My dear friend Miss Sharon Crane gifted me with a little solar powered daisy that dances in the sunlight. I put it in the window that I stare out when I’m writing. All day long, each time the movement catches my eye, it’s made me smile. I wrote a short little poem about it.
Miss Sharon Crane’s gift to me brightened my winter scenery.
This is not Marge Swenson. This is my friend Alicia. I love this picture.
This is an abstract interpretation of the original picture, minus my friend Alicia. It was taken with my phone, so I apologize for the quality.
There she is with her cheeks shining diamond smiles
Her eyes laughing blue sparkles of periwinkle
She ripples with giggles that bubble fountain-like
Barely restrained by her excitement to honor her calling
I unquestioningly obey her request for open arms
I pull her close to me in spirit love and protection
Warmth and true affection.
“How are you today, my beautiful friend?”
She pushes me away but doesn’t release me
She looks up into my eyes declaring, “I love you, so much.”
We share mutual admiration, forever, for a moment.
I jest with her of how much I love to learn at her knee
To greet, to host, to welcome, to embrace our community.
She laughs at me as if I were the village idiot
I’m inept compared to her. She’s a Mistress of Greeters
I, her apostle.
When the torch is handed onward, I pray I can continue
To honor her beautiful spirit with jovial conviviality
That she displays with the grace of whispering breezes
The dance the spring time brings that blesses each blossom with life
In tandem with the warm embrace of the sun.
This is Marge Swenson. She’s one of my favorite people, hands down. She’s just lovely.
Be still.
Think of it.
Remember them.
Allow the trees to educate you in the language they speak.
Be still.
Listen to silence.
Cherish truth.
Allow the ideas to drift like the white wisdom of dandelions on a breeze.
Be still.
A blank slate.
An empty canvas
Allow your ideas to bleed onto every surface with cleansing clarity.
Be still.
Hear your truth
Recognize your voice
Allow yourself to trust your own instinct that begs for recognition
Be still.
You are important.
You are worthy.
Allow yourself to remember your destiny in snapshots of faith.
Mare Trout Martell
The one way ticket
The broken cocoon
The hung up phone
The crying loon
The losses from gain
The strength of cotton
The shallow grave
The vacant rock-bottom
The dissolution of rest
The combination of fates
The sunken boat
The bone-filled crates
The unaligned ranks
The prayer of confession
The misguided belief
The unanswered question
The white washed skull
The ostrich-headed sin
The ill-fitting shoes
The enemy within
When thunder rolls across the sky
and the wind whips up your hair,
When lightning flashes in stormy skies,
And electricity charges the air
I am there.
When the waves rise up in fearful walls
and the howl of the wind crashes loud
When the sound of your fear is all you have
When you see nothing but the shroud
I am there.
When all seems lost and pain abounds
When no words can ease your pain
When hearts hurt so badly that it surrounds
When death is your shadows bane
I am there.
I shelter and comfort you, hold you close
I wipe away tears that fill you the most
I offer you haven in the holy ghost
I am your protector, I love you most.
I see you every once in a while in the Otherwhere.
The place that isn’t here or there or somewhere or anywhere.
It’s just Other.
Soul pictures
It has the pres(c)ents of Christmas trees and home cooked feasts.
It smells of beloved familial hugs, pas-s-s-sionately presented embraces
It laughs a babbling brook of foolish happiness punctuated with excitement marks!!!!
It offers kaleidoscopic shows of vernacular laced paragraphs with buntings of (these)
Still, sometimes, I know (though I don’t know), I see both you and me.
Not in the way that makes you triple check your doors; throwing the deadbolt
Not in the way that keeps you window to window pacing floors; with naked paranoia
but in the way that allows the meditation of the forest to seep into the spirit of indulging ideas
reaping benefits of beauty as only gypsy tribe of poets can explore it.
I see you every once in a while in the Otherwhere.
(inspired by: http://urbanpoetrees.com/2014/12/31/disciple-less-prophets/ )
You should click the link and explore this piece. It’s brilliant.
It wasn’t the blur of her leopard print skirt
Or the lower East side blaring taxi yellow sweater,
I was crucified by the intensity of her regal features
As they nailed me with their direct stare
Through chocolate colored eyes that blinked
Like hammers
Their inquisitive, yet dismissive, questions
Unanswered.
I looked away, ashamed to have imposed on her space.
Marbles
If I could be a marble in a bag around a child’s waist
propounding challenge to my peers like an alchemist
whose recipe for destruction lay in my bulging satchel
filled with conquests found in the sandpit battlefield
of my childhood playground, dominated by concentrated
versions of precisely aimed shots using one inch of glass
and stick drawn circles of boundaries no other should cross.
If I were a marble in a sack around my childhood waist
I would be a peerie of blue green that made them lose
as they wondered at my ocean colors splashing their spirits free
through the distractions of the wildly colored cat’s eyes
that stared back at them with deadened stares emptied
of life, unlike me, who shined and waved like the open sea
And they would avoid hitting me with their knocker’s sin
because who doesn’t want Mother Ocean to win?
This is not my work, but it struck me so I’m sharing. This is captured just right. I should remember this day…Isn’t that how it is? Just an ordinary day when an ordinary person sits up and realizes that today, like every other day, is the only day and this is the only moment.
This sings not with a note but with a melody. It dances on the staff of life and truth as it always has. Thank you for reminding me that today my job, like every other day, is to sit up and remember that today is the day. Now is the moment.
i should remember
today
like i should recall each day.
as the day,
i changed a little,
i learned a little,
and got my soul
to being a little more whole,
not even concerned
with being holier,
as long as i learn, expand, develop and GROW
like the plants in our garden.
from beginning to the end
to be a part of the message
that’s going to change the world.
i should recall today
as not just any other day,
as how i should perceive each and every day
like the day, i chose to change the way
i saw everything and learned to finally
see everything.
02.15.11.
An Independent Nondiscriminatory Platform With No Religious, Political, Financial, or Social Affiliations - FOUNDED 2014
Life is a patchwork of moments — laughter, solitude, everyday joys, and quiet aches. Through scribbled stories, I explore travels both far and inward, from sunrise over unfamiliar streets to the comfort of home. This is life as I see it, captured in ink and memory. Stick around; let's wander together.
True wealth is the wealth of the soul
ईशा वास्यम् इदं सर्वम्
Daydreaming and then, maybe, writing a poem about it. And that's my life.
Psychology, Mind over matter
Life as an American poet of excellence
Epic fantasy & military sci-fi author.
Love Letters to the Tar Pit
Making Space for Dreams
binge thinking and other things in life
Mare Martell 