Military, Poetry, Uncategorized, world affairs, Writing

Do You See?

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He sees. 

The masses of humanity  who pass him by ( if you can even call them that.) For where IS their humanity ?

Webster’s , that great tome of definitions, tells us ; HUMANITY ~compassionbrotherly lovefraternityfellow feelingphilanthropy, humaneness, kindnessconsiderationunderstandingsympathy, tolerance …………

Perched on a milk crate , in mis-matched shoes, soles worn down to paper thin.

The little dog,  eyes shining bright , with the reflection that , he and the man are a tribe all their own.

The man’s grayed hair , and face lined  with a hundred, no maybe even a thousand memories .

Perhaps even memories he would wish to forget , of places far away, jungles hot and fetid.

The chopping sounds of helos flying over, and wondering if there is an end to this madness.

He sees.

That the people passing by have forgotten about those days, easier for them to pretend it never happened.

And so to pretend that he does not exist either.

But , he sees. 

And wrapped in an honor that only a few will know, that even fewer CAN know.

The creases in his face , would tell you the story, if  only YOU could see.

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.

About Me~, humor, Uncategorized, Writing

When I Was Four~

*When I was four*

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Being four is not fair.Not fair at all.  I don’t belong in this dress.

Stupid lacy hat . Choking me with it’s girliness.
And a purse?
I can’t put my baseball and dead bugs in this.
I need my rolled-up Levi’s and Chucks.

Or better still bare-footed
I want so badly to pull away from this picture,
because it isn’t showing me.
I don’t want to look at it now, five years from now , or even ten years from now,
because all I see in this moment , and will see later, is a stranger standing there.
I see my best boy friends, John, Adam and Matt standing across the street.

My Three Amigos, or perhaps in this situation, the Three Stooges …….
They are  laughing at me, and doing their  best imitations of a ballerinas,
just to mock me.
They’ll see. 
This pink dress won’t keep me from blacking their eyes, and dealing out a bloody nose or two.
It’s not fair. I don’t belong in this dress.

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~, inspirational, Uncategorized, world affairs, Writing

Hillbillies, Happenings, and How are y’all?

 

 

14424721_1216518198420851_2592819625145033806_oSo , How are y’all ? or as some would say , How y’all are?  There have been quite a few interesting happenings  in my lovely home state  of Arkansas in just the last few days. Some private citizens paid to have a monument to those good list of rules that are just a pretty good idea for all people to follow, or you would think pretty much everybody would think they are good rules for everybody to follow. You know things like, “Don’t go knockin’ your neighbor over the head. ” and “How ’bout we don’t make off with things that don’t belong to us?” and here’s a pretty swell idea for the general population , “How’s about we don’t lie to each other , so as we can trust what we all say?”  and maybe , ” Let’s not go gettin’ naked with somebody else’s spouse?” that wouldn’t be an alright thing, now would it?. So anywho, they put these and few more like them on a big ole rock, and put them on the lawn of a building. Now the government didn’t pay for them, some regular people did. And they were no more out there a day , then what some feller decided he’d run them down with his car while shouting , “FREEEEEEDOOOOMMM!!!!!” Yes. This really happened.  And what’s more , apparently this individual had done this once before.

So this happens two days ago. Now TODAY,  in some club in the capitol city of my home state some people decided that they were offended by something someone said, or did, or just looked at them sideways, and 25 people were shot, and 3 other people were wounded. No one died. Which brings me to the point of my blog today. Which is……… WHEN people find out I am from Arkansas. Which is pretty much right  after I open my mouth. ‘Cause I guess, I have an accent. Who knew.

That’s right . Y’all go on ahead and laugh. Everybody else does. Other people have two reactions. They either think it is the sweetest thing ever, or the most ignorant . But it’s always the same. “Oh my goodness, that is just the sweetest thing! Where are you from?!?” or “Well, don’t you just sound stupid. You MUST be from the South.  ” Because apparently, being from the South, especially from Arkansas , and having my particular accent , makes you immediately some sort of inbred with the I. Q. of a turnip.  And these types of news stories are NOT helpful. So I am going to set the record straight, we have had loads of educated, brilliant , magnificent people hail from here, and  as a tiny tasting here is a small list……………..

Alan Ladd ~ Actor

E. Fay Jones  ~ Architect

Maya Angelou~ Poet

John Grisham ~ Author

Sam Walton ~ Founder of Wal-Mart

General Douglas MacArthur

Brigadier General Archibald Yell

Glen Campbell ~ Singer

Johnny Cash ~ Singer

Ne-Yo ~ Rapper

Hattie Caraway ~ 1st Woman U.S. Senator

Dick Covey~ Astronaut

Hangin’ Judge Isaac Parker

President Bill Clinton

Luther Capps

Okay, so you probably don’t know the last name on that list. But to me he was the most important. He’s the man in the picture above. He was my Grandpa. Now he didn’t go to some fancy dan college. And he had an accent too. But he was in my estimation one of the smartest men ever. He could grow anything. Fix anything. Build anything. He was born in 1913, and lived through the Dust Bowl, and the Great Depression. He picked cotton, lived in California and worked the orchards, rode the rails as a hobo, and did anything he had to do to survive. He had muscles like whipcord even in his 70s and could out work men half his age. He taught me to drive , barefooted in an old 1963 Ford Falcon pickup on a backroad with the windows down and the air so hot you felt you couldn’t even feel your lungs move anymore. He followed those rules that the crazy FREEDOM shouting man so callously ran over.

 

So I refuse to apologize. That man running down the 10 Commandments and the crazy nightclub shooters are not what the “average person ” is like here. The “average” person here is like my Grandpa , God rest him.  So, NO, I am not going to “flatten” my accent to make other people feel better about themselves, or to hide where I am from. I will straight up tell you, “Yes, I am from Arkansas. No, we are not ignorant hillbillies. I do not care that you think my accent is stupid. Yes, we talk slow. Maybe it’s so all of the REST of you people can understand , ’cause y’all are the ones a little bit ‘off’, did you ever think of that?”

I will leave you with the words of Ms. Maya Angelou herself ……..

My mother said I must always be intolerant of ignorance but understanding of illiteracy. That some people, unable to go to school, were more educated and more intelligent than college professors.

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. “

About Me~, chronic illness, inspirational, Uncategorized, Writing

Welcome the Waiting ~

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I had both a saddening and inspiring conversation yesterday on a FaceBook page I follow.   It posts funny and interesting quotes , with the kind of things that people usually can smile at , or find something to perk their day up.  Well, while I was scrolling I saw a quote that said “Everything that’s difficult , you should be able to laugh about. ”  Underneath , a young woman had written, “Well, what about terminal cancer? Chronic depression?  Unending pain?”  And I suddenly felt very sad.  I felt compelled to reply to her , so I wrote, “Well, I can’t speak for terminal cancer, as I haven’t had that particular wellie, but I have had depression , suffer from more chronic health issues than would fit in this paragraph, and pain that would drop a bull-moose, and YES, I have laughed AT and THROUGH all those things, as crazy as it sounds. Once you get to a certain point, it all becomes so ridiculously bizarrely fantastically insane that this should all happen to one person that all you CAN do is laugh.”   She replied that she no longer even had the energy TO laugh. She said, “I have lost my joy, and I don’t know what to do to get it back again. How do you find your joy with all you have going on in your life?”

I didn’t even have to think. I knew exactly what to tell her. I’ve learned so much in my more sick than healthy years.  I said this, “I understand. My way of dealing has been to cut out everything absolutely unnecessary in my life. Toxic people. Toxic situations . Read more of the things that bring me joy. Spend more time outside when I can. Be with the people I truly love. Unplug from all the garbage on television and internet. Eat the food I like, even if it’s not necessarily healthy, lol. Laugh at ridiculous things. Just take stupid good care of my self , even if it seems selfish. Like insanely long baths, if that’s what I feel I need. Stop when I’m tired. Which is often. Tell the doctors what I think. Even if it’s NOT what THEY want to hear. Make it about the things I TRULY NEED. Journal, and write, and go back to the things I loved when I was 10 and 15 and even 20. I blog, I run my lupus support page. I speak my mind about the things that I think are important. Like being kind. I color . I Zentangle. I listen to good meditative music. I listen to trashy 80s metal, lol I sing, and take photographs and write bad poetry  ”  This has been my way of finding myself.  You have to. There will not always BE happiness, or even laughter. But I do believe there IS always JOY.  Sometimes we must find the joy in the waiting, the joy is in the fact that we are making it one more minute in this craziness we are dealing with. 

Don’t get me wrong, I have days where sometimes I wonder where the joy will come from, but it pops up in the funniest , most surprising places , when I least expect it. I refuse to give up on it.  I hope to always, always be able to ……………..

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