Awakening as a lily …with Milly the Lily and artistry of Colin Hall

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I was a very beautiful bulb…

folks said none finer.

I was planted in dirt and sent

to a department store…

my location was minor.

The cashier came for me in a bit of a hurry

the senior wanted to take me home

now, I would no longer worry.

I was placed in front of a mirror in the living room.

I was fed ormus in water until I would bloom.

I am trumpeting forth.

I am blooming blooms.

I am the joy of the senior.

She shares me with others.

I am awakening

in many hearts and rooms.

 So I just want to say dear hearts,

“It does not matter the manner

in which you are planted.

 It is the joy of the struggle

until you bloom

with all the love you are granted.”

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The rose supposes…

269690_10150246751375735_547375734_7598981_970720_nThe rose supposes you have remembered her bouquet all winter.

She wonders if you remember the aroma of the roses from the window garden as they wafted through the house on a summer’s day.

Now in the dead of winter, (in those last weeks when snow is greeted with a  “whiskey tango foxtrot” rather than joy), the rose vainly supposes you remember, as you share handfuls of her sacrificed petals in the bath. 

the photo and hand painted vase  by MaryHelen Ferris

Rose petals in your dreams for Holly and all the women in my life.

Fairy bed with chiffon rose petals

There are petals on your pillow

Rose petals on the floor…

Look over here, dear heart…

I found some more.

Rose petals are lovely,

Any time to view…

But in your dreams

Rose petals  are gift

From my loving you. 

Fairy bed with chiffon rose petals

Fairy bed with chiffon rose petals (Photo credit: Bellafaye)

Alone…

Alone, I cameSnapshot_20111231_11

tho somewhat

surrounded with folks.

Alone,

img_0941I am ,

until someone

on facebook sends “pokes”.

Alone,

I go

into the setting sun.

Snapshot_20130303_1I alone,

shall meet the Creator…

when my time

on earth is done.

Wtitten Nov 17   8:40 AM with the fever of pneumonia and much laughter. 

Guide to photos   Top Left  Christmas Day 2011   Toasting the dear hearts with a Golden Cup with golden hearts

Top Right   Poetess Ferris talking to the trees at Jasper September 2008  photo credit Sonny Alfredo Galea

Bottom Left   Snow patterns on my window in Blizzard late Spring 2013

Bottom Right   October Roses   I wanted to take a photo of roses in sunlight….and received a bowl of love, laughter and light.

 


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every corner, every shelf…

Every corner, every shelf

Within my multiverse

Has been cleansed. 

The first batch of pickles,

shared with the company.

All is in readiness.

The harvest full moon, with an eclipse….

has been sharing its energy for days.

Stampeding into my life,

away from the writing

to the fighting with grime. 

My gnarled hands glow from the cleaning. 

The wee ones come and visit…..

settling down like ancient artisans,

 They create in the cleansed world I have prepared. 

Then it happens!

Out comes the popcorn,

caramel sauce,

chocolate,

oranges to peel.

In the wondrous chaos

My life gets real.

This is the reason,

I shop and scrub and clean…

So we can laugh, paint,

Snapshot_20131005_4tell stories, feel free as a breeze,

eat and love. 

Every corner, every shelf….

has been renewed

by the laughter of the children. 

I finally know the joy  of  childhood within myself. 

Sisters of the Soul

 

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She sings.

 

A very sacred song.

 

She drums.

 

To help Mother Earth stay strong.

 

She serves.

 

Sitting waiting for the baby to be born.

 

She listens.

 

Forgiving all for the gossip and scorn.

 

She learns.

 

All the lessons of becoming a mother.

 

She loves.

 

The family of her extended family…all every sister, child, and brother.

 

She laughs.

 

The wind blows the cobwebs from her mind.

 

She lingers.

English: This picture is of the seven sisters ...

English: This picture is of the seven sisters who created the Sisters Family Cookbook and their mother on one of their Sister Gatherings. Category:Sisters (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Spending time on your interests, her heart a valentine.

 

She weeps.

 

When you are hurting, she stands with you.

 

She winces.

 

When she listens to the news.

 

English: Yusif Vazirov (Chamanzaminli) with hi...

English: Yusif Vazirov (Chamanzaminli) with his mother and sisters and brothers. Clockwise, starting from left: Azat (YVC’s youngest sister who was the mother of Tahira, wife of Ziya Bunyadov), Goncha, YVC, Bayim, Ziba. Mother Seyid Aziz in center and little brother reclining on floor is Miri. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

She wonders.

 

When the world will have a more loving view.

 

She whistles.

 

Watching her toubles dissolve in song.

 

She waits.

 

Knowing one day you will come along.

 

She whispers.

 

To elder of the stories of their youth.

 

She weaves.

 

Stories of delight and truth.

 

She is you my beloved Sister of Soul.

 

She is the friend, who helped make me whole.

 

She is the  one who helps my heart to do cartwheels.

 

She is you my  dedicated Sister of the Shield.

 

 

I hear your laughter on the wind…

rose

rose (Photo credit: aling_)

I place a single rose on the pillow in my heart.

I send it to you my love…

With blessings from above.

I see a vision of you in my joy…

I place the single rose.

I know not the time or place.

(I want you to know I send you a thousand angels

To bring you blessings every day)

Till we meet face to face.

I will bring this self-same rose to you…

In gratitude for your grace.

As I write this note to you…

A tear falls down my face.

I remember you from forever…

I am glad you came to be.

I will never be able to find the words

How much your laughter means to me.

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I put a rock in my pocket (a journey of grief and healing)

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Jasper rock gathering MaryHelen Ferris

Both of my parents loved the autumn.   They died within 60 days of each other.  I had not dealt with the grief.  I needed to go to the mountains.  I needed a rock in my pocket.   Here are the ramblings and tumblings of words in grief as I journeyed to find that rock.   Not knowing I would return to this place of grief and growth often, and especially in the autumn.

I watched the sky.
I wondered ‘why?’
I watched my pain
Formed into rain.
It renewed the earth as it fell.
The earth sprung up
Into the mountainous skies.
The beauty of the mountains acted  as shards to Soul.
I caressed the shards with my eyes; wanting them  to cut deep.

Cut away the dross.

Cut away the loss.
The peaks were covered with misty fog.
The peaks were covered in rain.
The peaks were breathing in glorious snow.
I was very jealous.
I needed to feel that connected.
I wanted to lie on the top mountain peak.
I wanted to caress the forest’s floor.
I wanted to know.
I wanted to be.
I wanted to be real.
I craved renewal and purpose.
I needed to be free of the pain of your passing.
I wanted to feel.
Stillness.
Freedom.
I longed for a mission.
I had to have the compulsion to go onward.
I did not feel anything like that at all.
Then the Sun came out.
It silhouetted the trees
Covered them in a raindrop-halo which glistened.
While they danced in the breeze beauty poured over me,
  Beauty bombarded Soul, beauty went through me.
I drove away whole.
Now in the rear-view mirror
I have my direction.
I will return to the mountains
I will walk through the valleys and peaks.
I will do the next ‘right thing’.
I will be a mountain or raindrop.
Depending on the day.
I will be in touch with my life.
I will learn to say “no
To the needs of another
When my own needs are intense.
I will return to these mountains
when I need to get in touch
With my departed parents
Whom I longed to hold so much.
I put a rock in my pocket.

photo by Sonny Alfredo Galea

Jasper National Park photo by Sonny Alfredo Galea