I wrote the entry about resilience in relation to the loss of a friend’s husband to death. My friend’s husband was in the final stages of MS but he also had a seizure disorder. He died in his sleep. In an instant my friend became a 27 year old widow and single mother of a one year old daughter. Her husband was 32 years old. My friend took her one year old and moved to New Albany to stay with friends. I hope to talk to her soon.
I may have written the entry about dealing with the loss and the sadness of her situation but it now applies to the loss of my sweet kitty Bella. About 4:30 this morning she passed away. I never expected her to be one of those cats that lives forever but I figured she’d make it past 4 years old. She’s been sick for awhile. Each winter she sort of hibernates and you can see it in her eyes that she doesn’t feel well. For the last 3 winters I wasn’t sure if she’d make it through, this winter she didn’t.
Continue reading ‘Exploring Losses’
No thank you to sunrises and sunsets.
Offer to another the peaceful sound of waves over stones.
And feed the masses cake and cookies for
I am full.
I am full.
Let strings and wind instruments lull you to sleep.
Let clouds form your dreams and fireflies deliver your wishes.
Walk your walk down cobble stone paths hand in hand with satisfaction
And take for yourself a full goblet of aged red wine for
I have sung my song, and I have walked
I have walked each step with stillness of heart
And found strength in the light of Your gaze.
Friday, February 19, 2010 – 2:17am EST
Copyright 2010 © F. Magdalene Austin All rights reserved
Weapon of Choice
Where the pen is mightier than the sword…
By Jennifer B Worthington
Let me tell you, I just got a glimpse of Jennifer’s book and I’m blown away. If you appreciate raw, open, honest, lay it on the line with no sugar coating type writing then this is the book for you. In addition to her wonderful poetry she has her own artwork which also speaks very loudly.
Continue reading ‘Mightier Than the Sword’
That skinny old man sounds like a stampede of spooked cattle as he runs across poorly padded carpet
To open a door about to fall off it’s hinges.
I hear it slam and think to myself,
I hate him.
—–
It’s not the slamming door or the way he goes about clueless in his ways that bothers me so. It’s that he reminds me of my sister in some ways because he refuses to say, “You can’t do this to me.”
Continue reading ‘The Reflection of Two Little Girls’
Published on
November 13, 2009 in
Poetry.
My attention span is short and small.
It’s tiny.
Tinier than a mouse.
Tinier than a minnow in the pond out back
And more fleeting than Florida rain in the spring.
The sun comes out, kisses the earth and leaves no trace
That a single drop ever hit the ground.
In this fashion goes my concentration
Even faster, my recollection of what I wrote and read.
© Faith-Magdalene Austin all rights reserved
I wanted to sit in the living room by a host of candles and read my new book but I’m anxious and can’t retain what I read. I get up and pace a bit, get into this and that then try to go back and read a paragraph or two. The first paragraph is the last one I read so it pretty much feels like one step forward two steps back. There’s no need to force it I guess. It’ll be here waiting to be read when I’m ready to read it.
fma
Friday, November 13, 2009 – 7:41PM EST
Pleasing to me was:
The sound of my best friend’s grandchild giggling in the background as we talked on the phone.
Ever so delightful was the last sip of coffee where my peppermint disk settled.
I had warm blackberry pie and vanilla ice cream. My Lord it was good.
I like the smell of heat. When the heater first kicks on there’s a scent that is very soothing to me.
I have a vanilla candle that I put on a mug warmer and let melt slowly as I sleep. Vanilla fills the room and helps relax me.
Continue reading ‘Gratitude Monday: The Senses’
I don’t need permission.
I don’t need the okay, a nod of approval saying to let go
Cut and cut lose.
I do not need a hand on my shoulder, holding it, grasping the corners of my arm
To flip me around and stand eye to eye.
I don’t need you to remind me that your love will wash all this away.
I remember, you promised this yesterday
But still I yearn for the release of skin and blade.
I am not driven by lust as lust goes.
I have no need for danger or to feel like I’m alive.
I know with each beat of my heart I live, horrified and battered, yes I live.
There is no joy found in devastating once smooth virgin skin and
No pleasure born of perversion as I lay down my mind and prepare to ravage my soul
In hopes of saving what remains of my shell before I lose it all to a fear greater than your disappointment, your disapproval.
You tighten the loving gaze in my eyes
I know what you’re thinking
You can fix this if you love completely, purely.
If you stand a little closer, dedicate every waking moment to my fights
Love with more than an abstract idea of what I need
And force my dreams to only lay claim on my night
Sparing sanity from long listless days.
I know what you’re thinking; you thought it yesterday and many times more
With the same conclusion as if destiny would change.
Still you seem stunned when pleading leads to manipulation
As my hand lays claim on razors and blades and
Strokes fueled by control re-open half healed wounds.
I know what you’re thinking, why aren’t YOU enough?
My breath is held captive when clutched in your bear hug arms
As I wait for permission to no longer need your permission to hold or push
To scream, talk or be silent.
To pull back or fall upon your neck and fill your ears with why
Why I’d ever place hope in steel’s sting
As I search for the vein that leads to yesterday
To spill its burdens before it claims my today.
How can I ever explain?
Arrow of Morton’s Pride
2/27/07
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