
there will be no mistake.
There will be no more sneaking
with your head on a stake.
it’s nearly impossible
We drove the big heavy truck to our new empty house.
Stepping inside we looked around and saw rooms for two stories that were white as can be. The word trepidation came to mind.
Then your mom (that’s me) anxiously decided to fill the white walls with color.
“What would make this house my home?” I asked myself.
When the idea came, my heart felt like a sun ray.
Out came the brushes, out came the paint. On the walls went the colors. “Beautiful!”
He came home (your dad) to find the walls awash with asplosh.
So we took the brushes and painted it white again. And I suppose that would be the day I died.
But of course that last part about painting isn’t true. All the walls are still white, but in my head I’ve already painted them. It was a beautiful idea for a wall, and having it look like a painting by Mondrian was unique and exciting. So with heart palpitating and clammy hands, I tried to explain, but my words never seem like enough when I’m saying them. His eyes widened and brow furrowed downward, you know, and I guess that’s when I really died.
I wanted to make my sweetheart-babe her first Christmas tree ornament! It would mean so much more to her anyway. I got the idea from an etsy item and copied it. Isn’t it cute?
White felt at Michaels was about $.40 for a square. Pink embellishing thread was the same price. The bells cost about $4.00, only coming in a pack of a few dozen. Pretty cheap though!
I drew out the shape of the mittens on scrap paper, and used as template to cut 4 mitten shapes
I took a needle and 3 strands of thread and made my baby’s name and year on one single cut of a mitten. I took another mitten and embroidered a heart. The name looks thick because I ran multiple threads next to each other. And on the heart I just did long vertical stitches. Here’s a closer look (this pictures the end product with the blanket stitch which is next):
Time to stitch mittens to their backs. I used this visual to blanket stitch two mittens together. I started on the side and made my way to where the mitten opening would be. Then instead of going through both sides I just did the top, then wound my way around the edge to the other side. I made it up really. She can play with them when she’s a little older. Open mittens are more fun than closed mittens in my book.
I then attached a 6-8″ string to complete the ornament. Don’t forget the bells! I didn’t separate the string, I just cut it straight from the strand. It was an easy project. If you try it out let me know!
Well my art’s come to a standstill.
Her wobbly limbs keep moving.
My portfolio hasn’t expanded.
She won’t stop growing.
Occupied, my right hand holds her nursing.
She’ll grow up far too soon.
My empty hands will soon reach for her as she flies away from me.
She’s grown dearer to me than art.
Perhaps I’ve achieved my masterpiece.
Difficult is the act of writing the thoughts in mind.
Drownding they are, the longer I wait.
Foolish am I for thinking a difference they’ll make.
Thrashing, they plead for release.
Yes, foolish I am for letting me die.