it begs a poem, doesn’t it?

pin cushion (2)

I was recently at my parents’. 
And I saw this-

a small pin cushion I had made for my mother when I was in high school, when I first learnt some cross stitching.

I can’t believe my mother is now eighty years old, and she is still using it!

Her sense of humour well and truly intact, as that spear of a needle in its right ear, was, initially, right in the middle of her forehead (that innocent bunny’s, not my mother’s).

It is funny about memory, because I had completely forgotten about it, of course, but as soon as I saw it, I remembered how upset I was that I had made a stitching mistake on its left ear. And I had somehow missed a couple of stitches on the other ear.  My sweet mother didn’t want me to fix it, but I remember how utterly crushed I was.

Yesterday I watched a video on a science site about intelligence.
Behold a short conversation I had with my husband this morning:

Me: I watched a video yesterday…blah blah…and it turns out I could be a perfectionist.
Husband: slowly closing refrigerator door…
come to think of it, I can’t describe, accurately, the look on his face…

something (revisited)

I need a moment,
a moment measured only
in light years,

the oracular thread
through centuries
and non,

encaptured, enraptured
by deepest tones
geographically strata-ed,
through past and present,

eyes so gently gently replaced
with brushes archeologically
bristling with Him,

joyful in newborn
reunion

the blind man was healed
and the tenses were spilled

and millennial mysteries unravelled
into new ravelling of me.

and the blind woman was healed

 

 

 

originally posted 26th March, 2017

remember…

when I was walking around trying to avoid the mosquitoes and you strummed your guitar to the rhythm of my steps and the syncopated clouds confused you and we said it was the best thing you had ever written?

Got no regrets,
except I wish we had recorded it.

Oh,
and that I wish you were here with me…

why don’t I get you?

Perplexed
and kneading
this air with my thoughts,

desperate
to soften
the impact from fraught-

ed years
of unconversation,
now hurling at speeds

alarming,
non sensical,
vengeful misdeeds

of mishearing.

I watch
syllables peeling,
disarrayed.

Natatorial surprise –
those little ________ can swim
in the blues of my mind…

 

This song popped up and I love how Anne-Marie covers it. I had to write something…

friendship (revisited)

Friendship is simple.
It’s also complex, but let’s ignore that.

It can be what we want it to be.
Well, sometimes. There is such a thing as unrealistic expectations but that’s not what this post is about. This post is simple. This post will simply concentrate on the lovely simplicity of simple friendship.

Take the friendship cats offer just as one example:
IMG_20161231_080925

Can’t get more simple than that. (And when I say simple, I may mean complex)

Then there is the simple friendship of my five six year old niece, who I have posted about before with her awesome stories. She is also an amazing artist. Here is some of her work, capturing, once again, the simple friendship cats have to offer:

IMG_20170309_232423

This cat is obviously simple, as it is talking to itself. (But wouldn’t you agree, this art is simply incredible?!)

I love our nieces. And our nephews. All of our family. But especially the ones who are cute. Pure and simple. They make me feel noble things like this:

IMG_20170210_144628

And that’s pretty much all I think can be said for friendship. Please do not correct me if I am wrong.

[And please do not steal the artwork from this page.]