About Me~, art, chronic illness, Poetry, Uncategorized, Writing

Fluid ~

 

 

85d579a3a0aeb77d2ca7fb5e9229b0e9 (1)It waters the Earth, and the flowers , trees and all things green.

The lovely yet jangled noise of it on the tin roof of my house,

reminds me that it is good for all living things.

And yet, my broken body , shrinks into itself,

when it sees the clouds on the horizon.

Bringing with it the ache of the dark forces of weather.

And then it comes full -force.

I see it dripping from the eaves, in perfect timing,

reminiscent of a thousand drops of  intravenous fluids.

The rivulets of rain , coming sharp and fast,

like needles in the hundreds of hands ,

I’ve been subject to.

I remind myself , “It is only rain. “

And yet my subconscious whispers ………….

“It is only rain………….for now.

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About Me~, art, Uncategorized, Writing

Komorebi~

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Komorebi~木漏れ日

Early a.m, and the magic will start  , ever so slightly at first.

That certain gold that drips from God’s never-ending palette.

Down from the tops of the elms, and oaks,

it comes,  unaware of its own spectacular beauty.

Diamonds lit from within , dappled light transformed.

Glittering down , in a never-ending spectacular kaleidoscope ,

infinite in its choices of fractals.

I am struck by the feeling  that the golden drops have their own secrets,

and whisper them only to the leaves, who raise their veined bodies to hear it all.

Devotees’ to the words the sunlight speaks.

Never spoken to outsiders,

but passed from one to another ,

on the sacred parchment of their own greenery.

Komorebi , 木漏れ日,

 

 

 

 

 

 

About Me~, art, inspirational, Uncategorized, world affairs, Writing

How Bizarre~

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The beautiful is always bizarre.  ~ Baudelaire 19657041_1349803748431210_6828812241786549423_n

I’ve never BEEN normal.   It was a certainty in my bones , a knowing even. An intrinsic feeling , yet not a difference that I felt was a problem. I didn’t SEE it as being a difficulty. I knew I was not like other people. I don’t say that as a form of braggadocio or as a way to say I was better or somehow on another plane. I came into this world , a wild animal. For most of my early years I refused to wear clothes, driving my mother to insanity. I thought going about skyclad was the best thing in the world.  When she DID manage to keep me clothed, it had to be boy’s clothes of the most ragged variety imaginable. Jeans, cutup, cutoff, dirty, t-shirts the greasier the better. My Dad’s castoff welding hats and goggles. A pair of corduroy Levi knickerbockers. Cowboy boots with the soles worn completely through. A set of leather chaps that a friend of mine had outworn. I spent my days out of doors ;climbing every tree within 10 miles of my house. Skinnydipping in the Little Missouri river until I was sunburnt to the color of red ripe watermelons we gommed from Granny Jo’s garden in the evenings.  I don’t know how my mother kept from killing me in those years; I never shut up, when I WAS home, which was seldom, I despised school work; what was I going to need all THAT useless information for anyhow, I wanted to be any and everywhere besides chained to that drudgery . I brought home any and every creature I could find , that slithered , crawled or flew, and was sure that both my mother and sister would find homes for them, and be just as fascinated as I was. (  I was wrong on both counts many times. ) Come to think of it, I don’t know why my SISTER didn’t kill me in all those years. I’m sure she had just cause. She was all the things I wasn’t . She was clean. She was a whiz at school, quite dedicated to it actually. And she actually kept her clothes ON. She swore on many an occasion, that “For the love of GOD, Nette, you are adopted. I swear. You actually belong to some nudists somewhere!!”  Heh.

I guess , to me, life just all seemed so bright, amazing, full of things to see. It still seems that way. Everywhere I go now, I still wonder why people want to be “normal” . And the funny thing is they struggle so hard to do this thing they call “fitting in”. What IS that, anyway? I had an interesting conversation with my niece, just the other day.  I was asking her , about a certain person , “Why is he dressing that way?” ( Meaning goth, emo, shopping at HotTopic, you know the whole ‘look’) She said , “Well, he’s making a statement I guess. Trying to stand out. ” So I asked her, “But if EVERYONE is doing that now, dying their hair, getting tattoos, going “goth” , and shopping at HotTopic, are you really making a statement? It’s not. It’s the new ‘normal’, isn’t it. ”  She didn’t really know what to say to that.  See, I don’t have a single tattoo. I don’t dye my hair technicolor. I’m not some trendy gender. Been married to the same guy for almost 21 years. I don’t have a nose ring, or some other odd piercing.  I think people ought to be respectful to others , and pretty  much live and let live. Wow.  In this day and age, guess what? I’ve become the new bizarre. And to quote Baudelaire, “It’s beautiful. “

art, inspirational, Uncategorized, world affairs, Writing

How Are You Today ? Just Four Words


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no estic bé
People are hungry. 
Níl mé ceart go leor
Children live on the street. 

Mir geht es nicht gut
The politicians play by their own rules. 
I au I Ka Moana
We've forgotten , "Do unto to others ."

אני לא בסדר
We turn a blind eye to those we could help

e kore au e ahau pai
The Golden Rule is not , "He who has the gold , makes the rules. "

Sina sawa
Love is not arrogant , or rude. 

P.S. The "four words" are , "I am not okay." in many different languages from around the world. 
 And he said unto them, Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature. Mark 16 :15
Just something that was on my heart today.

		
About Me~, art, inspirational, Poetry, Uncategorized, Writing

Crossings ~

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I’ve always been fascinated with eyes. From the time I was small , and realized I could draw , I was determined to get the shapes and forms of eyes realistically captured on paper. Human eyes, animal eyes.  I can’t remember a time in my life when I didn’t love looking at people’s eyes when they spoke. It seemed to me they spoke volumes about what it was they were really saying.  I never really realized until I was grown that although a person could be telling you one thing with their words,  that their eyes could be telegraphing something  quite different.

I guess there’s quite a whole psychology behind that kind of thing now, and educated folks who know about that kind of stuff would say I probably have some kind of a complex or something. That whole Nietzsche quote , “And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you. ” , and all that jazz.  I’m not so sure that’s what old Friedrich meant.   I’m more inclined to believe in the Biblical standpoint of Matthew 6 :22  “The light of the body is the eye: if therefore thine eye be single, thy whole body shall be full of light.”

So I guess, really it’s my unconscious way of gauging whether I like you or not. My mother has always joked that I have an instant people -radar . Either I like you or I don’t. First impressions, ALWAYS. And I think it’s the eyes. I can just kind of tell , ” Yep. Me and these peeps , we’re gonna’ be friends.  Or these people are shady, I don’t like ya’ now, and I ain’t gonna’ like ya’ later.  Maybe that’s wrong of me. I’ve always tried to trust my intuition in those kinds of things, and in most cases it’s served me well.

Besides , eyes are quite beautiful , don’t you think? The colors, the shine, the slight twinkle that says they know something that you don’t. And that maybe, just maybe if you look long enough, they might let you in on the joke.

Very young eyes,  eyes full of life, and of course my very favorite , the eyes of the very old. The things they’ve seen and the secrets they hold. If I could have a camera to capture it all.  But of course , the films are theirs. Memories only they choose, to keep wound on the reels of the 8mm cameras of their minds. And rightfully so.

  Because there is a word for this soul gazing  ~ Opia ~ The intensity of looking someone in the eye which can feel simultaneously invasive yet vulnerable .

 Perhaps Nietzsche WAS right in a sense,  but it’s not an abyss at all; it’s a crossing,  a sharing  of sorrows , of joys , of things unsaid,  and songs unsung, and a time passed between two like souls.

 

About Me~, art, Poetry, Uncategorized, Writing

Short-lived.

 

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It is Spring.

Or so they say.

The first day of that season,

which calls to new things. Green and bright.

The vernal equinox.

Equal parts,

glitter, and night.

I find Spring to be short-lived.

Perhaps it’s maudlin of me.

Spring seems easy. So colorful; flowers gold and purple.

But Spring is hard and born of death.

All the rotted things of Fall and Winter ,

feasted on by the bright young cannibals of  the now.

Fantasy wardrobes spun from worm-tossed bulbs left under snow,

last year.

 

About Me~, art, Poetry, Uncategorized, Writing

Installation ~

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We think we cover it so well,

Layers and layers ,

to conceal  the imperfections,

those things we see as flaws.

Always afraid , they’ll be stripped away

by life’s unfeeling jaws.

But then you collide,

with another soul.

Whose vision seems almost  preternatural .

How did they come so close?

And then you realize,

their layers , are your layers.

Separate coats of gloss ,

but from the same brush.

The graffiti the same.

And suddenly , you are seen.

through all the misted layers of choke-filled smog  that smother the world.

You are heard,

in all the noise that blankets the city,

and then in that cacophony ; of brick and steel ,

taxis  and hearts rushing ,

the art coalesces.

Ruby Jeanette Woods 

Street Art by Eduardo #Kobra