The Line Of A Pencil

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If we allow ourselves to be free
will my drawings speak to me
free of shame
or self-imposed blame
Not all lines speak
from memories deep
from staring at our toes
to echoing early years of ‘nos’
If we allow ourselves to be free
will my drawing lead me through the trees
to follow the path hidden by the shade
to raise my pencil and sharpen its blade
for a pencil can lacerate
or draw a line for bait
causing us to think we are frauds
in truth, we are just a little flawed
There is no choice or well-conceived plan
for when the crow calls we run to where it began
some call it having the mind of a child
I prefer to believe, we never gave up being wild
even if it means being exiled
IMG_8873july 9 2018

Cup of Coffee?

A cup of coffee?

 

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before my world wakes
I stand watching the espresso pot
waiting for that sound
compressed steam escaping
dark, magical aroma
to fill the room and waken my mind
the mornings’ first pot of coffee

‘Mama used to say that if you stand over a pot of water it will never come to boil. As a child, this intrigued me, and caused me to develop methods of watching a pot without really watching it.’

camouflaged with the doorway
only her eyes could be seen
eyes directly aimed at a pot
a pot of water on the stove
she waited for the sound
of bubbles rumbling and dancing

Doorways are not for standing in. It will never boil if you continue to stare at it. My mama was right, she knew what she was talking. Feeling exasperated I would slide down the wall and sit with my knees up to my chin.’

her young mind began to wander
watching an ant walk across the floor
following the fly as it swooped past her nose
curious eyes of a child are never bored
she begins to imagine a parade
ants marching one by one
ladybugs flying overhead
dragonflies with the banner up front
frogs hopping along with decorated hats
inch worms slowly tagging along side by side
tree frogs hitching a ride
on the backs of turtles
as they played the drums
diddy ummm drum-mm-rum

I told you, mama would say. The moment you take your eyes off the pot it begins to boil. No one likes to be stared at, even a pot of water. She was right, at this time. This memory has remained with me my entire life. Often it sits in the back of my mind till I put a pot of water on the stove or the espresso pot. Then I stand there with one hand on my hip and my shoulder leaning against the doorway. For those moments I am again that child waiting to catch that first bubble and always hearing my mother say, ‘It will never boil if you watch it’.

what would WE be
without our collections of memories
how would we experience the world
if we lost our inner child

as my body widens
as my hair greys
as my life continues to be written on my face
I see that child following me
reminding me of small miracles
like watching water boil
Coffee is ready!

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