Saturday, May 28, 2011
Banquet Scene with a Lute Player by Nicolas Tournier, 1625
the Classic Chiarascuroism
Originally found Leonardo DaVincism
Awakened the Renaissance appealism
Confounds time as to where one is placedism
where one is seatedism
at the last supperism
a Continual arabesque-ism
says else somethingism
cant find on webism
about our positionism
as above so belowism
all that rotsism
but not all left to rotism
see on youtubeism
but bespeaks of the now momentism
then in your lifeism
spirit sings infiniteism
as the Lute Playerism
Sings for his supperism
Whom exactly in this picture-ism?
are these person known or unknownism
or like so many millions of othersism
buried in obscurities like-ism
Jude the Obscure-ism?
is this really just about the isms or
The Lute Playerism?
is he Issi-Ism?
There are bold shadowsism
shadow boxing artistism
Touraine you old codgerism
SalvadorDaliesque are you notism?
your renditionism of Last Supperism
now Round Table-ism
imparts a place withinism
a genre-specific place-ism
barely there recognizable to the common manism
but you are common back thenism
and remarkably good lookingism
nattily dressed in your finestism
sitting at impromtu-ism
i'll research your mileu-ism
to understand what you could be thinkingism
i know what you are thinkingism
in that era full of unabashed gestalt-liningism
"'what the?' ism"
the round table accoutrements are barely-there-ism
the focus being on the fine face-ism
drawn realism to the forefrontism
I dont know much about this artistism
did I miss an art classism?
all that is hiddenism
in the needism
to fill in the blatant blanksism
make up stuffism
the chicken looks tasty-ism
to fill the voidism
with a painted surface-ism
stuck in the craw daddyism
with without 3d glassesism
is that the Lute Player on the leftism
actor's point of viewism?
i need glassesism!
Please take a boo at all the fine art poetisms, writersisms, artistsism for a complete compelling compelation of all things mannerly! Please invoke The Baroque!
Thank-you Tess Kincaid of Magpie Tales for the spirited journey to the world of art again!
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
My love let loose; release the unopened jars
Soon joy and bliss swirl above us to the stars
Spiralling out of control our passionate Universe
The Milky Way finds us fluid as our Spirits immerse
We bathe in this celestial bowl of all things light
We stare deeply into the orbs of each other's night
Searching for the heart to wrap us in endless love
How do I find you here when you are so far above?
You take me in your arms and hold me closer than close
You give me shelter from the storms and the surging coast
As we drift on the endless sea of sweet surrender
Never wanting to let go of this moment ever so tender
Monday, May 23, 2011
I often passed the village
by Emily Dickinson: comments below by Chiccoreal
I often passed the village
When going home from school —
And wondered what they did there —
And why it was so still —
I did not know the year then —
In which my call would come —
Earlier, by the Dial,
Than the rest have gone.
It's stiller than the sundown.
It's cooler than the dawn —
The Daisies dare to come here —
And birds can flutter down —
So when you are tired —
Or perplexed — or cold —
Trust the loving promise
Underneath the mould,
Cry "it's I," "take Dollie,"
And I will enfold!
Ok this is just freaky! If you studied my last analyses of Emily's poem "I haven't told my garden yet" that I had made prior to this insert I must tell you this! Indeed there is a haunting response to my query on my Chiccoreal take; at the end of my poem asking about whether or not anyone has seen Emily's ghost! And in the very last stanza her, Emily answers my question. "Cry 'it's I', 'take Dollie,' And I will enfold!". Ok so Emily sees herself as a Dollie! And that she wants us to take her across the river when it is our time. Well our time could be when we are "tired" "or perplexed" "or cold". Mind-blowing.
When we "Trust the loving promise Underneath the mould" we realize the honesty, the naturalness in being Spirit, and not the "mould"s or many faces that life makes us wear. We are now true to form and Emily as The Dollie wants to comfort us with her dolls; her poems! How child-like, simplistic and how Emily can, in her time, hear us when we "Cry". If this isn't a ghost-spirit, I don't know what is!
"I passed the Village" is intriguing, as the Village appears empty after school. The Village is the Village of the Dead. Either a graveyard or the Village is empty, people are now at home after work and the Village reminds barren and "dead". Either way the Village is dead. Not damned just not lively. Dead.
"Stiller than the sunset". Yes, another amazing coincidence when Emily says this as I, too, mentioned "sunset" in my last comment in regards to how the sunset sets but not the spirited heart. Emily obviously is this spirited heart that never dies and still talks in her mediumship across the wires.
No the daisies and birds (major themes) do not want to be there when all things die, like the Village (of the Damned; No; just the Dead) is very very still, to the point of being like death. But Emily will be there when we walk through our own particular "valley of death" Psalm 23. Again Emily appears very Christ-like in her being able to walk through this Valley as well as helping others when down and out to overcome the burdens of this life. A totally evoking poem, Ms Emily! Thank-you!
I often have passed the Village of the Dead
When all is said and done
and the world closes up to sleep
for the last time
and you walk by
the night of the living dead
and you find souls crying
Ms Emily is hear in her Dollie form
to give you a hug
as your cross over
your very own Valley of Death
Much comfort will ensue
and will come from a friend
who does know you
Through time and space
The Spirit lives within us
Eternally Yours Your Emily Dollie!
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
I haven't told my garden yet — by Emily Dickinson
I haven't told my garden yet —
Lest that should conquer me.
I haven't quite the strength now
To break it to the Bee —
I will not name it in the street
For shops would stare at me —
That one so shy — so ignorant
Should have the face to die.
The hillsides must not know it —
Where I have rambled so —
Nor tell the loving forests
The day that I shall go —
Nor lisp it at the table —
Nor heedless by the way
Hint that within the Riddle
One will walk today —
Emily returns to day in fine form as per usual!
Here is a segue (i thought seque meant Sedgeway! a totally different a thing!learn something new everyday; got to keep current!)
Anyway, today is a bit wobbly for me as I am under the weather. Being that the weather is under the weather! Quite sick absolutely No sun for a week! What's up with that? Maybe I need the sun for my Vitamin D? Could be although I take D supplements today as per how important Vit D is lately...is it?
Maybe it is the slave fires in Slave Lake?
Maybe it is simply May the Queen month of Spring. As per April showers bring May flowers! We all know this so we must enjoy the light rains. But what is with the barometric pressure and those crazy tons of tornado's whenever my ear aches? I am sure I am not the only one to suffer from pressure. That's why I like Ms Emily so much; "pressure free since 1860's" or thereabouts!
Yes, we see the flowers budding, coming to life this week, (I wish i were; quite the opposite)
And as the green springs so vibrantly bringing back to life all around there is green at Blue Mountain. And all the stars are out and happy; the mood upbeat. An aside; yes, Collingwood has had a number of Hollywood productions here and we are often called, besides Toronto, Hollywood North to Northwest. As per Toronto's proximity to Collingwood being Northwest of Toronto). A glimpse of star material is to be expected not anticipated. Very exclusive; very fifi, very location location.
We have noted the attack of yellow with the first of the Forsythias and the Lotus or Magnolia trees ( I always thought Magnolias look like Lotuses) in full bloom NOW. So pretty but take a picture THIS MINUTE, as these trees only last one week maximum in bloom! Next will be the fine and glorious scented lilacs, purple and white. Prefer the scented variety but the deep purple are so gorgeous, even though a greenhouse hybrid. We lived by the depot a few years ago and when we left the house we noticed the profusion of scented lilacs; I will always remember the scent; it stays with one. Me being one!
Talking about lilacs; our area was once (maybe it still is?) the lilac capital of Canada. Many travel far and wide to view the lilacs in full bloom. Lilacs remind me of the French for some reason, perhaps my Gran mama.
A little history lesson; Sir Sanford Flemming, the inventor of Standard time as well as the illustrator of Canada's first stamp (a beaver) as well as one of the famous dignitaries who hammered the last spike of the CN rail did live a minutes drive from here (get out your gps!). His renaissance man of the 19th Century did endure and so did his many lilacs still appreciated around "The Depot" the CN trail depot once a restaurant and now a museum. Great lectures can be had, as per the amazing history of this area, prehistory ancient, and voyageur to current. Charles Garrad, a fine archeologist from Toronto has written extensively regarding the native history of this area. One may want to research the Huronia Worshipping Rock for further interesting history. Yes a portal to the overworldlies is just a stone throw away! Not that I am going there anytime soon although with this summer cold/flu or whatever I certainly did feel the rock opening up abit! Great Shamans!
Now; Back to good ol' Emily! Where were we? Oh yes..."I haven't told my garden yet"...reminds me of "I haven't told my garden that I love her". Isn't this a song.."Have I told you lately that I love you?" by Rod Stewart! Yes I thought this sounded familiar! However a garden is the object of desire here! Sorry Rod!
"I haven't quite the strength now
To break it to the Bee"
Again I think Ms Emily is discussing her "Bee" her best friend (and we should by now all know who this personage "be". (please read again all my Emily Dickinson (49) inserts. ok I'll tell you (if I must!) Sue Gilbert (not related to The Little House on the Prairie Gilbert, but maybe a relative?)
OK, I think Emily has "rambling poets disease" where the poet takes a bevy of books and heads to the hills to read alone to the plants and all God's creature fine literature out loud en pleine air (in plain air). That's French, you know!
"The day I shall go"
Who knows the day or the hour? Biblical reference to when one will die. It could be any day now (aren't you lucky). Miss Emily being ever the Victorian melodrama Queen certainly loves to gush Gothic romantic energy. Some would call it "feigning flowers" or as per the gruesome habit of those maudlin days. Reminds me of the PBS Masterpiece theatre cartoon with the lady with vapours with hand to forehead. Still can hear her say "ahhhh...ahhhhh!". Oh that Iconic image that!
So Emily is really rambling with the ramble brush and raspberry bushes. Emily is highly imaginative in nature but feels "shy" (obviously) when in the socialite circle. This may be a reason why she never did commit to marriage. I have my theories!
Yes Emily is, above all else, personable. She is a character, but a living-once breathing one! And surely alive in her writing today. Her liveliness jumps off the page!
"Nor lisp it at the table —
Nor heedless by the way"
This is a fun way to say something! Did Emily have a lisp? Did she prefer to whisper? And was she really "heedless" or referencing in a jovial jocular manner maybe hyperbole "heedless" as "headless" making poking reference to The Headless Horseman of her contemporary writer The Legend of Sleepy Hollow by Washington Irving. I believe Ms Emily's Alma mater or at least a New Englander. Read the book. Johnny Depp was fine in the movie, but I much preferred the book! Isn't that always the way!
Nor lisp it at the table —
Nor heedless by the way
Hint that within the Riddle
One will walk today —
The last stanza in any poem usual is the crux or climax of the poem. Here is no exception, Ms Emily is profound in her usage of the "off wordiness". Off wordiness is my own definition of the tendency by many poets to use words that are not exactly antonyms or synonyms but just close enough by sight or sound to allude to the word used.
Also used in an alliterative rhythmic nature; creating great cadence and thought-bubble. Usually an trickster "ah-hah" moment of personal discover; aka mystic method to propel mysticism. The great allusion! meaning the great illusion; sheer trickery technique! So "lisp" could mean "limp" as Emily alludes to "One will walk today" see how we see other things in similes? Very familiar for a ghost! And "Hint with the Riddle" Emily is using this word-exchange "off wordiness" as a way of off-putting the usual and making a new reference to that which she wants us to reference which is weak "not strong" dying and death. Lovely!
Yes I do love remorse in the repose somewhat! Creaky doors and all that glibness.
Chiccoreal's Take on "I Haven't Sold My Garden Yet"
No I will make no allusion
to the illusions that my garden grows and grows
Pretty little cockle shells all in a row
Now we all know gardens
do not grow when watching them
So one with the dreaded limp
of lamprey eels reels
or the coarse lispyness
of a thousand beheaded clowns
I want my horse back! they say
when it is really their heads they want back!
and we all know how ghosts cannot walk
and they cannot talk
thus they are limp so ~ poor dears!
they cant walk? I beg to differ!
but they are a little lispy ~ romantically so
(have you ever heard a ghost rattle?
sounds like consumption to me
get out the Laudenum
yes ghost do float
and are more whispy than lispy
like chained helium balloons
they are not going anywhere soon
and return "again and again and again"
and oft find foggy mist a must
in which to a illuminate their filthy filmy bodies
with the accompanying off-scent
from the deep aqua sea
to where there be
Any sightings of her ghost lately?
I've got my theories!
http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/masterpiece/ Yes Masterpiece Theatre~!
Monday, May 16, 2011
Please Eat My Edible Words
Ancient Knowledge and Wisdom
soon earth unbound
twirling hoop skirts
swirling Deva dervishes
whirling whirly birds
yellowed binder-twined meaty pages
mind-screen rotating doors creak and turn
shelves five feet high crash down upon
my fluffy stuffy head
free floating energy!
pages warlock dance
watermarked by Matrix
for some future time and place
Ink blot dots pattern themselves
A paradigm moment
"Books Become Us"
Word images add-ons
on and on as fevered pitch
left us bleary-eyed and parchment
thirsting for knowledge
as this pica
this unnatural appetite
this taste of fermented thought
made our traditional conditional
on how we made old things new again
brain salad surgeons
and all those
Truth Seekers Menu
found solice in books
as Sol found Solstice in us
a reflection a genuflection
turn after turn
like notion and motion begins once the page turns
like an original camera I AM A CAMERA I flipped
as I was saw Mickey Mouse Steamboat Charlie
move and dance from the page of static display
find his way from page to moving picture
leap from stagnation to immortalization
to Find Fortune and Fame
in the printed word:
As Enlightenment fire starts
a lightening-bolt chain of event
Raise High the Light Beam
in carpenter pants the hammer
"Get to bed"
Flashlights soon undercover
Denizen of Mad Men
Scrambling to be the First
to read the new Nancy Drew
to Flirt with Disaster
The Young Indiana Jones
and Misadventure to find self
The Last of the Mohican's
can die a thousand deaths
A Thousand Clowns
and still be alive
for six o'clock supper news
Come Fly With Me
into a Parallel Universe of Re: Construct
those that once knew how to fly; flew
no longer soon stood still
as now desperately awaited a flash
all lingered by the rows and stacks
hung onto every word
Who did "Bit with a big fat bite"
"I will love love you forever my Mama you'll be"
as each book in rapid succession
became greater than the last
even in Grand Rapids!
Electricity released a bright, flashy show
A Neural-Eclectic-Synaptic light display
Heaven found! here! formulating ideas
as the Papyrus Scrolled Honour Roll
fell swiftly to the floor
as thoughts become objects of desire
never objectionable unless
the ABC's primary directive "To Learn"
to find a collective sense of cohesiveness
in all things idea-s and idea-l
letters found within sounds
these world of words symbols
becoming linked to images found in nature
to recreate our beginnings
something borrowed something new
the collaborative effort
of writer and reader alike
adapted for the mind screen
who screamed nothing is new under the sun?
is it not?
as all creation found
in the conscious brain first flung
to descend to this lowly plane of material
as we need books material to create ideas
as we ascend to those celestial realms
as we librarians stamp reality's due date
don't be late; or pay a fine
maybe you still have to pay for a book on loan
from circa 1963?
Remember to learn the Golden Rule
as dangling pom-pom balls in your face hang
as sun glassed eyes
peering through sand sea and sun
and your straw hat tilts like an umbrella
on the beach
Ah, a good summer read!
All Good Boys Deserve Favour
Summer of 42
The Music Flavoured
with spicy word-thoughts
and Everything you Always Wanted To Know
Did you Know That?
Do train the brain
As with words
We become more than the whole of our many parts
We become Soul!
So Please remember to return to the shelf
what was once a solid investment in renewal
And Please, come back again and again!
Save Soup for the Hungry Man Within
who needs to feel this belly full
a real meal
All found soon found comfort
found soul food in the tidbits pieced
together from pulp and paper and ink
As Once Upon A Time
we added unto this steaming bowl
of thought stream oughtmeal
cohesive ideas cemented
like Stone Soup (you remember?)
our ideal found in ideas
fragmented in parts we became whole
foraged for truffles and trifles
ate Goldilocks's porridge with her three orisons
We built bridges between us
made physical the invisible
contacted the master constructs
classics culled one another nouveau era
As riches from old forgotten money
suddenly appeared as if suddenly spent
prested like a leaf between pages
nostalgia for long lost
feeling how now
pressed into prestidigitation
once found out we were begot from naught
NO TOM-FOOLERY OR MOCKING TRICKERY
like a tick-tock
Books beckon me
right round the clock!
And to the lost those who become
discoverer of All things Ancient
Those Inner thought dream Palaces
are primarily literary Places
to curl up in a ball like a cat
to dream and recall
those locked away in the bell tower
safe and secure
lest they hallucinate!
Bookmarked I would always could come back
good old Terre Firma!
to this place where soul now dwells
once you left the cloud
the seed was grown
as you yearn to return
it all comes back to you
floodgates pour forth pure crystalline imagery
watermark the buffalo stamp
find the fluffy dewy-downy-softness
of light-headiness makes solid this knowledge
of all you can eat all day book buffet
yesterday's design diner on wheels
makes coke float and malted milk shake
fluid flow of treasured pages
just around the corner
second shelf down
Thank-you Tess Kincaid of Magpie Tales for this week's bookish photographic prompt; inspiring and much fun! Give a read! Give a try at writing a classic!
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Here Where I AM Spirit
Awakened Soul to this day
Cojoined Oneness of Isness
Living Water Refresh Soul
Soul Energies Stay Asleep
Heart Beats Celestial Drums
Earth Spins "Free the Universe"
The Blue Sky of Endlessness
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Smoldering Fires, Clarence Holbrook Carter, 1904-2000
Columbus Museum of Art
"Abigail McNamara and Son Joshua on Wolverine Mountain" Part 1 Americana Series by Sadie LaMans
The picture and the caption said it all, "but there will always be more to this story" Sadie LaMans recalled in a deeply pensive mood.
Sadie LaMans, the Free Press reporter from the big city Detroit had decided that the spring would be a good time to interview Abigail McNamara. The sparse yet stoic population of Wolverine Mountain in Hoosier Country would be prime reading material. The series on the lifestyle of the less than rich and famous Mountain folk would feature Abigail McNamara. The series would feature one family a week for Sadie's weekly "Americana Series" of interviews.
The roads would at least be passable in early May. The year was 1931. Abigail McNamara had about all she could stand of winter. Determined no matter whether or not the snow was on the ground or if the winds and snow pellets were stinging her face into a frozen contortion she would get outside today and hang laundry "no matter what". It had been too many months of the cruelest of winters, and spring was clearly sunny as if to say, like one of her children; :Mommy come out and play today"! All around her and inside her heart the sun was shining all around her, her babies, the mountain and distant valley. Abigail smiled at the mountain and said a silent prayer.
"I can take it, yeah, almost anything" she argued with the reporter, half-jokingly but serious with furled brow and half-smile standing outside and leaning on the heavy, hand-hewn oak doorway.
Not only had the latch been broken, the entire door had blown off clear off the hinge and landed onto the clearing by the barn. Sadie examined the massive hinge which was still dangling and creaking in the early spring winds. "That was from the last storm" Abigail acknowledged sheepishly.
Her muscled yet tiny body framed within the doorjamb, her physical space demanded one's full attention/ Certainly she had a commanding presence thought Sadie in her pensive yet professional manner.
Sadie had noted this strength of character before with others of the county who were being interviewed. Sadie noted that Abby had this an inner strength that only comes from years washing an endless line of diapers by hand, then wringing them, each individually in ice cold water. Mountain life was a difficult life; a drudgery. Sadie thought how she would so loathe to be part of the lifestyle of the mountain folk. Yet Sadie could fully appreciate the tenacity of Abby and her kin. How Abby would be outside sticking her bare frostbitten hands under her armpits to warm them up for the next diaper. And that was only part of her day of hard back-breaking labour. Thee would be dinners to prepare, rugs to beat, bears to skin, possums to stew. These were all incredibly endearing moments captured by Sadie in the majestically wondrously beautifully rugged mountain range.
Without her husband she had come up short with no income, no means to support herself and her babies. There would be no way to survive another winter unless Abby learned how to pull up her bootstraps and face life's grim facts. Hers was to become a tough and unpleasant reality for most. It would be up to Abby to relearn life's game. In order to eck out a living Abby had to become like a man; like a female lumberjack, or a tough it out princess who could not afford to wait for others to do her chores; "Or somewhere inbetween.." thought Abby while rocking softly her bevy of beautiful babies.
There was the same understanding from all the folks in her community that she could tough it out, eventually. And that's what folks were like in this neck of the woods; honest. There was never a dry eye in church when they saw Abby and her dear children, all five of them, most still in diapers. How did she manage? Some of the regulars would try to help with canned goods, but the times were tough, being the thirties, and not much money to go around. When a spare hand could be used, Abby would often appear stand-offish and say "No, that's ok, I can manage, thank-you!". Abby was extremely independent considering before her husbands untimely demise, much of a cabin-dweller, and kept to herself.
"There are some Amish up the road a spell who did help out in a pinch, but I can't keep asking them all the time" Abby thought to herself while retelling her life story to Sadie LaMans. "In a jam, yes, but not if they were no major emergency." Abby, like her family who lived ten states away was "too proud" to allow for charity of any kind. "Fiddlesticks" cursed Abigail, "I'm not takin' no charity!".
Certainly there were "some mighty handsome beaus" that did come calling and did want to marry Abby "if only". Often she would scare them off the trail, coming across too strong and forward. Far too often they though her aggressive and this went for most of the callers. Abby not having or wanting a new man in her life. She still thought of Jimmy and never wanted to remarry.
For months were becoming much more easier and easier. Soon she found no need or use for men at all. She was reclaiming her life as her own; on her own. This made Abby feel stronger about her mission in life; to prove she could do it, raise five babies independently. She was fiercely independent. Sadie noticed and noted this aspect regarding the brave mountaineer-types of this distinct Wolverine district.
Knowing basic survival skills meant Abby had a toughness, and a fierce fighter instinct rather than a softness of feminine wiles which most men were looking for in a woman. Someone to enfold them with softness. Abby did not represent enough demure and non-dominance. No, not at all! Abby knew this about men, and did not appreciate this value as much as the men did not appreciate Abby's intent to be a domineering wife and mother. Abby thought she had to be this way, but there were too many rough edges to soften by now she thought.
Abby, on the first date was often too hauty and loud in nature,sounding like Ma Kettle. She did come on too strong, smoking her deceased husband's pipe, and riding the range with the boys. A major faux pas when learning the art of "how to hook a man and keep him in ten easy lessons" Who really needs a man as husband material?". Abby laughed to herself as she played up the tough-woman part way over the top. She could spot a fellow on the prowl at the first signs of sweet talk. "Oh not another undesired male!".
With Abby's ample free spirit looming like an Amish quilt on a four-post bed, most gents ran rather than walked away from Abby's farm. Never to return or even look back and wave for fear of becoming enmeshed like a fish or entrapped like a bear and always with a less then favourable outcome projected from their logic-ridden minds.
Which was not to say that those who valued uptight codes of over-zealous ethics would avow members of the inner circle Congregational cooperation. As part of her wits, wisdom and undaunting brawn Abby would often if not always outmatch any suitor that would come calling.
Although she had the face of angel, she was rough around the edges from life's grit was much too gravelly at the best of times.Even the cruel blow life had to offer she had become common-place and Abby accepted this enigmatic mantle.
To know Abby would be to know that no one could take away her excessive exuberance for life. This did empower her and made her family strong as the strongest oak tree that grew within the Wolverine County basin.
As Abigail's said a hushed good-bye to the reporter, Sadie thought "what a powerful presence" and how she could feel her energy from the endless looping driveway down the elevations into the village. As Abby's raw hands keenly placed on her hips, baby in tow, waving furiously as visitors were so few and far between.
due to having to learn how to chop the winter's wood. Her husband Bob had not returned, lost in the storm. The neighbours found his body found two years ago a frozen form. Attached to the frozen fence, trying to find his way home through the blinding snowstorm.
Abby, was, as the french would say "formidable" her adorable year old babe straddling her widen postnatal hips.
"Listen; I'll have you know I've toughed it out through the coldest winters 70 below when the Snow was high as this here roof" she bellowed in a perfected mid-west twang
Jimmy didn't come back through the storm and I was without wood and couldn't make a fire due to the 80 mile per hour winds."
"Give me the best of the lot, I can top any one of them." "You wanna read a poem I just made?" Abby asked Sadie. "It's the best un I've done so far!" "Nights get kinda lonely here in the mountains!" Abby cleared her throat and with a deep voice boomed;
"Stronger than the Mountain behind me
Hardier than any pioneer log cabin ya see
Tougher than the Granite mantle under my feet
Meaner than a coyote without a rabbit to eat"
" In '30 one of my baby came out sideways!"
"Come an' get it...The grits are on the table.."
Abby screamed to the flock.
"Love the early mornings hangin' laundry, mostly diapers...watching the crows"
"each night i am renewed"
my strength is in the Lord" Abby looked up to the sky
"and he knows the length of my days
and the number of hairs on my head. Amen"
"Amen." repeated Sadie LaMans; "Amen!".
Thank-you Tess Kincaid of Magpie Tales for the extraordinary artwork prompt from
Smoldering Fires, Clarence Holbrook Carter, 1904-2000
Columbus Museum of Art
for further reading on this and many other topics for readers and writers alike;
HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY MOMS 2011! HEARTS AND FLOWERS TO YOU!!!