Complete

This morning, the sun’s fingers

Caressed my face with its warmth

Sleepy, satisfied eyes awoke to linger

Upon the space beside me, now filled-

Resembling my heart-

Where once, long ago

One half was void and hollow

That loneliness we’ve since shed tears over

In all the journeys that have followed

Twilight mornings we embraced

Before whispering goodbye,

Not unlike the dirt road you drove down.

Painfully watching me cry

Airport hugs we know

Only too well

Yet those parting residency kisses

Quite frankly, were hell

Because each time we were distant 

My soul felt incomplete

Like the years before you made me laugh

When each night, I prayed I would meet

Someone to accept me

For all that I am

Just a friend, I pleaded

But, He knows the plan.

On the backside of time,

You were there all along

While I endured patience and trust

Our first embrace, Heaven’s song.

And each one since

Is warmth, familiarity and joy

Feeling perfectly at home

In the arms of my country boy

The sharp sting of goodbyes 

The silent, cold and dark

We’ve endured many nights 

Of being apart

But each newborn dawn

Half awake- I’d hear

The unlocking of our door

Which meant you were near

Anticipated reunion

Calm, reassurance in your voice

Soothes my sensitive soul

So grateful for our choice

To be eternally linked

To know your smiling eyes

Mold the present with our hands

Hinging hope upon our ties.

Mustering a thousand goodbyes

Is something I could do

If it meant the sweet bliss of reunions

Restoring love anew.

For each dusk evening you return

My heart still skips a beat

I adore you, truly, Ertle-love,

Your heart makes mine complete.

Clutter

Piles of laundry

jumble of toys

bottled up emotions

that can rob us of joy.

Clarity becomes foggy

anxiety replaces peace

and the time to watch sunsets 

seems to disappear with ease.

The mirage of more 

is the American dream,

of wealth, of having, of deserving;

the realities unseen.

More data, more friends,

more house and more story-

more cars, more fame, 

more work and more glory.

In this desert of excess

we cannot stay content

our thirst equates dehydration

for all the hours we’ve spent-

Spent worrying, cleaning, attending

to our clutter

we’ve acquired over time

seeking for a better-

Life than we have,

the grass is always greener

but the oasis we desire

comes from being freer.

So, edit the words

calm the commotion-

leave space for ideas,

worthwhile goals and devotion.

Eliminate the extra,

let creativity thrive

cultivate gratitude for simplicity-

unify, rather than divide-

Desires and needs, 

where we feel fulfilled

our spirit is all we will possess,

intelligence, upon which we should build-

A shelter of growth

under which there is peace,

the satisfaction from a breeze

contrasts heat with its relief.

Joy that springs up

when to stillness we succumb,

for “the more simple we are,

The more complete we become.”

*quote by Rodin.

Time

I sit here in the silence 

no whispering wind

just the ticking clock

and my babe kicking within.

The day has not started

darkness still covers,

like a blanket enveloping

two inseparable lovers-

The past and the future.

How does one divide

Yesterday from tomorrow?

One into another, they slide.

Is it the moment 

when light graces the sky?

The future has then started,

And the past is left to pry?

Man may say, 

it is the minutes of time

that determine then from when

in this mortal climb.

Yet the spirit within me

cannot agree

to these confines of mortality

to which exists a key-

The path to break free

pondering time as round,

eternity as experiences

that fuse linked, without sound.

No ticking, just kicking,

his heart within mine-

warmth I embraced before

in an existence void of lines.

As the light filters in,

birds fill the silence with song

I’ll sit here awaiting the future,

for the time is not long-

Till I trace his tiny face

till our family is more complete

till we are all reunited-

A circle with which time cannot compete.

-KMJ

Simplicity

Life was so simple-
As a child, there was no ceiling
running through the grass
and joyfully squealing.
Then, laying on my back
and watching the sky,
imagining angels on clouds
as they floated by.
Yet time passed on
so slowly it seemed
minutes felt like hours
especially in dreams.

As a youth, there was stillness
in the rotating world
thoughts were so clear
and goals unfurled.
Approaching the age
where the future feels close
must prepare and study,
get ahead like most.
No time for sitting
and watching the night
the sunrise is calling
and time feels tight.

As a young adult, there was knowledge
that had to be learned
but my eyes were opened,
I embraced and yearned.
The earth full of color-
it brought me to tears,
of joy and laughter
of experiences and years.

As an adult, shortness of breath
a shrinking ceiling
and ungraspable time
has me reeling.
The world is chaotic,
the noise unbearable-
thoughts are all jumbled
and usually unsharable.
Gray is the palette
surrounding my head-
just worries and stress,
responsibilities I dread.

My diagnosis isn't fatal
as grown as I may be
the cure is quite close
and simple to see.

As a Mother, there are little hands
that like to explore-
they show me that world
I once knew before.
We watch every sunset,
we pause and we listen,
to hear the frogs croak,
marvel at stars that glisten.

That time is returned,
the noise disappears-
when I am patient,
and kiss those small ears.

The things I am learning
from their sweet, tender hearts,
can bring me right back
to where simplicity starts.

Quicksand

*Not about art, just an old poem (maybe 1-2 years old) I found in my sketchbook I feel I should record!

I wistfully sigh as I drive by

the ice-skating rink with the big blue light-

longing for a moment with you

frozen in time-

of laughter, clutched hands

locked eyes- nowhere to climb-

just stand

like we used to,

bathed in the glow-

of the sand, flowing past-

but for us it felt slow.

Now it moves like lightning

I feel like I'm drowning 

in quicksand- so thick

it oozes around me-

holds me captive while I look out,

desperate to see you-

waiting, watching, clenched jaw- I start to doubt

I try my best to wiggle free

escape, do something...

or, just let me be-

Yours is the only touch that can save

a grip, a grab

reaching into a cave-

The warmth is there

although it is distant,

if I can be patient, 

I can endure it.

It will get brighter,

the sand will let free

and I will learn better 

to let that sand be-

to focus instead on your

arms round mine-

and the way we both feel

to be eternally intertwined.

The Race

So long I've been without my brush

Why did I wait? Put it off? When it longed for my touch?

Bitterness? Resentment? Failure to succeed?

How weak am I to ignore and heed

its call- for when I finally embraced

my need to create, it felt like running a race!

To feel my heart beat, hear my feet pound-

moving through the air, adrenaline abounds!

Lately, I've been statically moving forward,

as if on a treadmill- stationary- not going towards-

that part of my identity in which I am real,

where vulnerability meets truth and feeds my zeal.

Now I know, next time that I feel gray-

all the colors are muted and I start to fray,

just lace up those shoes and step onto the earth,

prepare to get dirty and envision rebirth.

The time is now- don't ever forget-

the beauty of creating and the pain of regret.

My Friend

He's my comrade, He's my friend

especially as the lonesome nights begin. 

He's always there, within my reach

like an endless vessel ready to teach.

I speak to Him, He listens well-

while I reveal secrets too precious to tell.

Yet I utter not a word, He comprehends

no tossing and turning; contemplating how to mend.

He unveils the truth, it leaves me frightened

but when I press forward, I feel enlightened.

His wisdom is bold and at times I am stunned,

brimming with questions, as a child curious and young.

At the close of our time-He's filled me with light,

empowered, encouraged-and ready to fight. 

He's my truest friend, one that I need

yet there are two friends of which you do read.

He is creations' Father-

with love purely divine,

with that gave me Art,

another dear friend I call mine.