Photo Friday: Gray

Dear Mike, the trees are lost in the gray
That surrounds them today.
Barren branches strain upward with a cry
To a frozen and lifeless sky
Praying for a brighter day.

Cypress roots are stuck in a muddy bog below;
Don't know which way to go.
Their knees rise up in search of solace
Uncertain of their purpose
In this lonely winter cold.

This season of solitude no lover can defeat;
You've left me incomplete.
I wander through the trees aimlessly
Getting bored shamelessly
With every man I meet.

Spanish moss desperately cling as the wind blows through
Like I cling to you.
But, now your ashes have grown cold,
With nothing left to hold,
I need someone to talk to.

Beneath reflections a decaying log with dead leaves
Whose color the bog bereaves.
I'm stuck in a world of wintry dead,
A shivering stillness inside my head,
And cries you once consoled, no one else perceives.

These photos and poem are a few years old, but I am posting them today in memory of my husband. Today is the anniversary of his death.

Illustration Friday: Camouflage

Alot of people in IF illustrated nature's camouflage. Here's mine.

The Big Thicket

What the camera sees...


What I see.

Photo Friday: Dream

The Haunted Bed

In the metapsychology of a dream
So terrifying I can't scream,
Against inner demons I strain.

They reach out from the mattress on which I lie,
Paralyzing me while you die,
And inflict you with agonizing pain.

I hear the thud as you hit the floor next to me.
My fruitless struggle last an eternity,
And I can feel your life wane.

Metaphysical hands squeeze me into the bed.
Supernatural strength suffocates me with dread
While watching you over and over again in vain.

I know it's a dream, but I cannot wake.
Trapped in a horrifyingly helpless state
Somewhere between conciousness and the inane.

This week is my friend, Lynda's, first post for Photofriday.

Illustration Friday: Rejection

In the desolate winter gray
I can see the brilliance of your eyes
As you look my way,
But it's my isolation that belies
The memory of a lighter day.

My imagination has been imbued
With visions of a tender kiss,
Long ago missed
In the torment of my solitude.
You don't want to notice me anymore;
The awkwardness has soared
To a burdensome magnitude.

Now my faculties fade away.
I'm entranced by your glance,
And alienated as you play.
Desperately wanting another chance
To relive the life of a lighter day.

Photo Friday: Active

I went to the arboretum yesterday even though it rained. I needed some quiet time with nature. I needed to spend it in my garden.

Though she can't speak
She cries out very much.
Velvet petals of red and pink
Reach out for my touch.

Tender seedlings struggle
For their place in my garden.
Against a weeded jungle
My heart has hardened.

She senses my presence;
Flourishes when I'm there.
I'm quieted by her essence
In return for her care.

Pushing fingers through soil,
My cells will rejuvenate.
It's for love I should toil;
A spiritual connection to cultivate.

But I have neglected her,
And myself likewise.
Physically we need each other.
It's our Life Source we recognize.

Photo Friday: Purity

The unspoiled waters of the Caribbean have up to 100 ft. visibility.

Another Nightmare

This was a very disturbing nightmare I had recently. I don't remember most of it. I only remember being in a strange house, standing atop a staircase, and seeing my late husband lying at the bottom dead with his neck broken. It was so horrifying!

My sister said she heard a strange house can be symbolic of new situations or unfamiliar territory psychologically. My husband may only be symbolic of financial security. "Why does my subconscious have to be so morbid about it?!" I asked. She said, "maybe that's the only way it knows how to get your attention." Well it's definitely got my attention.

My naturopath feels that my health and success [or lack of it] are being affected by some emotional issues related to my husband's death. I agree, but don't really know how to go about dealing with this, so I thought I would use my art as therapy. Unfortunately, I've not been happy with anything I've done lately. I'm not sure why.

This illustration bothers me. I don't know if it's because it so disturbing or if it's just not very good. Is it too colorful? Should it be darker to fit the dream? Does the background go with the style of the foreground?

I chose the background for personal reasons rather than for affect. I'm not sure it works, though. It's a photograph of Enchanted Rock, a place where my husband and I used to love to go. Back then, he always took the photos because, well, I just wasn't very good at it. This photo, however, is one that I took the only time that I've been back since his passing. I'm hoping to get an unbiased opinion. What do you think?

Illustration Friday: Your Paradise 2

My paradise.

I have recently volunteered to be on the board of directors for a charity organization called Friends of the Poor Orphaned Children. Right now we're involved in a project that is building a school for poor children in Cambodia. The children there have to pay to go to public schools, and many can't afford to. Alot of them live on the streets with either no father or no parents at all. What really touched my heart was that these children will walk for miles every day to the place where the school is being built, and beg the monks to teach them.

In our country, even the poor take school for granted. Many children drop out with no desire to improve their lot in life. To the children in Cambodia, this must seem like Paradise.

Illustration Friday: Your Paradise

The Forbidden Lake





a very bizarre dream about a lake that would make me forget all my pain

Photo Friday: How I See Myself

" You run and you run to catch up with the sun, but it's sinking and racing around to come up behind you again. The sun is the same in a relative way, but you're older, shorter of breath, and one day closer to death." -Pink Floyd

This is a feeling that I've been able to relate to even at the ripe old age of 14. In ninth grade, I was a shy, withdrawn little girl with a reputation for trouble. The jocks use to make fun of me, calling me names like stoner and dopehead [I don't do that stuff anymore]. I had a bad habit of sleeping through most of my classes which must have irritated my teachers, but I was never disruptive to the rest of the class, so they usually left me alone. The classes were large, and there was usually some other kid that required more attention. I would just sit at the back of the room and keep to myself.

My English teacher, Miss Daniels, was one teacher, though, that made an impression on me. At the end of the year she gave the class an assignment to write a composition about any poem of our choice. It would count as a major part of our grade for that grading period. I chose this song by Pink Floyd. I don't know if she even knew who Pink Floyd was, but she was so impressed with my paper that she announced to the class that she was giving me the highest grade. I remember being very embarrassed, but that was not really the impression she left with me. She wrote a letter to my parents praising me and discussing my potential to do so much more. She saw something in me that I couldn't see at the time, and since then that has inspired me to try do more.

Sadly, though, I seem to have this uncanny ability to sabotage my own efforts. Even when I have over come so many major obstacles in my life, I still find myself running and running to catch up with the sun. I have the strength and determination to get me just so far, and then I let things like guilt prevent me from succeeding. Things that I thought I had already dealt with and overcame only to find I have a long way to go, and time keeps slipping away.