THESE WORDS I WRITE

This is a page from an old

sketch journal.

Lots of poems

start from a journal entry

Here’s the first poem

from Late Bloomer:

    

Some of these words I write are not mine. 

They have come from a thousand poets before.

I have only inherited human frailty

and left room for Divine order.

Some of these melodies I compose are not mine.

They have swept through the hearts 

of a thousand musicians before.

They too, were lost like me

and somehow found

their way through

art and music and poetry.

My soul has roots down

to the beginning of time

back to that lonely flute player

on the banks

of an ancient river.

~~~

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GRITS PIE

GRITS PIE

This is grits pie, one of the delicious

dishes prepared by Classic City Chefs

for a

Sunday Brunch in the Field

held on the grounds of

Tim & Alice Mills in Hull, Ga. 

makers of Red Mule Grits.

We also had arugula salad with

walnuts & raspberry dressing,

Polenta, w/red bean sauce,

roast pig w/grits dumplin’s

baked grits w/poached egg

in a fabulous sauce on top.

Lemon/chocolate cake slices

along with the grits pie

which tastes like egg custard.

Suzanne meets Luke the Red Mule

Two girls who live on an organic farm

that supplies our local restaurants,

which is what this event is about.

We step back in time

and watch corn being ground

into grits and corn meal.

Lots of music and crafts, too.

Grannie weaver, Lois, and her 

spinner gran’baby, Trinity.

Homegrown products, 

like Tom with his onions

and sweet potatoes.

His jolly wife, Margaret,

makes aprons and bonnets.

She puts one around my neck saying,

“I want you to have this!”

I've hung it in the kitchen.

I bought a bag of cornmeal for me

and a bag of grits for Suzanne.

Luke’s picture is on the front.

and Miss Alice's recipe for cornbread.

Proceeds went to benefit

Athens’ Project Safe,

a shelter for battered women.

I live in a great community!

Allelulia!

~ ~ ~

THE LITTLE RED HEN

Did The Little Red Hen Suffer?

It’s just so frustrating to be

trying to do everything

like the Little Red Hen.

Especially trying to set up

margins to self-publish a

little book of poetry.

And garden, and cook,

my comfort food breakfast,

a poached egg with chunks of toast.

And Almond Amaretto Bread Pudding

The Little Red Hen asked for help

and no one came.

So she did it herself.

Maybe she was like me,

and LIKED to do it herself.

Maybe she liked to suffer

the slings and arrows

of roots & weeds

and margins out of alignment!

Maybe she baked better bread that way,

and maybe she gave loaves to the poor,

or gave them to be sold

for non-profits

which is what I will do

with my first book of Poetry

And how can I suffer with such

a beautiful garden and

a camera to take a photo

for the title of the book.

LATE BLOOMER

~ ~ 

ART & CREATIVE STAGING

So much I want to do, so little time.

Staging photos

can bring such pleasure.

Creamy hot cocoa

animal crackers,

my journal with collage cover

the white bedroom I’ve created

out of my Hollywood imagination.

I want to remember this forever!

The sunlight, the deck,

the shadows on the carpet,

the flowers in a favorite mug

the wicker bed tray as a table.

and then I take some photos

of journal sketches.

The yellow boots Suzanne

loaned me when it snowed.

My funny comments to myself

which I LOVE to re-read on a dismal day.

I try to keep myself pumped up

and happy.

And yes, I have my ever-recurring

reason to create art, or stage photos

That broken heart I was born with.

There is meaning in every teardrop,

in every sadness or broken dream,

when you believe in love.


And I do.

You can create something

 colorfully artistic.

Even make a staged photo of

fried okra and fried yellow tomatoes!

Or take one from nature.

The beauty of color and form


 in an okra blossom.

~~~