Category Archives: Love

Through the gate

A bunny in a garden

A bunny in a garden

The military straight fence posts stand sentinel against wildlife.

It amuses me when the rabbits squeak through to indulge in

the abundance of ripened fruit dripping from the vines

Ripe tomato juices blooding the hand-crafted stairs with their offerings

while the green beans are green together, envious of size

The wind sculpture shifts in time to the darkened rolling clouds

it startles the rabbits back through the gate to another buffet

I wonder if this is what beauty looks like when it is no longer imaginary.

I wonder why the voice I spoke to every day feels absent.

I wonder if I remembered to pack it or if someone else did it for me.

I wonder if it will return with barrels blazing with razzle-dazzle or

if it will slip in quietly through the gate to show me a different way to be.

I can’t but I can

I can’t tell you where to find your peace of mind

or to hear the voice of the Universe coursing with power

or to notice the song of the world’s orchestra as it plays

or even to taste the brisk of sharpened words.

I can’t show you the color of your balanced spirit

or tell you the tale of your sacred birth

or cherish the moment of truth you witnessed

or embrace the love you so rightfully deserve

I can’t marry you to your passion for life

or point you in the direction most profound

or take away anything you’ve learned

or dictate your growth rate in any form

Loving you Always

Loving you Always

What I can do is:

hug you

reassure you

encourage you

believe in you

support you

hear you

see you

love you

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.

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

The White Way

Lemon sour with bitter bite

Promises we’re safe tonight

Underestimated loss

Overlooking violent cost

All stop signs exploded

Brother’s blood denoted

Sister’s cries devoted

Patient’s quickly bloated

The poor brown villified

The rich white justified

Lady Justice turns blind eye

Media oversimplifies

that lemon sour with vomit bite

will keep their promises tonight.

The young man and “The Pensive Woman”

The Pensive Woman, 1932 by a German Artist (I can't find the name of the artist)

The Pensive Woman, 1932 by a German Artist (I can’t find the name of the artist)

I rounded the corner from bronze dipped metal spoons that didn’t stir my soul

to observe a lost lamb separated by his emotions from the flock of chittering as a whole.

He stood slouched, small dreads pointing to the sky, bandana tied artfully at his temple

staring at the sculpture trying to understand something I couldn’t see; Sentimental?

I greeted him with gentle voice, encouraging interaction. I explained without pause

“I was in the other room observing several that didn’t move me because

The spirit requires recognition of matching vibrancy to vibrate frequently

Why this one? What drew you to her?” I asked the young man evenly.

He thought quick, deeply, spoke with certainty, “She’s so sad.”

“When art speaks to me, it speaks in bright colors because I’m, as a rule, glad.

Do you understand her sadness, too? She was created by a German in 1932.”

He wavered momentarily as his emotions washed his face quickly, efficiently.

For a moment, I thought I’d lost him as I waited patiently.

“She reminds me of how I felt when I learned my father had passed away.

I locked myself in my room, curled in a ball and cried to myself all day.

That he was gone was hard enough, it went against my every plan,

but I remember wondering, “Who’s going to teach me to be a man?”

His eyes looked at me just like hers. I gave him “Always Beautiful” as I abided

“You are not alone.” I comforted in synonymous tone as he’d confided.

He smiled while hefting the weight of a million gallons of un-cried tears

that will ebb and flow

wax and wane

light and darken his years.

I loved him deeply, truly

in all his pensive human beauty

as much as I admired that German artist of 1932

accidentally gifting me that one on one in bronzed blues.

The trumpeting herald

Trumpet Swan

Trumpet Swan

I drew my face of happiness upon my colored mask

I hobbled down two decades of steps that led into my past

I touched the ground at mother’s knee with my wings reborn

Straight from devil’s flaming pit stabbed forward by his horns

But I arrived with soul intact despite the battle fought

For I was embraced in cherished state, learning as I taught

With patient hands on comforting arms, I heralded the news

There are always both sides of the story that always comes in twos.

The fading mask falls to the floor in porcelain jags and breaks

To see my own reflected back challenging age old fates

Have I truly conquered the demons that once hunted me down?

Have I earned my place once again in this familiar alien town?

What will be the price I’ll pay for rebuilding from my past?

Will it be worth rejecting anything that ain’t kick-ass?

I know who I am now but I’m curious to see

if the world to where I physically birthed, is ready to meet the real me.

The leak

I’m leaking proof of a former life onto the new lawn.

I followed the hose all the way back to the beginning

but I can’t find the place I need to repair yet.

If you hand me a tissue, please, I’ll dab the melancholies

with a brush of orange tint a ballerina’s blush

I knew the sacrifice made will be larger than I expected

but the gifts and blessings I’ve become familiar with grow

They’ve landed on healthier soil, soaked in similar whiskey

aging better than most I’ve known but the hose is leaking

I just pray it doesn’t kill the grass.