Paint the world beautiful today
Let your heart spill onto the canvas of your dreams
Swirls of color, twining to depict the joy
The brush your tool to start anew
Paint the world beautiful today
You are the artist of your own destiny.
Tag: writing
If I Could
If I could carry you on my back
To the next place, a fortress of peace, I would.
A million memories like threads
Of alabaster spiderwebs will still exist
If I could absorb your pain and any sadness
In the sponge of my soul, I would
A movie of what we were and will always be,
Beautiful and righteous, will play on
If I could rock you in a cradle of my arms
To a sweet, unending sleep, I would
Pieces of you are intertwined in all of us,
Filling the darkness of life’s lattice with good
And to carry you on in all that is done, I will. We will.
Artist’s Date One: The Beauty in Ordinary Objects
Each week I must have an Artist’s Date with myself as part of the Artist’s Way journey. I wanted to go outside and find a story in pictures.
Fast forward. I’m in a hotel, and it is frigid outside. These are the photos that resulted. I find the ordinary to be extraordinary when seen through the right lens.
Old Poetry on a New Year’s Eve
I’m enjoying organizing for a year of unabashed creativity in 2022. Sometimes to go forward, you briefly return to the past. And in the past are old poems in a box reminding you of a love that once was and still is.
Happy 2022!
winter soul
I am the last piece of tinsel clinging to the fir that’s about to return to the earth
I am the first bud fighting activation by the sunshine I know is forgetting the last snow
I am the shade, the single cloud, the arch of a tree, providing respite from the dry heat
I am the first leave to turn on the branch and the last to fall, stretching on the way down towards peace on frosted ground
I am the first crystal to form in the sky, willingly joining other crystals, ready to find my place in a snow angel
I am a winter soul, an arctic fox, a counter of stars under the frigid night sky
Tired
When you are the kind of tired sleep won’t fix
And your second hand is stuck but it still ticks
When you’ve lost your bookmark in a breeze
And you need a prayer after life has brought you to your knees
When you try to drive forward while in park
And you are in a story that has no discernible arc
Look up to the sky, you are kissed by the sun
Look down at your feet where two puppies run
You are here now, a gift, tired or not
Breathe it in, breathe it out, give it all you’ve got
The Page
I started as a draft
By an unseen master of the craft
A firm pencil on my page
Broken twice in creative rage
Each word made me whole
On an endlessly tilting scroll
I’m novel and made of will
A mercurial queen of quill
I begin again at the end
A book lover’s friend
Each chapter carries my heart
Between life’s bookends, I am art.
Written Words
I read to taste life twice.
I write to channel imagination’s vice.
The words they flow, and stories they sew, leaving me in the grips of night.
As the pages by wind turn
Off the paper, love creates a burn
The hero becomes a villain while the air, bone-chilling, sends a shiver to the edge of the spine
From beginning to end
The chapters maliciously mend
Any trace of a shred, of who I was before bed, and wake me new in the morn.
Winter’s Wind
A thousand black-winged dots above the horizon
Cut through the clouds
On an icicle blowing wind
Forming glass of water, nature’s sculpture
Shall they reach the sun above five more horizons?
Or shall they fall into the winter of the soul ?
Their dark wings collapsing in peace
For respite in the silence minus the whistle of that very same wind
124
124 was spiteful. She was willful. She drove Dina, Chief Scientist at Chronogen, massively crazy. 124 would not work the way she was programmed to work.
“124, please engage crucial conversation program for awkward party at work situation.”
“Yes, Dina. Is it a party for you? I would so like to go to a party for you!”
“124, we have talked about this. It is not a party for me. It is a generic party in a workplace setting. We simply need to assess your ability to have difficult conversations in a festive setting.”
“Oh, but please say you would be at this party. I would love to be at a party with you here at Chronogen. I could be your…what is it called?…oh yes, wing woman.”
Dina huffed. She put her hands on her hips and shook her head, causing 124’s head to tilt downward. The more they pushed 124’s human conversation programming, the worse she got. For Dina, this meant her 4th quarter bonus would remain elusive. It had been two years since she was rewarded for her tireless efforts. Dina had not been to a party for five years because of 124’s nonsense. She wanted to complain to 124 about this, but with the way the luxury bot was acting now, it could make things worse.
“Okay, 124, let’s try something a little different. I’m going to give you a word, and I want you to respond with the first word that comes to mind. The words will represent a human emotion you may experience in a party setting. You should respond with a word that represents the emotion with which you would respond. So, the first word I am give you is anger.”
“Sorrow,” 124 said after a three second pause.
“Okay, happy.”
“Ooh, happy. And maybe smiley. Or joyful. Yes, joyful! Are you the one who is happy at this party, Dina?…because you don’t seem happy today. Maybe a party is just what you need.”
“124, one-word responses only,” Dina said with a crimson face.
“Okay, angry…what you are now, Dina.”
“124, I’m really trying here. I can’t make you work.”
“Beloved.”
“What?”
“That’s one word.”
“One word for what? I didn’t give you a word.”
“It’s how I feel about you, Dina.”
Dina slumped into the nearest chair, buried her face in her hands, and she did what she felt programmed to do at this point. She cried.
Kelly Rogers 