In A Day

In a day, things change.

In a day, what was once your course, is no more. It's usually not what you anticipated.

In a day, your inner light can become dim, clouded & unclear. Your soul is requesting solace.

In a day, the temperature can drop, making the air far to thin...it affects your disposition.

In a day, clarity becomes a blur or so acute it burns.

In a day, your belief system can be shaken & leave you with questions reeling in your head.

In a day, what was beautiful sweet smelling fruit, crisp fresh vegetables, can just go bad.

In a day, half of your light bulbs can burn out, especially in appliances & those light fixtures that need ladders.....now that's a job!

In a day, that song you've listened to for decades driving down the road, takes on a whole different meaning...an ah-ha moment or quite possibly a tearful one.

In a day, the coffee pot breaks, the washer goes to hell & your car starts making noises that when imitated to the mechanic, make your children break out into hysterics, until they realize you may be without a car for awhile. These are double White Russian days....

In a day, you can be happy & sad, remorseful & proud, lost & alone, candid & cryptic.

In a day, you can proclaim CARPE' DIEM & it works out as loudly as you proclaimed.

In a day, your can loose someone you love & a child is born precisely at that same moment.

In a day, you can choose the right path or by pure curiosity, the wrong path.

In a day, you can eat all the ice cream & chocolate in the house.

In a day, you could be having a long-over-due lunch with a childhood girlfriend & by that afternoon she's been diagnosed with breast cancer.

In a day, the weather can go from 60 to 28 with high winds & heavy snow & your fridge is empty.

In a day, a river can nearly wipe out a small community & then recede nearly just as fast.

In a day, you can start with prayer & gratitude & hope for a miricle, before having to abandon your home.

In a day, you can fall in love.

In a day, you can fall out of love.

In a day, you can float around remembering the romances of your youth.

In a day, you can remember WHY you broke up & your how your thoughts on romance changed.

In a day, there are hundreds of moments that you can miss by being preoccupied.

In a day, you can have your cake & eat it too.

In a day, you can find that voice that you've pushed down for so long.

In a day, you can humbly smile for having used that voice, however quiet or small.

In a day, you can be overwhelmed with sorrow for the pain in a war torn country.

In a day, you can ask the universe to end those wars & bring relief to those who suffer so.

In a day, your words can change a little, a lot, or so much it's hard to believe it's real.

In a day, you can get a tattoo, do something random & eat a triple scoop in a sugar cone instead of shots of Quervo, because getting up with no regrets & a clear head in the morning matters.

In a day, you could say goodbye & welcome someone new into your life, leaving you exhausted afterwards while feeling utterly grateful.

In a day, what you can choose to love or hate, be kind or mean or lean in & listen more.

In a day, if it matters, the matters that be, then all that matters, will sit perfectly with thee.

So how will you be & how will it matter, all that you think, do or play, in a day?

....maybe it was your today?

slow crawl back to me

I woke up here...

It's not someplace I know.

Seems it's been quite awhile.

It's left me feeling a bit stiff & sore.

So I stretch.

I'm dry & hungry.

Beyond parched.

Yet I'm feeling a pull.

A gentle tug.

I stretch again.

I have someplace I must go,

But I've forgotten my way.

I stretch again.

As it awakens me.

I know I can get there,

That place I need to be.

Something begins to wash over me.

I'm alive again!

The journey's been long.

And its made me weary.

Exhausted, really.

With each small movement,

I grow stronger.

I can hear sounds of there,

Motivating me.

Driving me to push on.

To continue this path,

As a life calls to me.

The suffering eases,

And a pace has taken hold.

Where once I was, 

Is now gone.

Fading memories,

As if washed out to sea.

I am no longer weary or

Dry as a bone.

I'm rejuvenated.

And I am there.

It's right in front of me.

Meeting me part way.

I unload the last of my burdens,

As they have been heavy, 

This journey from inside of me.

Its like a slow crawl to the sea.

Fighting towards the tide.

The ebb & flow of life's demands,

And consequences there lie.

This journey,

I know not.

Yet familiar?

It is, as if, I already knew.

I am in receipt, 

Of how I am to go.

Though I am not a starfish,

With a slow & methodical pace.

My direction is clear,

Like a slow crawl to the sea.

As tides have a consistant rhythum,

With its sands on the oceans bottoms flow.

It's currents & conditions are like the life I know.

I let go & accept its force,

Carrying me away.

I am at home.

And may I never leave.

I went to the edge,

And it almost took me away.

But instead,

It brought me home.

A place I belong & need.

I will not travel so close to the edge,

And let the life's tide cast me ashore.

That slow crawl back to the sea,

Will be my life no more.

Dedicated to a muse, Lauretta Zuchetti, my friend....

Wild Child

She ran around, wild as the wind.

So often no shoes or a care in the world.

Experiencing life.

Let it teach you what you want to know.

Fall down, get up, run some more.

The seasons didn't stop her,

The consequence was but a brief interruption.

But time was the corrupter,

And youth slipped away.

The wild turned to troubles,

And things dramatically changed.

She found herself astounded & a bit amazed!

The whole world doesn't live like this?

Frolicking & free?

The table is for gathering?

The clothes have different meanings?

And hugs can mean something more?

What's responsibility?

She threw off her shoes & ran off,

Believeing she was free.

But everntually consequences stick,
More like a trip you take down the stairs.

And then, what was wonderlust,

Turned into a lifetime gig.

It isn't so easy, taming ones soul.

In the midst, somewhere down the line, 

A life of those negatives,

Had somehow taken there toll.

She found her brass ring,

And quickly she took hold.

Because somewhere in that playfullnes,

And searching she was told.

You need a solid foundation,

A place you can call home.

Time went on, and her children grown,

With challenges, heartache & sometimes despair.

But she had lived many a life,

Wandering the streets here & there.

She understood, more than anyone could ever know.

That living life, brought her love,

And consequences began to fold.

She isn't old & wrinkley yet, 

Though the battle has begun.

She's finding what her skin feels like,

And how that life has gone.

She looks at it more pragmatically,

Until that past pops in.

And she is then confronted with,

What she did back then.

But what she found surprised her.

What she felt & thought didn't matter,

As it never left a footprint. Not a scratch, nor a dent.

She was welcomed with joy & aprreciation,

And laughter of time spent.

It's was tables turned ironically,

To right, a wrong she felt.

It was a moment of reckoning,

It was a healing moment for her heart.

Though this moment, 

Was defined as temporary,

She had a little remorse.

What she thought of herself as terrible,

Was just part of life's course.

It gave her clarity,
And less deepend remorse.

The times we think we understand,
So often opens up & gently closes a door.

It is lifes little way,
Of changing our direction, our course.
This door will never go away,

It's purpoe is quite clear.

When faced with trauma, hurt & despair.

It's there to remind of you,

Of how far you' have come.

And that with today's intent,

Can continue to spread your love.

Because purity in the heart,

And in the base of your foundation,

Makes all wrong doings right again,

And all the pain melt.

She is still a wonderlust child,

Shining her light on the world.

She is still gregareous & so much fun,

Just respectful of rules in the world.

And that doens't constrain her,

From how her nature is.

It actually defines her,

To share the light she lives.

For Shayne

She Dreamed in Color

She dreamed in color.
She thought everyone did.
People told her it was her imagination.
She said, "I KNOW!"
It's  CATACLYSMIC!
"Your crazy", they said...
She didn't care.
She thought them sad.
How horrid to not dream in color.

My Hands May Be Little...

My hands may be little,

but they are my strength.

From bars to beam,

vault to floor.

My hands they may be little,

but they are my strength.

I am a gymnast,

through and through.

My hands tell my story.

They are weathered

and worn.

Calloused and torn.

Beaten up,

and sometimes bruised.

Though my hands may be little,

they are my strength.

Sometimes they are pretty,

though rarely soft.

They are usually rough

and covered in chalk.

They are the connection

between falling or defeat.

I know them to be reliable,

and expect perfection,

performance without fault.

My hands may be little,

but they are my strength.

My hands may be little,

but they are strong.

They know when to hold on,

and when to let go.

They make my routines feminine 
& oh, so beautiful.

They show off my power!

They show off my strength!

My hands my be little,

but they are my strength.

They make me a gymnast.

They make me push for more.

My hands may be little, and

though they may always be sore,

but they are my strength.

So remember when you shake my hand,

to shake it with unwavering faith.

For it takes a lot of courage & belief

in all that I do.

In all that's at stake. 

With my little hands working
tirelessly to be,

the gymnast that I dream of.

The gymnast I am suppose to be.

Though my hands may be little,

they are my strength.

My hands may be little,

but they are my strength.

They will not let me falter,

They will not let me fail.

Because even when that

Happens, they pull me back up,

and work harder next time around.

To be the better gymnast,

even though I've fallen down.

For with each tumble,

with each fall.

I am confident in knowing,

That though my hands may be little

But they are my strength.


Hands: Anneliesa, 7
Photography: Dani St. George



Through This Light I Am Committed

She took aim.

Focused.

Framed.

Committed.

Clear in her course.

Her muscles fibrillated.

Mind racing.

Heart pounding.

She began to sweat!

Her back foot slid a bit.

it distracted her.

Flinch.

Shallow breath.

Mouth watering.

Lips Dry

The silence became deafening.

The ringing louder.

A flush moved up her chest.

She warmed,

exhaling the suffering with her breath.

She stopped with her last release of breath,
her finger pointing,

And drew it back on herself.

In a slightly broken curl,
she slowly drew her finger
to her fist & directed all
the light into her.

All that she was.

All that moment brought.
Then to now.

All that she is to become.

All that she ever denied herself.
She pointed to 
the soul that requested
this point of light.
Committed.

She gasped for air

A long, 
drawn out,
 laborious cleansing,
into her lungs

The energy,

The light,

Her angels,

Her guardians,

Her cords,

RUSHED to her.

Around her.
Into her.
Through her.

And through the back door.

She held up her hand,
The light was so bright...
What was she looking at?

silence in her first breath.

A piercing white space.

Crisp.

Pure.

Gone are the rationalizations,

validations,

Contempt from actions.

Gone are the 
excuses,

distortions,

the reasons why 
I never gave myself,

Worth,
A chance,
Courage,
LOVE.

GONE

were the voices,

berating's,

undermining,

and shame

The cant's

don'ts

won'ts

how could you's!

It was washed with acceptance.
With love.
With the hearts voice of

I was,

I am,

I will be.

It is the new foundation

to my inner creative. 
My complete separation
from what was theirs,
not mine.
Though I gave it ownership.
What they expected,
and demanded.

To simply

express,

feel,

pound out!

Define.

Push through
the shroud of
them.
To reveal 
me.

Immersed
in my vibrant light
only I can see.
The presence in,
and joy of,
there's only one me.
A great creation
designed 
to share.
Give.
INSPIRE!
Believe
and be humbled
by the energies 
around me.

My way
was not clear
as in a direction or a path.
It was a way of existing.

Though now,
through
doing.
Of being.
Of living.
Of loving.
Of expressing.
Of sharing.

Of being,
present.

I opened myself up
and willingly received
the grace of the energy
demanding to move through me.
It was through this light,
I finally did see.
That I am a gift,
may the world embrace me.

Through this light I am committed,
For this is the clarity
of who I am to now.
 To Be ME.
A gift for the world by 
simply being me.

Image By Ladyp Enrhyn
https://www.facebook.com/mary.springham.9

What Matters

What Matters in

What you See.

Or is it

What you See 

That Matters?

To See the Matters

That Matter.

To what Matters

Can only matter

By what's Seen.

So it Matters

How I See.

Because what I've Seen

is the Matter of Matter.

Matter-of-fact,

I've seen more than I'd like.

But I like

That it Matters.

What I've Seen.

And the Seen in my Matters

Is more than 

what Matters.

Because of how I See.

I see what

 Matters, 

because it Matters

that I've seen

what I need to See.

So to See into the 

Matter,

Is as important as

the Matter 

coupled with to See.

One is not complete

without the other.

The Matter,

Or to See.

You see?