Bone and Flesh

There is a house

Made of bone and flesh

Who lives inside?

What lives inside

Dark corners, too small

Room after room

Room after room

Room after room

Windows opaque, unseeing

Unseen, the truth of being

Too fearful to raise it’s head,

furtively glancing behind

And beyond.

Sniffing the air, wishing for rain,

Wishing for soup.

A house made of bone and flesh,

So slowly it twirls,

A child at twilight

Golden hair lifting,

Skirt rising,

ballooning around dirty knees.

Tiptoe tiny dancer,

Green green grass beneath

her dirty feet.

Dance dance dance…

Hands outstretched

Wishing for hands

To touch.

Eyes closed upon the

Darkness

No firefly lights

Her way

No hands reach out.

Spinning slowly

Furtively peering over

Window sills,

Through glass opaque,

No hands reach out,

Or through.

No rain

No soup.

this is a personal observation in regard to water versus rock: I think of myself as a multi colored, multi surfaced rock tumbling and bouncing through the watery stream of life. Sometimes I get lodged up against a larger rock, a stuck in place rock, but the flow of the water dislodges me and I once again roll with the current. The sound of the stream is what is attractive to me; the tinkling, laughing sound of freedom, freedom to move on, freedom to stay in place, freedom to temporarily float in a still pool, and then freedom to catch that current and move on to whatever comes next.

when the light is flashing...

at night

deep

in the wrinkled cloth of night,

the stoplights flash,

a plea for help...

as furtive shadows creep

denying kindness

faith

and healing.

the sounds of metal scaping

metal.

and odor of wet asphalt,

releasing thin

curvaceous

tendrils,

recede into the night noise

static recede

perfume of night

recede

flashing lights

recede.

a hug for Brauna...

feel not alone,

for your heart is in good company.

feel joy, feel release,

feel a mother's love,

the holding tight

the caress,

the instruction

for a life of good works,

and the letting go.

feel not alone,

for you are in good company.

You are a Gift to Me...

sometimes we run faster than impatience, and when we slow

slightly,

it slams into our back, knocks us down, and stands on us... stomping on us

in a dance

with arms raised victorious over our better judgement.

But stand good girl,

but stand, and brush off the now fluttering arms of impatience,

brush them from your face and look....and see....and breathe

....and then smile.

You've learned a trick! why you can teach an old dog new tricks!

Be kind to yourself, yes, be kind to yourself.

The time of super sonic speed, and super woman deeds, and super over inflated emergencies is past.......

and it....

....sits in the dust that you,

you, have created.

face forward, love of my life, yes I love you,

face forward and experience each and every moment,

each and every moment.

A gift, this moment, this life

look inside and see me

tell you, "You are a gift...to me, and I love you."

I believe I have created the last of my dolls. thank God it was for Connie, the incredible woman in Texas who has more of my work than I do.

It's strange how your discontent or happiness affects me. I have a thin current of worry with your name on it
that flows alongside all the other worries
in my underground reservoir. I think,
at least in your case,
the worry revolves around unfulfilled creativity. But,
also,
I have an even larger stream
that flows
whose name is 'faith'. They intertwine
and flow together forever
over the edge of my visible horizon.
One balancing the other.
So love, be good, be happy, drive carefully,
and make me something pretty
from your heart.
love you, M