Re-post: Finding voice

This is a re-post of the first one to appear on this blog 11 December, 2011. My apologies to those who have already seen it.

“If you hear a voice within you say ‘you cannot paint,’ then by all means paint, and that voice will be silenced.”   –  Vincent Van Gogh

“Never give up. And most importantly, be true to yourself. Write from your heart, in your own voice, and about what you believe in.”   –  Louise Brown

“I write for those women who do not speak, for those who do not have a voice because they were so terrified, because we are taught to respect fear more than ourselves. We’ve been taught that silence would save us, but it won’t.”  

–  Audre Lorde


Finding voice…

Be tells me to keep writing

Cait tells me to just write

My past tells me I can’t write

Fear writes for me

Anger writes the loudest, and is most prolific

Joy is silent, nearly invisible

Sadness drones on and on

Pain is sharp, isolated, and intense

Journals are scattered about my home

Tossed into the recesses of the car

They harbor numerous attempts of binge/purge

When moving I will devalue their loyalty

As I shove them through the shredder

The ghosts of childhood critique every effort

They silence me with threats to expose my failure

Deep inside the struggle

To break through the barriers

Quakes with revelatory thunder



Self portrait

“The ultimate lesson all of us have to learn is unconditional love, which includes not only others but ourselves as well.”   – Elisabeth Kubler-Ross


“At the heart of personality is the need to feel a sense of being lovable without having to qualify for that acceptance.”   –  Paul Tournier


Self portrait


At the mirror

I can smile

Seeing something new

Something I can


The hair has lost

It’s frizz – not yet grey

But it is the

Kindness that

Sparkles from

Mes yeux

And it is


Like branches

Reaching out

Allowing me

At last to







“Not all those who wander are lost.”   J.R.R.  Tolkien

“Courage is found in unlikely places.”   –  J.R.R. Tolkien

“Go not to the Elves for counsel, for they will say both no and yes.”   –  J.R.R. Tolkien




la porte

lies the

greatest of all



will you cross the threshold?

mais oui!

vast risks – challenges

wondrous and arduous


roads unpaved


proceed in darkness

stumbling frequently



leave any maps

at the door

they only mark

the route of others

close your eyes

inhale deeply

feel your way

moss on a cool

rough stone

crunching of fallen leaves

beneath your feet

stillness of the air

the sounds

animal? human?

perhaps falling rain?

the roar of thunder,

flash of lightning?

or whoosh of the cascade?

sunlight peeks through

illuminating gems

les fleurs

smooth stones

perhaps a fallen tree-


a chance to contemplate


inhale deeply

allow its rhythm

to guide you on

become one with

your surroundings

stay in each moment

drink deeply

let the sensations wash over you




“I would be most content if my children grew up to be the kind of people who think decorating consists mostly of building enough bookshelves.”   –  Anna Quindlin


“A book must be an ice-axe to break the seas frozen inside our soul.” 

–       Franz Kafka


“To choose a good book, look in an inquisitor’s prohibited list.” 

–       John Aikin


“A house without books is like a room without windows.” 

  –  Heinrich Mann




the scent of honey


vines that tried to


the door to


the drop of sweet

at the end of the stem



with the stench

of daddy’s stale beer,


or grandma’s

white shoulders



bypass purgatory

going straight to

the flames



a word


all about words

the books

a place to hide

the words

my only solace lie

 in musty pages

i learned of


their pain

their plight

the fact

i was not


after ALL

My refuge
My refuge









“I do not consider divorce an evil by any means. It is just as much a refuge for women married to brutal men as Canada was to the slaves of brutal masters.”   –  Susan B. Anthony

” If love does not know how to give and take without restrictions, it is not love but a transaction that never fails to lay stress on a plus and minus.”  –  Emma Goldman



When I left


I lay in a


One pillow


Sleeping peacefully

At last

When I left


The weight of

The world



From weary shoulders

When I left you

My footsteps – yet

Unsure – guarded

Plodded forward

Into the unknown world

Of learning

You and

Others told me – I could

Not make it

When I left you

There were new friends

Trips to the theatre, museums

Classes, professors

While I was

Looking over my


Waiting for the


Yet we kept a roof

Over our heads

And each semester

I moved toward the promises

Of the next

My eyes opened wider

With each new step

Experiences extrapolated

The view

Bachelor’s degree

Then a Masters

Adding up


You could never



Those early




Learning to dream

Setting boundaries

Having goals



Allowing the

Dream to

Come true


I left





She knows me so well…

“Long hair is considered bohemian, which may be why I grew it, but I keep it long because I love the way it feels, part cloak, part fan, part mane, part security blanket.”

– Marge Piercy


She knows me so well…


She knows my hair

Knows me so well

The muddy colored tresses

Cloaks my fears

Hiding my shame

Soaking up

Tears and shields me

From un-approving stares

These locks cool me

As the wind blows her higher

In the past

Yanked, pulled

Cut against her will

or imprisoned in clips, bands

Tossing my head – exposing my face

The only sense of freedom

My only sense of glory

Imagined myself safe

Enveloped in her embrace


Raising the flag of defiance

I set her free




Why write of love?

“Loneliness is never more cruel than when it is felt in close propinquity with someone who has ceased to communicate.”
– Germaine Greer

“Loneliness is the poverty of self; solitude is the richness of self.”
– May Sarton

Why write of love?

Why write of love?

You want it

Need it

Lost it

Found it

Or possibly

Have it

Though if you

Thought you’d found it

You might be too busy

Trying to hang on to it

Because if you loose It

Once again

You are alone

By yourself

Yet I have never been

As lonely as when

I was married

And love had nothing

To do with it




“Anxiety is part of creativity, the need to get something out, the need to be rid of something or to get in touch with something within.”
– David Duchovny

“Creativity is just connecting things. When you ask creative people how they did something, they feel a little guilty because they didn’t really do it, they just saw something. It seemed obvious to them after a while. That’s because they were able to connect experiences they’ve had and synthesize new things.” – Steve Jobs


writing like painting

the machine at the boardwalk

pulling taffy

no matter the toughness

of the material

all is brought to the surface

to be examined

in the light

if I pause

stand back

reflect on my work

my interest is vested

before rendering




for the record

“All discarded lovers should be given a second chance, but with somebody else.”
– Mae West

for the record

she keeps her


near the bed

neatly listing lovers

she has known

they wonder

does she grade

on the curve?



Hands Of Time

“Pick my left pocket of its silver dime, but spare the right – it holds my golden time!”  – Oliver Wendell Holmes

“The whole life of man is but a point of time; let us enjoy it.”
– Plutarch (46 AD – 120 AD)

“As you grow older, you will discover that you have two hands, one for helping yourself, the other for helping others.”
– Audrey Hepburn

Hands of time

Tick, tick, tick

The hands on the clock

Hands swift

Hands almost still

Fleeting moments of childhood

Chubby dirt encrusted hands

Grasping the giant monarch butterfly

Perched regally on golden buttercup

“Pretty mommy!”

My eyes rush to freckles

Smudged with earth

“Yes, very pretty!”


Glistening sunlight laced

Through copper curls

Tumbling down emerald slopes



Rolling from side to side


Time belongs to you my child


Hands move briskly

Time goes so fast

Larger hands

So sure is his grip

On the shiny red two-wheeler

Copper curls flying in the wind

“Watch me mommy!

See me go!”

“Yes I see”

My heart quickens

As I watch you ride away


The hands move

With increasing speed

Strong sure hands

Now larger than my own

One encircling my waist

One upturned – palm outstretched

“Car keys mom, got a date”

The copper darkened, slicked back

And in style

As you rush out the door

I turn to the clock

Anticipating your return

The hands move so slowly


Faster, faster

Those hands on the wall

Your hands firm, steady

Entwined with fairer ones

Her blonde head rests

On your shoulder

Mixing with copper waves

“Mom, we’re in love!”

Orange blossoms fill the air

As early June sun

Trickles through stained glass

Your faces beaming

For a brief moment

The hands stand still


Hands move with unrelenting swiftness

Mature gentle hands

One caressing scarlet down

The other held captive

By a tiny fist

“Mom, isn’t she beautiful,

She has your smile!”

Choking back tears of joy

I nod in affirmation

Admiration for unjaded

Eager hands


Hands move with increasing uncertainty

Its message

I bequeath

Vigilant hands

Your hands – supporting my hands