Somewhere,
in what others would call her fall from grace,
she found her freedom.
That choice was hers,
what others decide to remember,
is theirs.
The Universe calls us home,
and each of us will fall, from here to there,
and become more.
Look to the light,
believe in love,
remember in kindness.
Somewhere,
in what others should call her rise to grace
she exists in peace.
© ceenoa
There’s a leak, a trickle of drips. I try to calculate the time between each, wondering idly if there is rhythm to their falling. But it is erratic; sometimes a staccato of drips, then a plop of drops, or a slow slithery splat. Suddenly the curtain of approaching rain reaches my house, drumming on the iron roof it sounds like I imagine gravel in a blender does. Just as quickly the spring squall passes, and I focus again on the leak. My child has a cold, I find them a clean hanky.
Oh, Spring has sprung,
the sun does shine,
but I’m stuck inside,
and doing time.
I’ve got “the bug”,
in throat and head,
and backache’s forced me
out of bed.
I long to sit out in the sun,
looking at it’s not enough,
but I know that if I move,
I’ll stir up this hacking cough.
This too shall pass,
and it will be,
that soon you’ll spend,
some time with me!
Oh, Spring has sprung,
she shines so bright,
clear blue day skies,
crisp, sparkled nights.
I haven’t written much,
in such a long, long time,
I am not sure that I remember,
how to craft a rhyme.
Is it the rhythm of the words,
that lulls your brain to sleep,
that allows the nonesense that I write,
to not cause you to weep?
It’s like a swaying dance,
a dangle and a dip,
then a twirl around the floor,
being careful not to slip.
The pattern starts to form,
and words slowly start to flow,
it doesn’t have to make much sense,
as by now you surely know.
It’s the music that’s not played,
that lingers in the soul,
words implied, not spoken,
a simple, easy goal.
Tonight I listened to the rhythm,
I danced a little bit,
it’s no great piece of literature,
but a least I didn’t sit,
this
one
out.
© ceenoa
Here are a few shots of paintings, mostly ones that that didn’t make it on their true colours or whole design, but cropped and inverted they shine … (there’s probably a lesson it that somewhere!)
Just thought I’d share this post from my Business Blog (which I have be woefully neglecting of late, you can read the full post by clicking on the link below. Should you wish to comment you can do so on whichever on my Blogs you feel moved to. Hope you enjoy it.
Just to pass some time, here are some fun tidbits courtesy of Google (via Buzzfeed). The smallest standard scientific measure of time is the “Planck time“. It takes you about five hundred and fifty thousand trillion trillion trillion Planck times to blink once, quickly. No wonder I get so tired when I blink my eyes […]
via Time – it’s not what you think it is! — A Handful of Time
Yeah, you know I love this little “On This Day” thing on FB, and today it gave me this one from 3 years ago. Here is the link to the original post. It was great to read some of the nice comments left, and downright weird to read my responses – sometimes I just don’t feel that I type like me!.
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So yes, I’m size 20 – an incontrovertible fact,
I’m way past cuddly and curvy, so let’s just call me fat.
“She must be greedy and lazy, to let herself get to that size”,
they speak without understanding, one day they may realise.
It’s so much more than just eating – this chaos that lives in my brain,
compounded of joyful memories, and bottomless buckets of pain.
The food is only a symptom, of things I cannot control,
for though I am shattered and broken, once I was boundlessly whole.
I know it is not the real answer, to things that go “bump in the night”
but just for those few tiny moments, food makes some of it right.
I’ve searched for other solutions, but to food I keep coming back,
so look deeper than just my surface – my pain is displayed in my fat.
© ceenoa
