Remember those notes you passed in junior high ?
( yes, I said junior high. not middle school. )
( ages me, I know .... )
yeah, yeah .... those notes . . .
between girlfriends - boyfriends ... wanna-be-boyfriends. But some where down the line, one was always intercepted . nabbed by some saggy, scary study hall teacher ... and it was always a bad one ... either about making out, smoking weed, or cutting class. and shit hit the proverbial fan . .
I am slightly uncomfortable with social media, and the forum it presents for discourse. particularly when it comes to those things that ... well, not-so-long ago ... would be done only face-to-face ... or over the phone for the passive aggressive approach.
we loose the nuances of expression, the non-verbal cues, the passion that lies underneath things .... and well. let's be honest .... I'm not one to shy away from confrontation ... I can say what I mean ... but am amazed how fucked up things get, and well, it's like those notes ... you just wish you had said less, more ... or said it better, not said it at all, or at least passed it thru Jordan instead of Karen . . somehow ... got it right.
but, every day , we see on blogs & fb ... the friend quarrel, the family squabble, the back & forth sniping between siblings or spouses.
we also rant from our sparkly pink unicorns ... pushing the visual or verbal envelope ... are we hoping to raise awareness, or are we merely strapped in on some virtual roller-coaster-mirror-ball-ego-ride.
I don't know ....
I like my pink sparkly unicorn ..
I think I can sometimes see a clear way to the balance, the clearest, brightest path.
it has also bit me in the ass. words turned, and not heard. intent forgotten, or lost in the boiling of blood.
tonight, I am thinking about my father ... how he stood up to injustice & segregation. how he continually pushed me to be more, to take notice & pay attention. he was never a bully . . but he was Irish fierce with a poets heart ... a champion of the under-dog. a champion for me.
tonight, I am thinking about my daughter. she is not what she seems ... but ohhh so much more. she is beautiful, and irish-welsh fierce ( that's my mom showing up ! )
she is an artist at heart, and a champion of the under-dog.
tonight, she has grappled with a wing of the family over social media in a way that made me proud of her, breathless & stunned by her savvy, class & humor. she was succinct ... could not have said it better.
and i was simultaneously shocked, pissed and heart-broken over the way family continually allows their political or religious agenda to trump love.
I should quit being surprised by the behavior of people .... but I'm too busy riding my sparkly pink unicorn.
meanwhile, my daughter has become her own champion.
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Remember those notes you passed in junior high ?
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
everywhere a tingling pocket temple
rock words paving
the shine thrown from a moon beam
mirrored in ink waters possible
our quartz city rising
one never can quite predict
light & shadow
the sudden pull toward a new line
a forgotten curve
heart blue silver kissed lightening
ArT by Marta Pelrine-Bacon
Monday, June 25, 2012
I love circles, and the swirling-nautilus of connection that can happen in a blink of an eye, a turn of a page, over the tic-tocking of a day …. I was tagged into One Lovely Blog Award by L. Dean Pace-Frech. L. Dean's blog is prairie-sky-wide : in subject & heart …. leading one into true love & the silly, turtles & ruby slippers. & the dust of every day .
Read it in the morning, and fill up your heart.
Now, the rules for this are to pass this honor on to 15 fellow-bloggers … and to write 7 things about myself ,,,
do they have to be actual, real things … or can i invent some stuff up ??
Almost every blogger i know is in the middle of some wee event ; some cosmic, personal shift or crisis ….. and i might be killed if i were to tap them in without first going thru some transcendent vetting thingy ,,,
so, i may add some of you word warriors at a later date … but let's get this 7 thing over . . .
7 things … ok.
1. i write because i have to ,,,, it's just there making my socks wet & my senses full.
2. i could exist on water with lemon, fresh bread & olive oil & escargot. Oh, and beignets …
3. i have 3 dogs … stella, huckleberry & wylie (coyote) ….
4. i have one child …. daisy. i love her to pieces - to the moon & back.!!
she is so much more than i bargained for, and everything i could ever wish for ,,,,
5. i like : tattoos, johnny depp, bracken, beowulf, mr. darcy & tom robbins, the night sky, dear friends, the smell-you-get-in-the-moutains-that-fills-your-soul, i soak up stuff, & i like coffee - rich, dark coffee
6. margaritas = my summer drink. on the rocks. no salt.
7. my husband ❤…. a cowboy at heart ….
8. it is a hot, wet-sticky-green, over-cast day ,,,,
Yes . . that is actual 8 things ,,, and maybe a wee bit more, because i tend to over-acheive on mondays.
stay tuned …..
1. DiAnne Ebejer
2. Niamh Clune
of course …
3. L. Dean Pace-Frech
Saturday, June 23, 2012
fragility outlined by night
exquisite whisper of light
celestial tempest drawn delicately thin
in the west so piercingly bright
rising ... rising ...
seeming to magnify
from inconsequential things :
particles of dust, storms & days
sorrow, forgiveness & clouds haze
how very almost-not-there
it remains always illuminated
jumping cows & mischief makers,
storytellers & film-makers,
astronauts & huckleberry friends,
spectral visions, midnight riders
that love that knows no end
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Sunday, June 17, 2012
someday I will go to New Orleans
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Stealing beside me
an ochre whisper
defines your phantom presence
a whisper . .
erasing all negative space
blooming into darkness &
the quiet burn of a million stars . . .
"Make a strong line, don't sketch it out -
be sure when you draw", you told me that . . once.
drawn then . . .
on a kiss that carries the paisley weight
spin of this blue rock
the soundtrack to Fantasia
& maybe The Partridge Family
calliope hummingbirds land on our tongues
flying into our stained-glass souls
as the 2:17 rolls thru town
a kiss . . .
stealing all measure of wound & rumpled sorrow
pheasant feathers & words are weaved into
skin is diffused, scarred & forgiven - effervescent almost
inconsequential to the heart of the matter
draw sure …
linger into this slumbered ghost kiss
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Saturday, June 9, 2012
( i agree with you )
and maybe it's in the knowledge of both : the customary & the confection
that lets us consider the potatoes & the pie
wholeness is found in their contrast . .
the m.c.escher of it all - how while examining one thing, you suddenly realize
something else lies there beyond that line -
no negative space ;
both equally important in their own unique way ;
the grace & glory of the everyday vs. the stuff of dreams
black & white
shadows & light
the honey-bee to the frog
the box of paints to shades of grey
the bruise & the blush
dinner to dessert
coming to love the contrast in life & love has defined the beat of my days:
learning patience, and how to fold myself inside out
tethering myself to the expected with a warrior's sense of obligation & being present
to the role, the rules & the respect to this place called comfortable
( which is only so ... )
all the while knowing that no one ever learns or grows in that place called comfortable,
no one ever takes mighty cosmic leaps while in stasis
on the edge between the contrast is where the real journey begins . .
where bone becomes a blossom & where trust becomes a golden blade of sunshine
. . an apt description . .
having to get to the other side & to love regardless
to risk playing the fool, to risk ego & significance
to love you regardless
through the stillness & the reality
excavating to the core of tangible while knowing there are things we can not see
and trusting that beam of truth . .
trusting the almost inhuman intimacy that wraps our moments in blue
trusting the pull, the surrender, the acceptance, the taste,
the heat & the snow
trusting the contrast
and that is where wholeness lies . . .
obligation & release
shadows & light
fire & air
earth to sky
dinner to dessert
and in the box of paints , , ,