Who Is My Woman?

Yam is the sun when the rain just is undone and there is nothing but revival.

Yum is the sum for all women think that her life is a Tri-Full Truffle.

Come on life la live ah...ah....ah...ah....ah...ah
I saw ribbons of light that seemed to correlate sight and then the pig came tumbling after.

I begin to see now.
And it is hard to maneuver when the glass is still visible or obsolete.
I am lost in my physical.
Wear my underpants to feel sexy and am I simply a reminder of that legacy?
No.
No.
No.

I am sexy woman yum.
Yes.
Yum.

Hazel Wide Eyed

Hazel eyes, amazed at the shake.
Massive hurt felt around the massive global perimeter.
Hazel.
We are a blend eye make.  Always.

Why?
Why the shake and make a grave for little body sake?
Why?

The light in eye make is shaken to the core of reasoning why such harsh could be taken onto the vulnerable.  Elders and children.  Elders and children.

Why?
More than why, give some more why please.

Why?  Why?  Why?  Why?
And more to all the vulnerable lost in vise, why?  Why?  Why?  Why?  Why?
Never can the count of why be enough.  Please take the amount of years on this earth to reflect on your Why.

New Negotiation

Files out, mail is in the make pull amount.
We couple are negotiating which way to pull full out.
That this
that want
that makes a massive pool.

Living with those who know the line, give it and call it and be it to for find cool.

Toastie in the morning, nice and serene and then there is the day that can make a Maker seen.

Why do I feel the same pull from massive birth?

Not is now and now is not and that is when we all find an engraved pen.

Not sure when you're born, not sure when made of material to last, we are all be giving to those who hear some last.

Never mind you the route your love takes.

Love is withstanding and make a popper right shake.

Long, lean live for our old never known what is known.

The negotiation is everlasting when grief is in full moon shown.

Finder Chill Finder

Dropped my ashes on a clean key board.  Found my answer in a think tank call.

My thoughts are in many different places tonight.

Ok: permission to not be creative.

Not hold a purpose or clear spelling.

I am just me.

I am just me.

I am just me.

I cry.

I scream.

I definitely scream.

I hit.

I ache.

I ache so hard the sounds don't make sound.

I am me.

I am me.

When I finish a sentience I wonder if my words made sense.

i am me.

I look for experiences that provoke some reflection--sometimes.
And other times, I am looking to provoke some anything.  I don't care--as I seem.

I am me.

Me, well I am stoic and family proud.  I married right.  Truly on all levels.  I seek creativity-can't avoid it.  I seek it.

I love beauty--in all forms.

I love my daily routine, dailies are my savior.

I love to sneeze.

I love feeling uninhibited and observing loved ones in the same moment-to-moment space.  Authenticity to the hilt!  To the loving, bloody hilt!

AUTHENTICITY AUTHENTICITY AUTHENTICITY AUTHENTICITY AUTHENTICITY

love your first, second, many and last and be authentic in the adventures you allot.

Come now--be.

Connection to bereavement:  You change daily.  Embrace that.  Like Grief--Life is ever-masterly shifting, pick your point of interest and make havoc for it!

Why bloody not?!

Water Shared

Water shared of the night.  The night was whole, spirit filled and massive in vibrato.  Yet the laughter and love and the light shined in knowing we all were nothing but welcoming.

Spirit be.
Spirit be of Islay.
Spirit we know you follow Isle to Isle.

Our origins, roots, blood thicker thank water all resonate from the pond of make some fuck'n fire.

The bridges are mended, all snug in their sling and we look to the island for some spiritual maze.

Won't come.

You know why?

Because living and loving and living Coastal/Island life is more than a wee heart can take.

Takes care, conscious, love and beware plus a massive amount of gusto that many cannot share.  Coastal/Atlantic life lived is raw and we want it so.

So let us Graham/Kellow/McIntyre yelp "Ay Ya" make our presence known.

We be com'n, strong and loving fast.  We be swift with devotion and memory of the past.  We are of the clan to represent good and true, for stories to be told to our new borns who require the rule.

Love is love.

Pain is pain.

Live your life for a bottle or for a massive wonderful Plane.

Islay, we are here for you Always, never the same.

Grief Became My Identity

Grief became that co-dependent part, the extension of some middle school girl hallway.  I wanted to be Grief.

Grief meant I had a link to Nora that no one else had.  My story was important.  My back was never bent.  I was Grief.

Then I started to loose my vision.

I spotted to put importance to a crown of thorns instead of a reed of grass.  Death and life were never asking for my attention or calling to be named.  I sought it.

I do not think this journey with sister Grief is over.  I am simply making choice to enjoy the steps of life green along the way and not pressure anything that is never really asking to be shared.

I am who I am and that is enough.

My children are sacred beyond words and that fills me up.

Humble Learner from The She that makes Might

Grandma Irma's Hellebore: picture by sister Kate Kellow

Family near beach

Oregon, Home

Dancing

Elder Wise