Category Archives: Observations

Inspired by Joel

I’m sure you’ve read some authors that really stick in your craw. Artists of the written word that cause you to think, cause you to get pissed, cause you, most of all, to feel that sense of uncomfortable that comes from a raw, exposed nerve. There are several of these talented people that float through my reader. Some I am avid fans of, others I take out in the dark of the moon and peruse with witchy thoughts abiding because they require, by default a place where the blood of their story can mingle with mine.

Joys of Joel is one of those artists for me. Joel lives in the Philippines. I’ve never met the person, but when I read the words, like those of Shawn L. Bird, E.I. Wong (really funny in a twisted way HAHA!), and UP!:::urban po’E.Tree(s), I am moved to places I’ve visited but, perhaps, took for granted.

In the latest poem (at this writing) by Joys of Joel, they write: Don’t wait for me; Ours is not a love story. (Find it HERE), I am compelled to remember lost loves of my own. I am to take that path rarely traveled. I mean, what’s done is done, right? Or what’s over is completed. But. It reminded me of a poem I wrote a while back which also reflected on a powerful moment in my life when I realized I’d just made a massive mistake. I knew I’d never again see that person though I treasured every moment I spent with them. It was my fault.

I’m re-sharing this “These Are My People” poem because of that line. You can find it here: The End.

We should not forget to love

Enough is enough

Enough is enough

I don’t give a loaded poop chute about this piece of digestion. I want to know about the lives he took. I want to know their names so I never forget that his guns took their lives. I want to remember the victims because only then will real changes happen.

It’s easy to forget one person, but when you have to remember Sandy Hook, Chattanooga, Phoenix, Knoxville, ANYWHERE there are victims of murder because of guns; List the victims.

Trace their lives that led up to their fatal decision to go to school, church, the movies, or work. Let’s examine how they let it happen by putting themselves in harm’s way by living their lives.

Let’s examine what they were wearing. If they would have been wearing more orange would they not have been accidentally assumed to be a game animal? What is it going to take? This is freaking enough. It’s just no. Stop this already.

I’ve already written against this ridiculous glorification of the murderers HERE

Acroamatic

They leave offerings at her altar, never seeing past her face

They vie shamefully for her affections; peacocking their disgrace

Like a Mother Mary statue she abides their adoration

They, the faithful worshipers, fall scantily in prostration

She rarely extends her fruitful bliss, suffering their confusion,

When they realize her trinity is akin to holy communion

Home slice

Many closed doors

Many closed doors

I arrived empty handed near my old stomping grounds

where I learned to hate myself due to disapproving frowns

It’s where I learned that to survive is to run freedom unbound

Yet here I am a-haunting my past which I’ve long since outgrown.

I have been with rings on my fingers and bells on my toes

I have been ground into dirt and from the grave rose

I’ve stepped through the portal, forsaking the spirit world

For now, I must reinvent this stronger, stranger home-town girl.

Dark Moon Reflections

Night time is a go

Night time is a go

The midnight air is clamorous as crinkling cellophane.
The cranky crickets tick-tock in the grass with leggy chants.
The zz-zzt of the cicadas clamor boldly in jumbling rants.
The nearby expressway donates the rumble of trucks in lanes
trumpeting progress of deliveries unmet.
A flash of light shifts the shadows in the next room
as a car passes like a shooting star at the crossroad.
I open the door to feel the whispering kisses of the cooling air,
opened the windows to let in the songs of what’s out there.
The scent-dripping lilies stain the night

with mortuary perfume visited too often eons ago.

The click-clack of puppy toes traipsing laminate floor in the tone of wood
reinvent the solo of a long-hauler’s jake-brake slowing progress’ brood.
Barely audible, the neighbor’s open windows
bail laughter out in rapid chortles blended with giggles.
I smile as the humidity of their family
adds to the breath of life I’m inhaling with my senses.

Serenade of the trees

Wedgewood Park Afternoon

Wedgewood Park Afternoon

Through all my youth I didn’t learn the language of the trees

I couldn’t hear the words to the poetic songs they would sing for me

When I became still enough to listen to the music of the earth

I learned of transformation, regeneration, and rebirth.

What I didn’t know, while true to my childish indiscretions,

were the many truths I’d learned from them, the many rough hewn lessons.

My roots ran deeply through rocky soil, building bridges of emotional gaps

My branches raised up high with deep green leaves fed by spirit’s sap

I was taught the ancient tongues of the oak, elm, maple, birch,

embraced in laughing drumming beats the circumference of my worth

I am a child of the forests, although youth I can no longer claim

I will honor my tree kin’s body; their face; until the earth embraces me again.

Peaceful Depths

Be at PEACE with your DEPTHS Acrylic on Board (Guess-timated) 8"X22"

Be at PEACE with your DEPTHS
Acrylic on Board
(Guess-timated) 8″X22″ FOR SALE!

I was asked to explain “Be at peace with your depths.” My interpretation of it may differ from how you take it, but I explained it as this:
“Your depths are your darkest parts. They’re there under all the fluff and brightness. If you’re at peace with them, it doesn’t matter if they bubble to the surface because you can flow through them.”
I received an enthusiastic response followed by: “They are abubbling and I be a troublin over them. I do understand that I must contend with the dark and negitive BUT me no like it one bit.”
“Nobody LIKES negative thoughts, but if you deny them, then you deny a part of who you are. It’s okay to have them. It’s okay to feel them. It’s not okay to dwell there. I’ve suffered from PTSD. I understand the anger, the frustrations, the mood swings. To maintain what I have right now, I use a lot of meditation, breathing, grounding, shielding, and visual aids to relieve the symptoms.”
Feel free to share your interpretations of this in the comments. Be Love

Statistically Speaking; Racism

I posted a powerful picture that demonstrates what it feels like to the photographer to have #BlackLivesMatter criticized and taken over by #alllivesmatter. This is what happened:

Juan Paul was the poster that put this up and where I found it.

Juan Paul was the poster that put this up and where I found it.

  • Random Person Are you serious? All lives DO matter.
    My REPLY:
    There is no question of that, Sir. But by saying ALL instead of BLACK, it’s saying they have no right to speak up. It’s a way of silencing the voices who are speaking against racism, brutality, violence, and murders. Do those things happen to Caucasians? Yes, of course they do. But they are not, usually, perpetrated by people in authority. As a rule, the rate of incarceration and unreasonable arrest statistics of melanin enhanced individuals is disproportionate compared to ANY OTHER civilized country in the world. #Blacklivesmatter is more about quality of life than saying no other lives matter or ALL lives matter. It’s another way to keep racism going, keep us divided instead of united, and a, pardon the pun, whitewashing the degradation of our fellow human beings. Yes. All lives do matter but we’re not focusing on that right now. We’re trying to support our fellow humans from the obvious racial disparities in our country.
  • Random Person 2 words… Bull Sheet. All lives matter. Nobody is born “equal”. But if you’re not, you fight be equal. Any man, black, white, red or yellow is welcome to take a ride in a police car after breaking the law. Cherry picking data doesn’t make you right Mare.
  • My Reply:
    “you fight be equal” Then clearly you understand the need.
    The United States Declaration of Independence says we’re all created equal as well as the United States Constitution. Reading statistic after statistic after statistic that states clearly this is inaccurate means this is not an opinion, this is fact. It is not cherry picking when it is evident that we are NOT, in fact, created equal as we’re told.
  • Random Person: If black people are disproportionately represented in jails, don’t you think government policies might have more to do with it? In Detroit (completely Democrat) white people left because jobs left and crime was always getting worse. Social programs probably have more to do with “disproportionate” numbers…and the fact that black people are killing other black people in far greater numbers than any sub section of society. And that’s NOT just Detroit. Chicago. New Orleans. All have high murder numbers; mostly black on black crimes. All are Democrat controlled bastions of liberalism.
    RANDOM PERSON II:

    I think this is a very powerful image. Thank you for sharing.

  • RANDOM PERSON III:
    I disagree with you on this one Mare. All lives matter has nothing to do with silencing black lives matter, its pointing out that it isnt just blacks who get harassed, assaulted, and killed by the police. If i ran around shouting white lives matter, id be a racist, regardless of my opinion on anything. We’ll just have to agree to disagree on this one. smile emoticon
  • MY RESPONSE:

Breaking Down Mass Incarceration Statistics:

Educate yourself about the actual statistics

If this seems fair to you, we can’t be friends

The Federal Bureau of Prisons claims more white inmates than black:

Read about that here

But, the States, the Census Bureau and the Department of Justice all contradict those statistics with roughly the same rate of growth per their reports as opposed to that of the FBP.

As the two links above, this one is from The Department of Justice and is a PDF: This doesn’t match the Prison Report either

Believe what you want to, but unless you can bring me proof via public records, studies, or other recognized sources based on scientific fact and not ignorant opinions, I will love you from a distance with respect for you and will continue to state factually in support of #Blacklivesmatter

P.S. Random Person I is employed as a police officer.

Setting the record straight on Marital rape

I had the honor of speaking on the panel hosted by Huffington Post Live regarding marital rape. As a survivor of this breach in trust/faith/love, I wanted to shine a light into the dark corners. It’s a 30 minute segment. I’m audio only, but I feel I handled myself well, completely answered the questions I was asked as well as offered encouragement to others.

Please take the time to watch and listen to this video. Share all you’d like. The more discussions that arise about this topic is affirmation that we’re working towards a solution. Thank you.

http://live.huffingtonpost.com/r/segment/the-truth-about-marital-rape-donald-trump-lawyer-/55b7bf1902a760a12c0000f6

If you or someone you know has been a victim of sexual assault. You’re not alone. It’s not your fault. There is hope.

R.A.I.N.N.

Lake Michigan at Holland Beach

My husband and I decided it was time to explore. With a few dollars in our pockets and adventure in our spirits, we headed west. We stopped when we found Holland Beach State Park (Mostly because we couldn’t go any farther West). The wind was blowing up to 50 mph which made sand a rude awakening for my bare legs as well as when I’d try to talk. We walked out to the pier because it was paved. A cane and sand are not fair companions, by the way.

Here is an example of the waves, Caution, the wind is rather noisy:

My beautiful Husband.

My beautiful Husband.

A kiss in the gardens

A kiss in the gardens

On a drawbridge at Windmill Island

On a drawbridge at Windmill Island

I was reborn thrice for this picture.

I was reborn thrice for this picture.

Holland State Park

Holland State Park

Ben and I at Holland State Park

Ben and I at Holland State Park