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.

Familiar Sadness

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her sadness 

so intense
                                                                                        that it

left an imprint
on my flesh
                                                                                      my burning chest
when we held

my sister’s sadness
                                                                                       forever changed
etches deep in my flesh
I am consumed
my body
my mind
every memory
feels woken
                                                                                     wet and desolate
jolted from a placid state

a bandage ripping off a scab
exposing raw flesh

opening the dam
the heart’s intuition begins to flow
do i possess the strength
or am i just an
sorrow addict looking
for her next fix
am i drawn to a familiar sorrow
ever encompassing sadness
                                                                                  is there such a thing
is there such a thing?


Upon reading. Editing and adding words and lines, I felt that two things were happening. I was recreating my poem by adding these words and lines. By the process of separating them I realized that a second poem was being created 🙂 thus I left the added lines to the right. The poem can now be read in three ways.

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I have been busy with researching sexual abuse for a play my friend wrote and directed. After reading her script and attending a rehearsal I plunged into the pool of turmoil attempting to swim through all the horror and not get caught in the tentacles of an abusers mine.
Three hours of reading and sketching in the solitude of a coffee cup I allowed my inner child to speak. Followed by five intense days of painting I was now exhausted, my mind empty. After recuperated for three days while I slept, watched H.B.O. movies and drank barrels of tea. There was nothing left in me. As if my blood had been drained from my veins, being replaced by tea none the less.
I have just completed two weeks of nail biting car research for my trusted friend the van was on its death bed. This is another part of my life that will be without Bruce. No more can I drive around and remember him sitting in the passenger seat with his sketchbook on his lap. No more will I think of his wheelchair sitting in the back empty like a ghost. No more will I chant ‘just bring me to him and bring me back home, that is all I ask’

I did not name my van, perhaps I should have. It served me very well and was my home on wheels for so many years. My van carried a lot of boxes and sculptures and was always with me during all of my  sculpture restoration contracts.
I should have named him, should I not?
I feel that he was not so much my friend as my godfather, always looking out for me. Rarely getting deathly ill. I did give him all the medication the mechanic prescribed. He had his regular check ups and transfusions.
He was my godfather.
When I left him in the parking lot of the honda dealer I thanked him once again and kissed him. I believe he smiled back at me and then went to sleep forever. He had a good life of service and dedication filled with devotion and love.
Now I have an adult Honda Fit. She is six years old and is so lovely. I went to the dealer to test drive a Toyota Matrex but when the salesman opened the door I could not enter the car. The energy that lingered was anger mixed with frustration and no love. Sadly the car had an evil spirit in it and I could not bring myself to sit behind the wheel. I did sit in the passenger seat but quickly got out. Then like a shining light in the forest I saw this flicker of violet. I asked the salesman Joseph, What is that? He opens the door and I jumped in then said I will test drive this. After my nephew checked her over and gave me some pointers on negotiating a better deal I did and am now the owner of Aveline [which means loyal , little bird] she has happy energy. She is beautiful and will hopefully become a long time friend.


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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?


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.


My walks were never just a walk…

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In this dead cold night
winds rush past my skin
leaving it white and cold
but as cold as my skin seems
is not as cold as my heart
season of joy they say
season of birth decorated with white beards and red suits
bells ringing to attract money
money is the key focus of this season
there is no joy of truths
only traffic and debt and over indulgence
my heart is cold
for it is void of love
memories are fading
soon they will not keep me warm and safe
from the merchants of ‘happy’
december 24 2016

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Photo on 2012-11-17 at 08.59

Why are so many able to move on
To put the past to rest
To look forward without tear filled eyes
Why do I still see you each night
I feel the hurt more each day
For with every day I know its real
You are gone, dead
Nothing can bring you back
I drive and remember you
Like a movie being played
My memory clicks on and there we go
Every word, every movement your body makes
I remember
a beautiful large silver band
To remind you, that I love you
To tell everyone that I am still yours
My love has not faded
I don’t want this love to go away
Why should I have to move on?
We spend so many years fine tuning our love
So now they want me to discard it?
I will not stop loving you
I will not move on
I just don’t want to

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31 Years Ago Today

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thirty one years ago today
our home was full of family from near and far
pots of boiling water on the stove
sisters from both sides chatting like squirrels and working
tables were being set up in the open yard
a plastic tent with violet flowers painted on it was strong from house to studio
welding tables sheathed with new sheets of bronze
reflected flowers painted on all the cement walls
morning light shone through freshly cleaned windows
kissed the purple dancing floor

the studio yard was full of our friends and family clapping
as my brother and our dog Guzik walked me down the path
to that beautiful man standing with open heart
willing to commit the rest of his life being with me
never had anyone loved me with such intensity and without reservations
we exchanged silver sculpted Garner bracelets

‘trust my love but not blindly’ he inscribed on a drawing of us
mama made a wonky fat cake that was spectacular
with a big piece of cake in my hand
I walked among to all our guests
that happily ate from my hand

the bronze tables were full of pit roasted pig
bowls of boiled potatoes and bowls of greens
the wine especially made from my brother in law
was labeled with our photo
only one bottle remained which my mom saved for us

everyone ate and drank and danced into the night
but it was just the two of us in the end
toasting each other in the jacuzzi

It was a day to celebrate a union of two heart
only weeks after when photos started coming in
did we notice that I forgot to order table clothes
that they were covered with butchers paper
No One Cared!
there was no centre pieces as prizes
there was no matching chair covers
No One really cares of that stuff
its your love that decorates

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