But for so many years I have slept here.. / Amongst the creepy things. / The solid heavy tears / The bags and bags of sentiment and fears / T…
This is an extension from yesterdays world.. / I have done Inner Child Work.. I seriously thought for many years that this connecting to the ‘Inner Child’ was hogwash… 2 years ago in May… I met a women who changed my life.. HERE IS THE EXERCISE SHE ASKED ME TO DO THAT DID CHANGE MY LIFE / I believe that in finding this missing part of me I then turned on my switch to the treasures that is my creative spirit. I feel this work is why I am artist today.. i met my little girl… .. Yesterday she reminded me to.. / COME OUT AND PLAY… (April 2008) / I went to the beach and took shots.. so many of these toe and sand shots.. I was fascinated.. and in Love.. with Her..Me..Life
How will he remember me / If I’m stoned by the crowd / deep down in his heart
Precious is the Memory I wrote this poem in response to Helen Bascom’s image Precious is the Memory and her question beside it “How will he remember me?” which I used as the opening line. I would like to thank Helen for allowing me to display this image here and for including this poem in her Active Art blog.
We are the forgotten children / The aborted ones / Born dead / Wasn’t given a chance / A choice / A voice
you should get what i’m talking bout / and hope you like / i really like this one / and i hope it leaves a twinkle in your eye sincerely and dearly colorblind will be one of my performance peices and also will add a beat to it as well and make a video
I did it with all my anger. I did it because I was too angry to die.
Please read this with an understanding that this is where I was I do not feel abused nor a victim in any way shape or form. I feel however you have to start where you are. I am where I am before you move on past the pain. I recommend for anyone looking for their inner child to do this work The person who helped me so much a couple years ago asked that I do a flow of whatever came to mind of my first meeting with my inner child. This inner child piece was written as is, I made very few changes to it. I did not edit this as I wrote it .. Raw and from my heart to my sweet little Lynne, whom I have grown to love more and more as each day passes on. / xox HERE IS THE SECOND PIECE I WROTE After a few months of discovering her
Blowing through a vast crevasse – / from whirling tempest; / to calming balm on wounded skin; / to constant howl; / to sunlit kiss, onto war…
Ah. How to describe this? This is, quite simply, my past – or, the majority of it’s heaviness. So much. So many details. In short: my beautiful mother died at the age of 26, at the hands of a monster (AKA: the black-maker); tortured us beforehand for 2+ years on a daily basis (he was a dirty, dirty cop) which included molesting me for many years, years of which I have but 2 memories left after my brain erased my hard-drive to keep me from killing myself, most likely…the body knows what’s best. although, it would be nice, to have even one memory of my mother. she died when I was 7. She took her own life to escape him. / I have always pictured that little girl (me at 7, post her death) as sitting atop this pillar in a cave, bound and gagged, waiting for the adult me to come and rescue her…maybe someday I’ll be able to remember, and realease that girl of mine) / but for now, I take all of this as : A GIFT. and I mean that. ,my past is my gift, my present the reward. I harbor no ill-will against anyone. I forgave the man about 5 years back, in a dream actually, and my mother as well. / As I say, “I am the light-maker now”. So be it. I accept. With love and forgiveness in my heart, how could I do anything but shine for them?
“Come to the window… / I can see myself more clearly, / here…” A Valkyrie goddess – / gold and pink, / with the heart of a dying child; ...
A poem dedicated to my beautiful, Goddess of a mother who died tragically when she was young (26) , long story, and all she taught me of life through her tragic death and sacrifice. This is a poem written from her perspective in italics, her words to me…at least, those are the things she taught me… I love you, Mum. :)
Under cover of darkness the packs’ journey loudly calls / howling in the moonlight, while She-Wolf magic enthralls A clan of protection…
Inspired by Earthmonster’s image and a collaboration unfolds… Dances with Wolves
I trace the memory of your love / upon my daughters face; / she has your grace within her eyes, / though love can’t be replaced, it can t…
I’m feeling my mother today… / This poem is about my beautiful mother who passed away at 26 yrs old, and my beautiful daughter, Ava, and how I can always find my mom…all I have to do is look in my baby girl’s eyes.
You are tied tight, / woven into my fabric, too close knit to distinguish / our separate blends. So hot…the box of before, / burning i…
This is a poem about my mother: The lost, and The found of her… / She died tragically (suicide/murder) when she was 26 and I was 7…back in May of this year my uncle sent me an old box I’d never seen before, which held ominous letters written a year, a few months…and right before her death; a pair of glasses, her bronzed baby shoes, cards kept from holidays, and a few other (now sacred) seemingly insignificant keepsakes. / This box would not stop. I had to hide it, so the pull of it did not suck me down again into her ends. / This is a poem about that box. / A repost, as this was only the second poem I ever posted here and I wished it read. :)
I From the kitchen / lips and tongue singing / as a 5 am songbird. / Dough rises, / and falls / about your arthritic, yet / nimble fingers…
This is a repost. I tried in vain once again to link this poem to the other one through a journal…but, it seems (as I suspected!) I’m too dumb to actually make it happen. :) I can accept that. / So…here it is, posted again; as the last time I posted this for my beautiful grandmother, I had just joined the bubble, and not many read it. / I wanted my Gran read. She raised me after my mum died when I was 7 (and had lived with us most of my young life before then) – i miss them both more than words can say, as you can imagine. / thank you for reading. :)
The moment that my eyes laid claim / to every atom that makes you; / each pore, each crease, each shining truth / beheld upon your ancient f…
For my beautiful, beautiful sons. xxxxoooo
What’s not to like about living? / When turning round you’re standing there
Everything is so overwhelming today.. I feel just like this poem
Infinite cleansing / Wash away what once was me / Purify my soul / Like a virgin kite set free / With vistas of pure heaven The rain beat …
Inspired by the beautiful artwork of Lorenzo Castello. Thank you Lorenzo. / Art / Music
you sent me a movie of your caring I watched you click on / view seems stunted but the feeling is mutual / words from a great poet you s…
Loving gestures are wonderful / sometimes depending on the day they switch on a feeling / not good nor bad really / however something that gets attention more than the purpose / of the gesture / tis our own agenda of course that dominates everything / that is why I find it hard to believe we could influence a fly / cept in death / but even then the choice seems to be / fight or allow / I like to think if I faced a death and I could choose how / I would respond / I would choose the allowing / and maybe I could stay conscious through the transition / from life to life / anyway I love others / I love me / gestures are are welcome / from you to me.
I guess it’s time to stop asking questions, / and start answering them. / Wipe away long dead evaporations, / mined trails overgrown with ne…
November 10th. Happy birthday, Mum. :) / I miss you more than words; / I understand that I could never understand; / I used to whisper “I forgive you…” / but now understand, that is not my place. / There is no need. / I love you eternally. / Happy birthday.
Loved by kith and kin / You will open like a rose / Laughter will heal you / Safe circle of protection / Carry it with you through life Mo…
Thank you to all the wonderful people who read and commented on this series and in doing so, walked a little of the journey with me. xx
I hear whispers through sunlight / leaves signing / in the language of wind, / to the beat / of a fluent heart. Secrets spoken / between …
Another Earth song; for those who are between.
His mother told our mom when they met, that Harry was insane.
This was written from memory with no consultation of my brothers and sister. Some events may have happened or been perceived differently than what I describe here. Each of us has our own story, and most of the chapters remain to be told. In reality though, most of this unhappy tale will be forgotten as we all look forward.
Wisdom surrounds me / as I sit alone / It is carved in wood / and etched in stone.
hey there little boy / run out and play / your mommy’s sick in bed / she will die today / everyone knows / typhoid kills / she burning with fev…
Moe’s mom died when he was only 5 years / old … she will soon open the Golden Gates of / Heaven for him
is the color of blue really lost forever / or did I just lose track of the sky?
does it really fly?
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