Monday, June 30, 2008

Souvenier, (c) Singleton 2008 hippie art

Souvenier
(c) Singleton 2008

Wet T shirts piled on the floor,
faces and places
covered in sand
and yesterday's salt....
wilting,
and waiting their turn for
tomorrow....

And i tiptoe over them in the morning,
psychedelic jelly fish fading in their has~been glory,
souveniers
of
another
night
dredging
sand dollars
from the mouths of
yesterday's peace......


IMYSVVFM

7 comments:

WILSONART said...

(sigh) "wilting and waiting for tomorrow",,,,,

tomorrow seems so far away,,,,,and yet time has such a way of crashing into us, like the waves on the shore.

Just turn around and tomorrow becomes yesterday.

Today is called "the present" with good reason.
It's a gift.

Sandy Kessler said...

another technicolor memory I see.....

singleton said...

Oh, Babs....So very very true! We counted months, and weeks, and days, and moments....
and then here it was,
swirling and twirling,
laughing and loving,
and
eight sunrises passed
in a heartbeat...

Peace~love my wise, wise friend

Sandy....Clink! When we dream in technicolor,
then and only maybe then,
can we live in technicolor! And I save memories, collect them, touch them, dust them off every now and then and remember.........:)

Peace~love Festival 2008

skinnylittleblonde said...

Backwards skate people!

ILYSVVM!

singleton said...

"Now everybody clear the floor, for
couples only..."
:)

Maithri said...

Oh my friend,

The mouth of yesterdays peace
speaks so tenderly in our ear

begging us to return
home
to what is our birthright

the passion song
sand between the toes

and the endless dance
between

the wind and
the waves

the moon and
the sun

the gypsy lovers
calling us all
home to peace

to freedom

My love to you always,

Maithri

singleton said...

ahh, Maithri....
I love to read your words...
And I clink! you in the wind....

We brought home hundreds of bittersweet souveniers from this trip....
the seaside here was ravished in the hurricanes, Mother Ocean gobbling up dunes and shore, and finally Man, dragging in his big
machines,
dredging sand from the bottom
of the inlet waterway,
miles away and
pumping it, hundreds of gallons a moment into giant puddles out our back door,
rebuilding nature from nature.
And there at the mouth of that
noise,
at the foot of that
muddy river being dumped on the shore,
were thousands of tiny fish caught in the vacuum,
hundreds of sand dollars
that had been rollercoasted to the other side of the sea....
For days we plucked them up in our arms....
only six survived,
placed gently back into the surf....
And the rest we scooped up,
treasures at our toes....

Much love, sweet friend, much love to you and yours