“The wind is tossing the lilacs,
The new leaves laugh in the sun,
And the petals fall on the orchard wall,
But for me the spring is done.
Beneath the apple blossoms
I go a wintry way,
For love that smiled in April
Is false to me in May.”
– Sara Teasdale, May
Hello, dear reader. The poem above is not necessarily the premise of my post but I thought it was much too beautiful to pass over. My intellectual stand still which lapsed into a creative low has now seemingly subsided. Unfortunately, this has not come with the time to carry out my inspirations. And yet I am still in a more creative fluency then I was and things May be looking up (pun intended). So here is my outlet, crafted of words and photographs, not always up to par, but always me…
My need for beauty is apparent in everything I do.
As I am born in the sign Taurus, to that, I guess, I’m true.
Life and love and happiness,
all intertwined in mind
But most my ideas, failures,
so back to the stone I grind.
And when they are not failures,
then simply un-carried out.
To this I am accustomed
Nothing to cry about.
I am my mothers daughter
My father’s blood in my veins.
My body only mine,
How can Death and death coexist?
inconceivable and omnipresent.
Not utterly distasteful
but oppositely unpleasant.
A reverse course of fish in water
with all my skin and bones,
I am my mothers daughter.
I wrote this poem on January first but I’ve gone back to it because it reminds me of May. Not simply because it’s about me–a May baby–and mentions Taurus which is partially encased by that month. But it also speaks of a mother–mine–which we celebrate in May. I am much like my Mother, I see my Father in myself everyday. Yet everyday I see myself, different and one soul. Held temporarily in a confusion of muscle and bone. My heart lies in an entanglement of earth and spirit. I love deeply and well, though the world will never tether me. it may weather me. Blood, muscle, skin and bone. Never, forever in body. So freedom for failure is what I’ll grant, because effort is half the battle.
I carry this little book around with me everywhere. I fill it with my thoughts, surroundings, experiences, ideas and emotions in the form of art. Sometimes words sometimes just visuals but always worth taking a few minutes out of scheduled time and space to create.
faith in all the things I’ve hated
– word bank of a brain
If life and art danced together
their silhouette would be the outline of a