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Always. . . the farm woman. . . .
The Farm Woman. . Woman of the Earth, you are loved. You gather the fruits of your labors to your bosom and feed the children. You’ve inched your way along the path with back bent in great fatigue and cultivated the rows yielding wise fruit. You would feed out of your mouth, those you think…
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Life’s Connectedness is what must endure. . . . .
I wrote to Maria Wulf (fullmoonfiberart.com) for permission to share her post which drew my attention. It is such a deep pleasure for one like me to share the larger picture when our thoughts merge. There is a connection in the soul that has no word coming to mind, describing what happens when an Other…
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And is god enough . . . . .of course. . .
So Who Cares. . . Nobody they say. . . Except you know you do. . . All it takes is just one I hear, to look for the sun to rise each morning. . . . to look at the moon at night and wonder, . . . . where home is. .…
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Always the Empty Chair. . . Times Such as These. . .
It is late. And I am an old woman. I sit here and cannot see the keys of the keyboard because I weep. I have delayed coming and writing this again which seems to be a signature poem of mine and it is not an honor I wish to claim. In differing times I took…
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In My Heart Pocket. . . .
Word reaches often that there are issues with some of my posts that are unreal; that perhaps I don’t know how the real world works. I write what I know, not hope or pretend. As Lawrence O’Donnell commented on President Biden’s Inaugural, experience is something you cannot teach. We always knew it, I think, just…
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Is However Long We’ll Talk . . . . .
However long. . . .the night is. . . . Coming into a chosen family will be what someone calls a misfit. And the label will stick. This often is a child with a need to know everything and talk. There will not be anyone to listen. Because there will be other children, work to…
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Virtue In The Doing. . . .
The Keys Of The Kingdom. . . . (In the conversation I mention about the satisfaction in the doing of what most consider work with my brother Stanley, and he said I hold the keys of the kingdom, in my terminus I see the wisdom of this. I was told to ‘do and you will…
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Sometimes. . . words are not helpful. . .
Even unto this day, I am surprised when memory pops up to be dealt with though never a hint as to its depth. Where has it been keeping itself? No doubt in the catacombs along with my ancient self. It is somewhere in the journals I am sure. I just spent too much energy looking…
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Now Another December. . .
It was another December at the end of 1987. I had brought my in law mother back to her residence and she collapsed in bed. She borrowed courage from everyone to get through the holidays in Chicago. We were in a blizzard and I ached to get home. And unpacking I realized I could…
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Let the children tell us. . .
Do I have more minutes to finish? There was no time for answers because the little one with a dash was out of sight. In a few minutes he was back and announced, I finish. Having learned to wait while private things were finished, I waited again while he proceeded to his room. I followed…