To Each His Own

A painting

colors…defined and chosen

restraint and darkness…heartache expressed

a canvas…sad and depressed

 

A painting

colors…scattered and released

Scampering light, heart shines with glee

A canvas…happy and free

 

A painting

colors…defined and scattered

chosen and released, heart tones content

a canvas…blended dark and light bent

 

A painting

colors…authentic and real

interpretation where paint meets

a canvas…leaving a mark to greet

 

A painting

colors…designed and covered

displaying internal dwellings through choice 

a canvas…the final result is voice

 

A painting

colors…conveyed and conflicted

between surface meaning and what lies below

a canvas…denied or accepted brushstroke flow

 

A painting

colors…predetermined and freed

ironically misleads strokes

a canvas…truthful or a lie to some a hoax

 

A painting

colors…skillful and refined

conviction through brush movement

a canvas…sacred and amazingly lucent

 

A painting

colors…traditional and original

limitations bring about imitation

a canvas…betrayal and trust destinations

 

A painting

colors…inspired and thorough

human connection seen in the eyes

a canvas…tells a story…no lies

 

A painting

colors…sentimental and tough

human desires of connection

a canvas…love and longing affection

 

A painting

colors…warm and inviting

defining the parameters left

a canvas…defining and inspiring deft

 

A painting

colors…balanced and unbalanced

positioning itself to convey and communicate

a canvas…message delivered…life to punctuate

 

A painting

colors…moving and timed

bringing light and dark flashes

a canvas…an revealed through crashes

 

Windswept

October 30, 2020

This is a portion of a watercolor painting I bought for $4 at a yard sale. Every time I look at it I am amazed. There was a tag on the back that said Peru. The elderly woman selling from her garage that day said that she picked this painting up at a street fair while in Peru. I wish I had asked more about it.

Without Words

Cans

 

Presumptions were made on my part 

as you approached me, I noticed

your gold colored t-shirt that was worn backwards;

dirt stains splattered across your pants and the back side of your shirt

led me to think that your daily walk was street-held.

 

I stood at the cash register, 

as you came in the wooden double doors

Your approach towards the counter brought a look of hesitation, 

a reluctance encompassed your walk filled pace.

“Do you have a black marker I can borrow?

I have some words to write on a box.” 

 

It is not unusual to see one, maybe two, maybe three

pairs of hands on nearby street corners with a cardboard sign

each pleading for coins to get through the day, the week, the month, 

marker-ed scribbling

voice the words that the hands and heart need.

 

I hadn’t seen you on the corners before

Your dirt stained hand stretched out to mine

A black marker was left, help you did find.

“Please make sure you bring it back.”

 

Through a pane of glass I watched…a world away,

as you decided what words you needed to say. 

Your hand moved from corner to corner 

leaving lettering that I couldn’t read.

 

Back through the doors you came, 

A different walk, not the same. 

A smile and assurance written on your face

A young man on a mission, a young man knowing his place.

 

Handing me the marker, with an outstretched hand,

You voiced a “Thank you.”  and turned and continued 

to attend to what your heart did demand 

 

Hours passed, my shift ended

The marker request, not forgotten, but put aside 

until I saw that gold t-shirt across the way,

in the middle of a lot where cars park 

in the middle of the day.

No window pane, no worlds distant and far away.

 

I drove closer,  to see where your box might be,

it wasn’t there. 

Did you change your mind about what others should hear and see?

As I inched closer, you bent down 

picking discarded candy wrappers and plastic cellophane  up off the ground.

White plastic bag, in your hand, the contents was clear to see

As the weight of your bag showed your work, your mission, 

Your heart called that day …your current destiny

 

I started to go and wondered if you were hungry

or why it might be that you chose to clean  a parking lot of its debris.

Was someone paying you?

Wouldn’t standing at the corner with your scribbled words

be easier on such a hot day?

I rolled down my window and asked

“Where’s your box, the one where you needed to write upon,

did it not work, is it gone?”

 

With that reassured smile you stated,

 “Oh yes, it works just fine, 

it’s over there on the corner

where those who feel the need,

 can drop cans in it and keep the streets litter free.

Isn’t it sad, how careless people can be? 

I put some rocks inside the box, so it wouldn’t blow away…please know I’ll take the rocks out, 

when I pick the box up at the end of the day. ”

 

A lump in my throat, tears welled up inside

As I listened to you, while you stood there in those dirt stained clothes

with only your heart to display and confide.

 

I asked, “Are you hungry, are you doing ok?”

You hesitated with reluctance and a smile, 

“I’m ok for now, for a little while.”

 

I reached into my change holder and and pulled the few dollars that were there

I took them out and handed them to you, 

wanted you to know that someone noticed and cared. 

“Well, thank you for cleaning up the parking lot, when others are careless and don’t think about what they do.

Here’s a little something to perhaps take a break and get a drink for you.”

 

You stretched out your hand,

A little dirtier than before

Your face lit up and your words took me by surprise,

“If it’s ok, I’d like to go buy another box

to put on this other side. 

People need  a place to put their trash so they don’t 

clutter up the outside.”

 

We talked for a few minutes more, 

I left you to your work,

I realized…you were fed with God’s heart given chore. 

I drove away, feeling somewhat ashamed

Of presumptions made,  and not doing enough

asking myself, what I could do, 

what more?

 

The wheels of my car turned as I crossed the parking lot, 

past a man who stood at the corner with cardboard in his hand,

tears fell, 

as I knew what my heart did command.

 

I pulled over and looked for my wallet

did I have any more cash that I could give,

Do I give it to the man with cardboard in his hand 

Or the young man with a heart command. 

 

It was then, I saw the gold colored t-shirt, 

walking up to Walmart with his debris filled sack.

Depositing his bag into the can left outside the doors, 

He disappeared….went inside…perhaps a box…a drink  to buy.

I will  wait until he comes back to finish his chores. 

 

While I waited, I drove over to the  place where a cardboard box had been placed,

I read the words scribbled from corner to corner. “Cans”

I  got out and looked inside and there were rocks strewn about and a few crushed cans that didn’t hide.

What more could I do, my heart prayed…fill his box on this day.

 

I went back to the place where I work,

to the blue recycle bin  that held aluminium cans 

Tied the bag together and 

left with what God’s heart called and did demand. 

 

Not really knowing if this was the right thing to do

but I took the bag and placed it in your box.

I smiled through tear filled eyes…oh what a surprise. 

No more words to say, 

the “more” was done on this given moment, this given day.

 

You taught me to do more than I set out to do that day

You followed a command and scribbled some words on a box

and on a woman’s heart in your own special way. 

Peregrination

Map    ZcwR1pSdQeqT3YNXKGaAQQ

Lines drawn create order,

progression  is predetermined and known by everyone

Arriving in a timely manner increases when wandering

away from lineation is avoided.

Are you a line follower?

 

October 10, 2019

Lines that zig and zag

brings adventure and the unknown into light

leaving an arrival time undetermined

and filled with destination anticipation.

Are you a zigger, zagger?

 

 

Upside Down

I raise my hand in anticipation

Waiting…waiting…waiting

For my turn to come

Waiting…waiting…waiting

I just might blurt it out

If she doesn’t  get to me soon

 

I read somewhere that you should be able to turn a poem that you write upside down…read it from the bottom up and it still make sense.  I’m one who usually likes to build up to a big moment in the end, so I am still pondering this idea. 

 

 

 

Web Weavings

 

Busy at work, zigging and zagging,

no time to mess with human presence.

Preservation focus demands this lady’s attention.

Her life span is short, but her mate’s is even shorter.

I think if I were he,  there would be a long courtship.

 

Google info:

These spiders produce venom that is harmless to humans, but helps to immobilize prey like flies, bees, and other flying insects that are caught in the web. The web of the garden spider contains a highly visible zigzagging X-shaped pattern called a stabilimentum. The exact function of the stabilimentum is unknown, but its purpose may be to alert birds to the presence of the web so that they don’t fly through and destroy it by mistake. The spider may eat and respin its web each night.

A male seeks out a female and courts her by plucking at her web. After mating, the female deposits one or multiple egg sacs on her web. Offspring hatch in late summer or autumn. If they’re in an area with a cold winter, the young spiders may remain in the egg sac in a dormant state and emerge in the spring. Egg cases are heavily parasitized by wasps and flies. On average, the garden spider lives for about one year. Females usually die in the first hard frost after mating. If temperatures prevent this, females may live several years, but males usually die after mating.

 

Between the Lines

I reached out and You touched my cheek
there amongst the mortar and ground rattled explosions.
Fear and darkness threatened my heart longed vision.
Chaos ensued as I tried to cover my face,
needing protection from mine filled steps.
The odor of what was, lay all around me.
Death filled fragments of those who walked beside me,
intimidated my existence, shadows lingered.

I reached out and You took my heart
there amongst the smoke filled air.
It was hard to breathe; I struggled to inhale fresh beginnings.
Gasping brought an anxiousness that filled me until I was numb
and consumed with a need to survive.
Threads intertwined and began to wrap and weave
themselves around each of my chamber’s veins
in such a way that the rhythmic pounding replaced fear with peace.

I reached out and You took my hand
dragging me out of the black hole that held light captive.
Clinching and clawing my way through the tunnel of grief and sorrow
You brought me to a place where
an enlightened knowledge provision told me I was not alone.
Courage found freedom surviving within the shadows.
Your hands graven with my name, released me
into chainless beams that climbed mountains, never to be forsaken.

I reach out and You are there.

Thin
Complication

Sustained

Time inspires all living questions
to be in a past, a today and a tomorrow.

Knowers understand
change occured in moments gone by

Sowers plant
seeds acting upon inquiry driven thoughts

Seekers propel
through discovery while they advance faithfully

Time completes all living questions
in a past, a today and a tomorrow.

Constant

Journals Tell Secrets

Spiral bound,

blue lined pages,

heartfelt words written with color;

neatly penned large clear print

or small teeny tiny scribblings,

conveying the tone of the day

in a way that an observant reader

can connect together

peace or confusion,

excitement or anxiety,

love or hate.

Over time, those words

will be found by others.

What message will they send?

Will they know your thoughts

or think they understand?

Will you care what your words convey?

Is there something you words need to say?

Or do you want them disposed of,

knowing

that on days long ago

spiral bound,

blue lined pages

helped life to continuously flow.



Conveyor