This morning I was covered in goosebumps and asked him if he had a jacket I could wear. He went upstairs and brought me a sweatshirt.
I asked him if he had heard Barbara’s song off the Songbird album, “Honey, Can I Put On Your Clothes?” He is like a musical encyclopedia and can recite, well, you would not believe.
He said, “No.” So I sang it. Then he asked if I had a shirt like that. I said, not really. He said you can have that one.
Sometimes I am crazier than everything.
We’re not in love No, no, no, we’re not, He is still caught up In memories of her; I try to be someone Freeing him for a time From the constant grind Of all the problems He is called upon To solve each second, Of every single day. He shares his tastes In music, humor, art, I learn sometimes That I am not so strange As I have often thought, There is a contemporary Person who gets The boundless part of me. He helps me with My myriad problems Encouraging me to Continue in my efforts, And our hugs help Us deal with this time Of social isolation; But no, he is not in love And says he never will. I share him with a ghost But somehow, that feels Familiar, it is usually Reversed – so I can deal With it for now, and Perhaps eventually We will find a place In one another’s orbit That allows us to feel What is already there As something real.
You cried your words, right, Into the heart of my life, soul, Answering was I Bound close as yourself to you I sang beauty in a voice I borrowed – starlight; The wind untamed took captive Every small moment I did not hide in pockets Protected from your unknown. Across many years I chased every pleasure found In other places, But each was lacking something Proven in your words to me. My nebulous thoughts Converge, enfold your body In a field tender As the minute sensation Of love, long-deferred, come due. Myself, my sight, is Frequent as light traveling Across space and time To portray your perfect poise Provided contrasting darkness. I have now become More than distant yesterdays; Music you wrote, soft, Upon the flesh, heart, dancing Beneath your strong, gentle hands.
I live in my head more often than not, but over the last two days, I have also spent time in the real world. Albeit, my real world, I did extensive work inside the house yesterday and outside it today.
My encounters with bugs, snakes, snails, reminded me why I prefer interiors. Guess I should expect the critters living in the woods, but they are creepy.
I brought in the towels used to sop up excess water when the Explorer leaks. As I got in the mud room a little green lizard, an anole, went flying across the room. It promptly hid out. I said some prayers hoping I could return it to the wild, because it would die in here.
I fixed Pepperjack Cheese Waffle Fries and ate them. When I went back to the door awhile later I saw my visitor. I tried to catch it, but on the third try I prayed again, and somehow I caught the little cutie. I held its tail while it sat on my bicep and took it out to the porch.
I am glad to say the release was successful. I am quite sore, and my computers still won’t go on the internet, so I am brief.
I hope you have an excellent rest of the week. Everybody’s Working For The Weekend by Loverboy. Stay safe and remember love is what the whole world needs.
When we choose to create, whole universes rise to meet our inclination, which can, on occasion, be intimidating. What we know about process, creation, may not lend itself at the moment to production. Time may swirl its vaporous fogs around us. We may need to filter the nectar from the dew.
A useful tool for creative sessions we find in music. Often, we have many favorites and find it fortuitous to add artists to our listening consistently. There are numerous choices in ways to find and enjoy music these days. Every taste meets ample representation.
An exercise one might do, is to take a song well enjoyed, enter it, imbibe its mood, let the lyrics move the spirit; then write, paint, create something original from what one finds in the experience. Music is heart and soul; it is a gift always filling lives.
Equally, photos can be a catalyst for inspiration. Looking through photos offers a bevy of ideas. Personal and family photos, magazines, Instagram, and other online services should serve well enough. Create as whim and wish may direct.
Random words found in various places can be material to seed many works. Dictionaries, quotations, thesauri, signs will work, or pick some out of the air.
There is never a dearth of creativity; it infuses every portion of reality and imagination. The trick is to harness it and make with it some beauty to honor who we are in the world. At times like these, love is sorely needed and can be delivered expertly through our creations.
I am bringing hand-written pieces less often. This one is a bit a mess, but I want to show process. It is written on dot paper, and I am not so good without lines to guide me. Anyway, it is a song. I used contractions, which is odd for me.