pulse “Music to me is like breathing— I don’t get tired of breathing, I don’t get tired of music” - Ray Charles music is the moon-pull of the blood it snares the heartbeat in hypnotic rhythms of smoky blue jazz it snares the heartbeat with swaying taproots of smokin’ hot jazz while husky voices croon… Continue reading pulse
I Remember… I remember the holes in the green roll-down blinds and how they looked like a starry sky. I remember caramel-colored fly paper hanging twisty from the ceiling dotted with black. I remember making cakes and cookies when we got to play with water in the sandbox. I remember lying sick on the couch… Continue reading I Remember … (NPM ’16-Day 30)
My poetry buddy, Laurel, and I walk different sections of the same path—a gravel and asphalt trail that follows Nicomekl Creek. Her yesterday’s poem, "Nicomekl’s Regulars,” about the people that walk the path, was pitch-perfect. But the path—at least the section of it that my husband and I walk—has another cast of characters with another… Continue reading Nicomekl Nightlife (NPM ’16-Day 26)
How lovely to have this poem land on my desk all eager to find out what that little perched "divining seer" is beaming about (thank you, Matt, for handing me the baton of an easy rhyme). Here is the poem so far with my line at the bottom in bold. A squall of hawk wings… Continue reading Progressive Poem 2016 – Day 16
Monday is washday Sunday night sees piles of clothes segregated in lights and darks reds and prints, huddled together dreading the morning. Machines go through their cycles pour, churn, whirl, whir. Monday air is sweet with dryer sheets damp with clothes-horse hangouts. A half hour in front of the TV pairing, folding, and—Voila! our closets… Continue reading Monday is washday (NPM ’16-Day 12)
The glitter of old age Alas my greying hair has its own highlights. Bags under eyes don’t appreciate sparkles on lashes attracting attention. Glitter in makeup enhances the sculptured neck chiselled chin, fresh strawberry lips. My wattles and pursed mouth prefer something less showy. I go for the glitter of old age— The luster of… Continue reading The glitter of old age (NPM ’16 – Day 4)
Storm Chasers The sun shone from Mother’s eyes most days until the weariness of caring for many children sowed clouds into the furrows of her forehead and impatience brought easterlies, even squalls. “Can we go? Please!” Getting an answer from Dad was like moving a ship through the doldrums. We budged him to “We’ll see”… Continue reading Storm Chasers (NPM ’16-Day 3)
A week ago, waiting in the doctor's office, I spent some of the time people-watching. A mother and her 18-month-old caught my eye. The little guy, still in his foot PJs, was full of sauce (he was obviously not the sick one). He kept wriggling from Mom's lap and wandering off into the nursing station… Continue reading Delight
"Then Jesus called a little child to Him, set him in the midst of them and said, 'Assuredly, I say to you, unless you are converted and become as little children, you will by no means enter the kingdom of heaven…'" Matthew 18:2,3. When Holly, host of Spiritual Journey Thursday, mentioned that she was intending… Continue reading Converting to Childhood
When my friend Laurel asked me to be part of her Advent blog, Toward Christmas, I was delighted to accept. On these 24 days of preparing for Christmas, six of us are reviewing the Jesse Tree characters of Jesus' story. One of the characters I chose to write about was Jacob (I think it was… Continue reading Alert to blessings
Violet Nesdoly 