Collections From Breathing

A simple breath, the bubble forms

then floats in search of things adored

keen awareness, filling bareness

collections placed and interlaced

a meaning soon restored.

CD-W ©

She dipped below an ocean wave

And gave with grace a treasure saved

of centuries old, its story told

seasons more to yet unfold

A single pearl unscathed.

From Collections from Breathing – a WIP book of poetry

When Pencils Need Sharpening

We were born. We didn’t have a choice.

We didn’t enroll for this class called “LIFE.”

Why would we ever want to “unenroll”?

We might miss something unexpected, something better.

Yes, some days all the hallways are the same.

They lead to the same old classroom,

the same old teachers.

Pencils get dull.

The roof leaks.

Trash cans get filled. Emptied.

But then on the big cork board in the hallway, we see something new.

“New construction in progress.

We are expanding!”

So even as we sneeze through the dusty air,

step over the nails,

hold our hands over our ears as the hammers pound

and the saws whiz

there’s a new spring in our step.

Something better is coming.

f9ecc24d241edbc138f6b2ded6898611--construction-signs-under-construction

image credit

via Enroll

Dance Anyway

I just had a birthday

but they say it’s been a year

so I am here

standing strong

a thumbs up and a cheer.

 

Fifteen years ago, I wrote an entry in my journal about turning 45. Soon afterward, I copied the pages and turned it into a piece of art. I painted a journal (the image is flat) then made it three-dimensional by coating a separate piece of card stock with gesso. I glued it so it would protrude from the canvas.

birthday journal 2

In the original journal, I wrote how, inside, I was the same person who played guitar at sunsets, had intimate conversations with perfect strangers, and questioned everything about life.

Today, I have more answers. But I will always question.

 

What I positively know to be true is this–a line from a song:

 

“To love another person is to see the face of God.”

I have seen His/Her face many times.

And for that, I am forever grateful.

 

And, as my 28 year-old son once said at the age of two,

“It’s not time to go home. It’s time to dance!”

And he said this when no music was playing. A lesson to live by.

 

the Sighing of pedals

My Art 052

I grow my flowers lovingly

 I  touch, their pedals sigh

from knowing of their task in life

–delight and mystify.

The rose, it’s thorns protective, pierce

a skin, naive of threat

but once a droplet, red, descends

the memory’s inset

As the milkweed draws the monarchs

quite stupefied am I

to learn a universe as this

creates to gratify.

 

 

Early artwork by CD-W (I guess because of its simplicity, it’s still one of my favorites)