The Girl who had Only been Kissed by the Sun(c) Singleton 2009
And there she was
all legs and sun freckled arms,
Eyes heavy with Morning dreams
and 99 cent Mascara from the night before,
when
She met him.
Not for the first time,
or even the hundreth,
but the only time
that she
noticed his smile...
the way he looked at her
sideways,
puddled eyes peeking through vertical blinds...
And suddenly,
The Girl who had only been Kissed by the Sun,
waited...
for him...
For the kiss that would wake her
and take her...
9 x 12 watercolors, markers, glitters, ink and make-up from an old worn compact. Painted on a "The Hippies are having Sabotical" Saturday afternoon....
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9 comments:
beautiful beautiful words and art<3
Thank you! And it sounds like you had a beautiful, beautiful day!
Much Peace
Oh my friend,
Do you know how you sing to me? If only you knew... like the sea... like the sea...
Here is a poem I found which i fell in love with...
I’ve always loved the ways pelicans dive,
as if each silver fish they see
were the goddamned most important
thing they’ve ever wanted on this earth—
and just tonight I learned sometimes
they go blind doing it,
that straight-down dive like someone jumping
from a rooftop, only happier,
plummeting like Icarus, but more triumphant—
……there is the undulating fish,
……the gleaming sea,
there is the chance to taste again
the kind of joy that can be eaten whole,
and this is how they know to reach it,
head-first, high-speed, risking everything,
…………..and some of the time they come back up
as if it were nothing, they bob on the water,
silver fish like stogies angled
rakishly in their wide beaks,
—the enormous
………………..stretching of the throat,
then the slow unfolding
……………………..of the great wings,
as if it were nothing, sometimes they do this
a hundred times or more a day,
as long as they can see, they rise
……back into they sky
to begin again—
………..and when they can’t?
We know, of course, what happens,
they starve to death, not a metaphor, not a poem in it;
this goes on every day of our lives,
and the man whose melting wings
spatter like a hundred dripping candles
…………………over everything,
and the suicide who glimpses, in that final
seconds of her fall,
……all the other lives she might have lived,
…………..The ending doesn’t have to be happy.
…………..The hunger itself is the thing.
by Ruth L. Schwartz
swooning
Maithri...
OMG.....
I can't even tell you...
But,
then,
I don't have to....
Much Love, my friend, and thanks, for always knowing...
Always....
ibeati...Lol! And now that Maithri has left the room with his magical, getcha where it counts words, swooning with you, girl!
I find memories of my younger self in your words..almost always.
Renee...Smiling....I live in my younger self...there, teetering on the edge....that's where I'm most comfortable. Welcome Home, friend. We are who we were, only more....and perhaps, if we're lucky, we've finally found ourselves:)
Beautiful sister,
I wanted to share this with you and the sisterhood...
www.possibledreamsinternational.org
Heres to you!
And to Butterflies....
Love always,
M
Maithri....
I will be an Ambassador, a preacher on the mountain, a billboard painter on the highway....
May love and light quide and bless you every single step of the way...
(And may the computer guy actually show up this week so I can do what I say!)
Muah, my Friend....
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