|
Viewing 10 - 18 out of 38 Blogs.
| Page:
|
2 |
|
|
|
 THE HUMMING BIRDS GARDEN She’d rose at four a.m. hot in a thin cotton gown. A fan above her bed cooled what seemed stale air. Crumpled over the edge of her bed, a red kimono robe. She lit the flame sending the scent of fresh coffee brewing through out her cottage. Cup filled to the brim, her dew covered garden calling. T’was her custom meditating into the beginning of each day. Odd, this morning her music rang a sad reverie of life’s passing. Sipping French Vanilla sweetened coffee, a smell of approaching rain filled the air. Those tiny Vinca red annuals she’d bought yesterday needed planting, along with a red brick border, the same brick border needed on a neighboring bush too. Dressing quickly, gathering necessary tools, vigorously she accomplished her goals. Finished, she quenched sweaty thirst with a mix of cranberry apple juice, sometimes mixed with green teas. Still the sad lament of this mornings songs carried her mind to distant times. She never clearly understood how each plant stirred different memories? What meaning had their separate blooming times? The iris’s always first to bloom lined her cottage with a brilliant purple and yellow glow. Red daisies followed by wild flowers of pink. Thick small bushes filled with purple flowers. A large desert sage (the center of this garden) welcomed an early humming bird with red and white flowers profusely springing along its branches. Between delicate frail pink colored lilies long thin stems swayed waiting for flat white garlic flowers blooms. Last the trumpet vines requiring daily twisting through the lattices lining the length of a long concrete covered patio, these her beloved Humming Birds favorite. Was this going to be the year she stained this concrete a soft Sedona red? She knew colors permeated her entire life’s thread. Long ago she purposely laid no plans of any “Blue flowers†here. That she’d had enough of in life ~ Those blue times weren’t permitted here, haunting her enough in thoughts. She’d learned with the first river-rock she’d laid, this small plot of land was not just the earth, “her mother†calling her. There is a heaven on earth! From our mothers womb the verse of life begins. Like ants we cluster in cities made of sticks and stones, mortared bricks forgetting to this earth we’ll return. A single dragonfly soared back and forth like the swaying pendulum of an antique clock, another reminder of time spent. Clicking Humming Birds wings told her days are numbered. Tend your garden better than you treated life ensuring your essence returns in someone else’s garden teaching them the revolving doors during life! Rachealgrace Adams…………July 22nd, 2010……………..©……………………
Tags: THE HUMMING BIRDS GAREN
SUCH A SMALL WORD ~ plead To think such a tiny word could cause and effect with its dark toned inflections the destruction by man’s own hand on his fellow man. No less with the land and its creatures long before we were dust here. Man cannot see things need to be left to themselves. Nature knows its own seasons, increases and decreases and continues to balance its self until man tampers with it. Men are the enablers of destruction without cause and reason. When did it come to pass that man has the right to change nature; that of the land or its land of people? I do not understand in this small single life of my own why I was born into war ~ lived through countless wars and most likely will die in the midst of another. I wonder when God gave free will to man did he mean to for man to use it against other or to choose him over another man’s anger? I find no solace in the poverty of this land. Poverty of the soul is far worse. Have we become a soulless society? I plead with God for this answer knowing we’ll never know as long as man thinks he’s directing Gods answer. Rachealgrace Adams 9/23/2012 Copy right………….(c)…………
Tags: SUCH A SMALL WORD ~ plead
|
VENTING
Posted On 08/24/2012 12:13:39
|
It disheartens me when I look at childrens books today. I remember as a child beautiful handmade illistrations along with the story. It was those pictures of people in their settings (much of which was nature) that sturred my imagination. I learned to fly with the birds, nest in the trees and run about with the animals.
It’s my belief that parents today are overly concerned with their children keeping up with the ‘little Jone’s.†What sets a childs foundation into a fully caring educated adult is enjoying and understanding that nuture is primary on this earth. Everything is here for a reason, good or bad. The more we understand nature, the more we understand life. Everything has a season and a life span. We can’t protect one without the other!
Question and thought to add: How many adults regardless of what they’re job or career is, take vacations? Some travel to far off lands, sight seeing. Others go fishing or hunting. Some travel to distance beaches; anywhere to get away from it all. They need to unwind. They need nature, yet they don’t seem to encourage their children to experience it. If they did I believe these children would want to read more about this planets beauty, all of it. Everyone seems to have an animal or bird they relate to. It was only earlier this summer I was sitting outside watching all the different birds who live in my area. I was witnessing a different social world of life! It’s so important we come to terms that we cannot build without the land. If we distroy what has provided us life, life I don’t believe will function as well with just keys we punch! These people who give us all the tools of the world we depend on; where do they go to relaz? If they don’t experience as children when they do as adults I’ve heard so many say, ‘I missed out on so much.’ Hang a dollar on a tree, will it produce a leaf? Anyone ever wanted to be as ‘free as a bird?’ We’re all stressed out and teaching the future the same and worse. How many people at some time in their lifes need to go back to they’re roots? Need to feel the land again, walk among the trees, watch deer come out of a forest or birds nesting on high cliffs. Nature has it made; we’re the ones stuck in the mud. Give our children a break, let them take their shoes off their minds. Sometimes I think children need to lead us with their questions and feel free to do so not fearing they’re not asking the questions their parents want them to ask about school, college, degrees, resumes, jobs ~ sigh ~ just my thoughts.
Tags: VENTING
Somewhere down in New Orleans ~ We’d strolled into a smoky dive pushing through tables till we’re sharing a fat stool rolling in ‘Blues!’ A heavyset guy’s leaning against a wall his horns a whaling a slow waa-waa-waa; rags slung over his shoulder for whipping up droll. She’s sassy popping out of her low cut dress ignoring smoky air, this old gals belting out Lucille Bogan’s ‘Blues!’ Couples rubbing body’s bumping Scatman Crothers got ta be clapping laughing in heaven! A horns waa waa waa with a banjos piking, a gutsy old gal scanting; ya knew you’ve hit the bottom of the ‘Blues!’ Rachealgrace Adams……………..1/1/10……………….©………………………………… Revised 8/4/2012 Copy Right Protected
Tags: Somewhere down in New Orleans
|
WISDOM
Posted On 08/01/2012 03:45:57
|
 WISDOM He sat alone playing solitaire in a room full of people. I’d come for company. A shuffle of cards offered conversation. We shared a bench the next afternoon at the park nearby watching clouds; wondering why both of us were wishing for rain? What is it that bonds strangers, a fiber of silence perhaps? He said, “I want to be with people;†I need to be left alone! I wanted to be with people, seeing myself as the perpetual outsider. He couldn’t escape the crowds! I wondered why human commonality separated me? What is it that bonds strangers, a fiber of silence perhaps? Laughing so hard our cheeks hurt; one of us said “the grass is always greener on the other side!†Tissues dried runny noses and eyes. It was our own inner conflicts causing our laughter. What is it that bonds strangers? The need to know the gentle wisdom of the other? Rachealgrace Adams…………….(c)……………. 7/31/2012 Copy Right Protected
Tags: WISDOM
PERPETUAL This morning’s light casts a dotted likeness of a poke-a-dotted fabric of an old dress over the grass. Instead of this apartment I dream of a small cottage overlooking this wonderland. My mornings spend on its porch in my wicker chair, patch worked pillows supporting this worn out back, pen and pad in hand catching memories here. I must remember to water my potted plants along with the herbs I’ve managed to grow scenting the air before I pick leaves for my favorite homemade bean soup. I find myself overwhelmed with the beauty of surrounding woods. Deer who visit, the continuous calling of various birds; I’ve set my feeder out. The trumpet vine I’ve let grow wild climbs, twisting up the posts of my porch fulfilling my hopes of humming birds sucking here. Once in a while one hovers facing me as if asking “do you belong here?†It’s during these times I remember cities; noises and smells. Their potted planted gardens, neatly trimmed lawns and lounge chairs. The museums, art walks, outside café’s with people bustling to unknown destinations; my own just sitting sipping my late “people watching†wondering why I don’t fit there anymore than here sometimes. I seem to be the perpetual miss placed person not destined to stay anywhere long. I’m torn between the cosmopolitan life of having culture available and the peace of the country where I can pause, collect my thoughts undisturbed by the naturalness of nature’s sounds? Rachealgrace Adams…………..(c)…………………..6/12/2012 Copy write protected
Tags: PERPETUAL
 ~ I AM A JEW SHE SAID ~ Her halo headdress of bronze with a gold mask exposed her eyes. Burnt singed cracked edges surround what once was an innocent Jewish child’s crown of thrones belonging to her heritage. She lies in the afterglow of furnaces melting from the heat of the closed oven’s door before her. They didn’t take the usual time removing her ragged clothes. The thin laced collar running over her shoulders and tiny breasts have left what’s left of her body tattooed. There’s no shame on her face leaning to her side on the concrete slab where they’d thrown her. She wanted them to see her eyes before they pushed the lever down closing her into pitch black darkness, her cheeks a glow; her nostril’s wide still breathing those who’d gone before her. Her lips fully rounded with a slight part hushing out a new ghostly whisper, I am a Jew she said, I forgive you; You know not what you do ~ Rachealgrace Adams Copyright protected 4/29/12
Tags: I AM A JEW SHE SAID
NOAHS ARK Vincent Van Gogh’s yellow sun had partly rose casting a horizontal rippling golden line over a muddy blue sea not fully lit. Pale persimmon sits on the rim of this pre Columbus flat world, melting into a watercolored aquamarine sky. It’s the start of a perfect day. I’d rose pre dawn, my appetite sea green! Tossed on clothes, grabbed tattered shoes, walking barefooted on worn split boards leading to my dock, I could hear dirty seaweed below ebbing with the tide. Once a popular marina, packed with large rigged ships, an old neighborhood hid it now. Somehow this old marina survived, still watched over by the old “Dock master.†Bent with age, limping, a twisted pipe dangled from the corner of his mouth. His gnarly hands tossing free the rope as I jumped, sending my small ship and I out. He knew I’d be eager to set my jib, searching for Noah’s Ark again. Tiller in hand; wind quickly filled my canvas sails lifting me over conflicting waves. Once past these, the sail is on! Waves of foam splashed seawater filling my lungs. Seagulls dive for fish; dolphins swim beside my ship. Noah’s wind pointed my bow toward a sun that couldn’t keep wet skin dry, nor salty fumes from burning my eyes. The seas got us racing, heavily leaning starboard. My tiller’s hard to hold; she’s daring us to stay abreast with her! Oh she’s a mighty wench, this sea clothed from teal to cobalt blue. Untamable; submissive on her own terms. She owns life and death here. Knowing I’m tired, no land in site she entreats Noah to withhold his wind leaving my canvas limp, a rescuing momentary calm. Catching my breath an occasional light splash rocks my tiny ship, while I rest facing the sun. Suddenly like a bat out of hell wind fills my sails; against my will returning me to shore. Twilight changes dusk to darkness, ending another day. Walking beneath midnight stars, I began thinking of Noah and understanding man. God saw man had corrupted his earth. He came to Noah, knowing him a righteous man, telling him he’d cleanse this earth with a huge flood; he was sorry he’d created them all. He told Noah to build an Ark of gopher wood. The length, width and height he for told. Once the Ark was build, Noah was to take his wife; three sons, Sham, Ham, Japheth; and their wife’s aboard. He’d numbered the animals, knowing along with Noah’s family they’d replenish the earth when land appeared again. All these things and more God commanded Noah to do; done he brought his great flood. Rain lasting forty days and nights! I don’t think men realized they’d brought this upon themselves for their evil ways. When the earth was covered, everything evil washed away; God stopped his tears of rain. Many days later, waters subsided; the Ark stood on dry land atop a mountain called Ararat. Forty days later Noah set out a dove, returning with nothing. Another seven days the same bird sent, this time a live leaf in its beak. On the twenty-seventh day the land was dry enough for man again. Animals released; bird’s soaring off in damp gray clouds rising into floating cumulus clouds rounding Ararat. God told Noah he’d never curse the earth again with a flood causing total destruction because of evil men’s ways. It was then God created the rainbow, a sign of his agreement made that day. Thus saying, go ~ replenish my earth! How perfect his plan, fully knowing man would screw it up again! But he’d given his word and he’s kept it. I’ve often wondered what the final destruction might be? I think he knows within the wickedness of man; we’ll be our own undoing ~ regardless of his perfect plan! Standing on this beach, the moon lighting my way in a cyclical pattern; waning, waxing in a luminous glow; I’m reminded of my connection to this earth is such strong ways; just as I’ve imagined Noah afloat. Its because of Noah I took my first breath; so it’s to him I seek return. Noah’s daughter, incarnate. Rachealgrace Adams………………………3/15/10………………….©………
Tags: NOAHS ARK
A DEW ON AGE We don’t remember our own dew; our children’s dew we remember. Their purity, that sweet scent of freshness. The dew of a first smile; a wobbly first step. Where we once like that? School days; winning a spelling bee, bringing home that first grade A, running the race learning as fast as they can. Where we once like that? That dew in our eye’s when they first drove a car; left home on their own; leaving us behind. Building a life, marrying, struggling to better their lives. Where we once like that? Now it’s the dew covering both theirs and our eyes watching another generation come into life. Sunny days, rainy days, triumphs and pains; wins and losses, nothing ventured, nothing gained. Birthdays, anniversaries, holidays; births and deaths; everything life celebrates and morns. Where we once like that? Everyone’s grown now, life has lost its dew; instead paying its dues. A different dew covers their eyes now, standing by grave sites; it’s a mist of tears now, remember the dew they once saw in our eyes. Where we once like that? Rachealgrace Adams…………2/10/12………©……………………
Tags: A DEW ON AGE
| Page:
|
2 |
|
|
|
|
