A little of my week

Painting #105a - Resin
Table Placemat – Acrylic Paint & Resin
Pretty Mugs All In A Row
Pretty Mugs All In A Row – Alcohol Ink on Bone China
Pretty Mugs All In A Row - inverted
What Lies Beneath – Alcohol Ink on Bone China
Wine Glass 2 - stitched
Golden Glow – Alcohol Ink on Glass
Wine Glass 1 - stitched
Garden – Alcohol Ink on Glass
Creek Scene
Morning Walk
Dandelion (2) Invertes
Dandelion – Inverted
Dietes Inverted
Dietes – Inverted
Painting #125 - cropped
The rare Winged Hook Nosed Fire Dog
Here's to you, deck
I cleaned the deck!
Bubbles and Edges
Sweet Bubbles
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Sock Juggling

Last night I had a dream …. and since this is MY dream, you can be assured it was not of your pedestrian, fluffy clouds and cats, happily ever-after variety of dream.

No, in MY dream I composed and sang a poem about sock-juggling, whilst sock-juggling!

socks

 

(Essential supplies for sock-juggling dreamers)

 

Now, I have never aspired to be a sock-juggler. I’ve never heard of such a thing before, and I can’t imagine what that job description/life choice would encompass, but I was pretty impressed with my dream ability to create a long rhyme about sock-juggling, in front of a live audience, whilst singing said rhyme!

(Oh, and in case you were wondering – I was NOT a good sock-juggler, at least not until I figured I needed to roll them into a ball before attempting to juggle them!)

I don’t know what caused me to dream such a thing, no strange foods or liquids were consumed prior to attempting to sleep. Surely, the abnormal (for me) second cup of coffee at 3pm, which caused my earlier lack of sleep, could not have tripped a switch in my brain over to “ridiculous things to dream about”, could it?

Right now I can’t stop thinking about sock-juggling, and I just know that I am going to have to write something about it before it will leave me in peace.

Bet you’re looking forward to that one. 🙂

P.S – I just “googled” sock juggling – and hey, people actually do this, albeit with socks filled with rice, or some such.  Wussies, mine were just plain socks, much harder to juggle them with no weight (even in a dream) 🙂

“On This Day” Repost – Baggage

Seems that 31 October 2014 was a good day for writing – 3 posts came up in my FB feed today.  Of the 3, I decided I liked this one best.  If you’re interested, the original post can be found here.

Baggage

People think of baggage,
as something that is bad,
to be discarded soon as,
the opportunity is had.

But baggage can be useful,
for storing things you need,
to grow and learn and change from,
old life lessons you should heed.

New baggage is the hardest,
it’s lines are sharp and cruel,
painful corners on the cases,
where you’ve been played a fool.

Old baggage can be comfortable
as it fits like second skin,
especially on the corners,
where it’s been broken in.

Recognise your baggage,
whichever style it be,
you paid for all it’s excess weight,
you know nothing comes for free.

Understand the reason that you packed it,
with all the tales it tells,
save what you deem as valuable,
and leave the rest on the carousel.

© ceenoa

Love Again – A Short Paragraph Story

I never expected to fall in love again.  Certainly not with a younger man, and especially not with a younger man who speaks a different language!   There are moments when I seriously question my judgement; like when I notice his disregard for bodily hygiene, and his undeveloped table manners.  Oh, but when he smiles and hugs me my heart blossoms and overflows with happiness and I find I can forgive him anything – after all a baby grandson is a precious miracle.

I had Plans …..

Yesterday was such a lovely Spring day that I foolishly made Plans for today.  I was going to get out in the garden, plant plants, mow the lawn, spray the weeds (I even stopped and bought a backpack sprayer on the way home yesterday).  However, my Plans are not to be, as a fine misty drizzle has settled in. Oh well, inside it is then, now, where’s the alcohol ….inks!

Front Garden

14 years

dad in hammock

When Autumn blows,
when Winter snows,
when Summer slows,
when Spring plants grow,
I remember you.

You were my seasons,
and I was content,
to let you be my reason,
for taking the next breath.

Years have turned,
some dreams have burned,
and I have learned,
some memories do not return.

Each tiny part that disappears,
diminishes throughout the years,
the picture that I hold so dear,
and fills me with a desperate fear.

Will one day come,
under this sun,
when all that was our total sum,
dwindles down to none?

© ceenoa

A Poem for a Friend of my Friend

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