Thursday, August 10, 2017

poem



the bridge is a land apart

leading to fields of meadow flowers.....pale blue       yellow        bright orange.
soft crimson petals 
                             lilting quietly in the language of summer, a time of the fragrance of smiles.

the bridge crosses over shallow waters, speaks to tiny pebbles and soil that has been 
washed clean and pure.
      it waits for the silent traveler, whose footsteps are laden heavy with dark fields 
                                                                                                                  and heavier clouds.

across the field, i see the bridge. it is a vehicle to move my heart and soul far from this ground, 
this dark room, filled with rain and rivers overflowing.

i never knew a bridge could be freedom. it is a new planet, a different word and sentence for me to hold and remember. 

like an expanse of land empty and waiting for history to be made, beyond the bridge the fields are vast to explore. 

the bridge is a land apart, separate from each corner of the room. 

it is beyond me

as far 
as 
the eye
can see.


by me



the door

waiting does not always mean the door will open but still i wait.
sometimes, i walk away, i find another place.....a meadow, a path, the forest, the clouds.
the clouds take me away instantly. i can feel myself floating in them away from all this.

the wall, the clock, an empty table.....speak with their softest voices, it is your soul talking and someone is there listening. they are kind and quiet, they wait but the door is already open. a room that is always open.
a spiritual person, who is a friend but not seen. they are always there, you can trust 
that they will always be there.

hopelessness, weary from walking, waiting but the door is just there. 

i know i am not alone, but i am alone. if it weren't for that one spirit that always follows me,
always waits upon me
always comforts me,

i might lose.

i watch, i listen, i think about those who are around me. it is comforting for a short time to feel 
what their lives might be like, to open a door into a world other than my own.


by me





Thursday, July 27, 2017

my poem

    childhood is buried deep within oneself, not hiding but sunken into a memory, a silent lane under weeping trees, small sparrows watching quietly in a hollow of the forest. childhood is a silly bear, whose eyes are filled with enchantment and endless running. it is the silken, fallen leaves whose language we have all but forgotten, save for the child whose heart is the forest and sea, who understands all languages of the earth and the skies.
    childhood, that waundering life of color and landscape far above the moon's universe. the children in us wait, but live without us......until we turn to see our own smiling faces, the face of our child.

an old poem by me

their stare seems as if it were a foreign land, rustic coats wearing in dark and cold.
jumping children, light surrounding.....light enveloping, new and different and dangerous, but silly, children playing in spheres of white.
as wild grasses play under the tall, sleepy trees, i remember looking at the green, beautiful leaves and thinking they were perfect. they were happy and giggling.
a princess, playing in a play, pouring shakespeare from a dream.
winter and bears, cotton horses and water rippling with beams and glistenings.
winter and windows and light and memories.
and grey shadows, quiet
grey
shadows 

by me


Tuesday, July 18, 2017

Friday, July 14, 2017

Saturday, June 24, 2017

Longing for nature.......










we spent 7 months living on the coast of washington while writing our second book fairy village and loved being so close to nature all of that time. now we are back in city and i find myself missing the quiet beauty of nature all around me. i still have never been to a place where i've truly felt at home though. i think i would feel that in england or france, but in the countryside not the city. i have had beautiful gardens and have felt my spirit go to another place when i have been in beautiful settings in nature, a beautiful retreat for my soul, but i know if i were to walk in the meadows and gardens and pathways in europe, i would feel at home at last.












Sunday, April 16, 2017

Wonderful artist, Olivia Irvine







i found this incredible artist recently whose paintings so reflect my interpretation of life, too. i love the soft, ethereal colors she uses and the childlike, fairy tale quality of her work. i've looked at her paintings over and over again, they are so inspiring to me.