Widowed Without A Manual

Some of us grieve longer then others. I will not be rushed out of my love, that still inhabits my heart.

What Feelings Are Stored In Our Minds

Today while eating breakfast
the smallest of egg
did go crashing down my air pipe
within a micro second
the projector 
that resides in my mind
started playing
Not something lovely
but a repeat of events
my love choking on his food

So vivid are these playbacks
the clarity in details
every horrific sound
images of so many tears streaming
down his beautiful face
he looks up to me with his eyes
floating in pools of water
red and frightened
I can’t do anything to help

These are the images that continue to live in me

The sadness that I feel
is like a boulder on my chest
I can hear the squeaking of the movie reel spinning backwards
till my eyes fill with tears
all I can think is
I’M SORRY,,,,,,, I’M SORRY,,,,,,,,,,, I’M SORRY
that you had to go through this

If I loved you much less
I would be free of these movies 
that spin in my head
If I loved you less I would not feel such sadness when I choke
If I loved you less
_______
I would not be the person I am today
loving you beyond life itself
has made me a person
I like to spend time with
I love who I am
I am better for loving you my sweet departed love
my husband my soul mate

Till I choke again,,,,,,,,,

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Second Look

Many Doors To Open

Sometimes looking back after a couple of months is a good thing. The creative high has settled and the realistic eyes have emerged. Most of these works of art I have not stretched  on wood. I am thinking more and more that I will keep these as if I had painted them in a sketchbook.

Often I feel that selling quickly due to the never ending need of monies we or I loose sight of that first glow of creative juice for a piece. Then it almost never comes back. How do you out there deal with this, if in fact you have felt this?

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This treasure I found washed ashore at Tilting on Fogo Island. I wish there were a dozen more. I was completely captivated by the material, the size and the hinge. The edges are cut and worn by the sea.

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My walks were never just a walk…

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