An Inkling
all photos and excerpts original unless noted ©️
~the flower~
On the edge of life
I staggered, succumbing to the throes
of the divine as I began to wilt.
I was unaware that I was indispensable
knowing you had laden yourself equally
against all odds with the absolute essence
of my sole purpose with our sensuous
delectable union.
🍂
excerpt
On the edge of life
I staggered, succumbing to the throes
of the divine as I began to wilt.
I was unaware that I was indispensable
knowing you had laden yourself equally
against all odds with the absolute essence
of my sole purpose with our sensuous
delectable union.
🍂
excerpt
~ Wapiti ~
Through scent of Pine and Willow
of a sensuous September,
I speak your name in silent
prayer, my breath wisps
with each exhale.
🍂
excerpt
Through scent of Pine and Willow
of a sensuous September,
I speak your name in silent
prayer, my breath wisps
with each exhale.
🍂
excerpt
Bit by Bit
Within your embrace
I lay down and fit
my curves into your curves,
I feel your slow breath
of sleep upon
the side of my neck.
With slightest shift
of hips the lightest
of touch, a primitive
suggestion my invitation
to you.
🍂 excerpt
Within your embrace
I lay down and fit
my curves into your curves,
I feel your slow breath
of sleep upon
the side of my neck.
With slightest shift
of hips the lightest
of touch, a primitive
suggestion my invitation
to you.
🍂 excerpt
Solace in the Fray
via the strength of his ebb
via the strength of his flow
and in his whisper
I
heard;
Never doubt the meaning of
*sacred space* brought into being
by the presence of light within
the source of your inner core.
The wave sublime in the stream
of a hearbeat flows for evermore
🍂
excerpt
Here’s To The Unknowns
A rendezvous once a month
is not enough to satiate
an appetite of this depth.
Do not expect me to be gone now
since you mapped out and drew me
precisely to where you want me to be.
Come away with me
before the break of morn Luna,
come away with me….
🍂
excerpt
A rendezvous once a month
is not enough to satiate
an appetite of this depth.
Do not expect me to be gone now
since you mapped out and drew me
precisely to where you want me to be.
Come away with me
before the break of morn Luna,
come away with me….
🍂
excerpt
In Warmth of Soil
Hands toil in warmth of soil
nurturing a visible gift,
receiver, giver, teacher
and student one.
Hard to fathom the epic tale
of a singular seed,
The wild of me hopes
it stays this way,
I would rather
the wonder than the knowledge.
I watch and go back and listen
to the ancient hum of stories told
by each and every thing,
the stone the sway of grass
and the cricket too
🍂
excerpt
Hands toil in warmth of soil
nurturing a visible gift,
receiver, giver, teacher
and student one.
Hard to fathom the epic tale
of a singular seed,
The wild of me hopes
it stays this way,
I would rather
the wonder than the knowledge.
I watch and go back and listen
to the ancient hum of stories told
by each and every thing,
the stone the sway of grass
and the cricket too
🍂
excerpt
Going Home
Odd how your mind plays with sights, scents and seasons and leaves one feeling discombobulated. Now I am not a slow man and take pride that I can do nearly anything I set my mind to and if I can’t I pretend I can. But tonight the past collided with the present and as I found, the second thing I had no control over. Grief can enter without knocking like an unwanted guest....
🍂
Odd how your mind plays with sights, scents and seasons and leaves one feeling discombobulated. Now I am not a slow man and take pride that I can do nearly anything I set my mind to and if I can’t I pretend I can. But tonight the past collided with the present and as I found, the second thing I had no control over. Grief can enter without knocking like an unwanted guest....
🍂
Sun Spring and Storm the Perfect Timing
People meaning well tend to press their complexion upon nature while we are yet beginning to understand the deep complexity of nature itself. Our errors of mucking about are well recorded in the extinction manuals of our own very short sad timeline. An unparalleled gift one could give would be to step out of the way and let things unfold in the rightful way of nature herself. To remember the space around you is sacred and to treat it as such.
🍂
People meaning well tend to press their complexion upon nature while we are yet beginning to understand the deep complexity of nature itself. Our errors of mucking about are well recorded in the extinction manuals of our own very short sad timeline. An unparalleled gift one could give would be to step out of the way and let things unfold in the rightful way of nature herself. To remember the space around you is sacred and to treat it as such.
🍂
Lydia’s Grove
Grandmothers confident steps quickened as what happens when returning to a childhood home until she reached the thicket of gnarled fruit trees and shrubs some now old and wizen as she but there too young vulnerable shoots continued to spread year after year as had her family.
How quickly time devours all things, yet this grove and the seasonal fruit they produce represented her past and future as they did to her Grandpa Smith who planted them in the year of her birth.
With a gentle smile she visualized poignant times of her youth, the lowing of her uncle’s cattle as they greeted him and the excited tumbling of his border collies, kittens mewling in nests of straw, or in her clenched baby fists sticky with berry juice the colourful albeit pillaged flowers for her Grandma.
The initial M painted in blue on sand coloured bricks by her own mother when but a child on the ole house where she stated and staked with stubborn resolve her presence never to be erased.
Joy and sorrow from deep inside the wellspring where family abides and the richness of laughter, wit and riffs from a mandolin were clear of tune and tone.
With strong conviction each member of the clan took on varied responsibilities bestowed upon them to nurture and cultivate young minds, she hoped they all had realized what their guidance meant to her, her very self worth.
How it seemed like yesterday when as a young carefree wisp of a girl she road her father’s rugged shoulders as he strode through the roll of prairie grass so she could pick the highest fruit, both singing You Are My Sunshine, which for the longest time she thought was about their first dog Sunny or laughing at the words of another song so not true but sung teasingly for just that reason -
“Mama don't 'low no music playin' 'round here
Mama don't 'low no music playin' 'round here
Well we don't care what Mama don't 'low, Gonna play our music anyhow
Mama don't allow no music playin' 'round here.”
Was there a time her parents did not sing or play along with one of many instruments? No. Truth be told it was her Great-Grandmothers who whispered to her that it was Mum that was the great believer in the spur of the moment and instigated many exploits. She learnt early as did her father resisting was indeed futile.
Grandmothers blue eyes crinkled against the tears of time as she sat cross legged and leaned wearily against the strength of warm young bark in her rich legacy of the Plum trees, Black Currant shrubs and bushes of Saskatoons, an anglicized word from the Cree word misâskwatômina meaning, the fruit of the tree of many branches. She thought how appropriate as she noted with reverence the solid trunks and winsome branches, the berries bruised or perfect it mattered not in Lydia’s Grove.
🍂Pd Lietz
Grandmothers confident steps quickened as what happens when returning to a childhood home until she reached the thicket of gnarled fruit trees and shrubs some now old and wizen as she but there too young vulnerable shoots continued to spread year after year as had her family.
How quickly time devours all things, yet this grove and the seasonal fruit they produce represented her past and future as they did to her Grandpa Smith who planted them in the year of her birth.
With a gentle smile she visualized poignant times of her youth, the lowing of her uncle’s cattle as they greeted him and the excited tumbling of his border collies, kittens mewling in nests of straw, or in her clenched baby fists sticky with berry juice the colourful albeit pillaged flowers for her Grandma.
The initial M painted in blue on sand coloured bricks by her own mother when but a child on the ole house where she stated and staked with stubborn resolve her presence never to be erased.
Joy and sorrow from deep inside the wellspring where family abides and the richness of laughter, wit and riffs from a mandolin were clear of tune and tone.
With strong conviction each member of the clan took on varied responsibilities bestowed upon them to nurture and cultivate young minds, she hoped they all had realized what their guidance meant to her, her very self worth.
How it seemed like yesterday when as a young carefree wisp of a girl she road her father’s rugged shoulders as he strode through the roll of prairie grass so she could pick the highest fruit, both singing You Are My Sunshine, which for the longest time she thought was about their first dog Sunny or laughing at the words of another song so not true but sung teasingly for just that reason -
“Mama don't 'low no music playin' 'round here
Mama don't 'low no music playin' 'round here
Well we don't care what Mama don't 'low, Gonna play our music anyhow
Mama don't allow no music playin' 'round here.”
Was there a time her parents did not sing or play along with one of many instruments? No. Truth be told it was her Great-Grandmothers who whispered to her that it was Mum that was the great believer in the spur of the moment and instigated many exploits. She learnt early as did her father resisting was indeed futile.
Grandmothers blue eyes crinkled against the tears of time as she sat cross legged and leaned wearily against the strength of warm young bark in her rich legacy of the Plum trees, Black Currant shrubs and bushes of Saskatoons, an anglicized word from the Cree word misâskwatômina meaning, the fruit of the tree of many branches. She thought how appropriate as she noted with reverence the solid trunks and winsome branches, the berries bruised or perfect it mattered not in Lydia’s Grove.
🍂Pd Lietz
A Trill of a Tale. ( excerpt)
Widening rivers and
stormy riffs of horizon meet
and greet lay of land
where wild flowers
are wanton and wildlife curious.
Ursa Major then as now
marks the way of ancient pathways
and migration, the routes of persistence
and resilience, an honour to acknowledge
the first people and that of the fin fur
and feather they followed.
Widening rivers and
stormy riffs of horizon meet
and greet lay of land
where wild flowers
are wanton and wildlife curious.
Ursa Major then as now
marks the way of ancient pathways
and migration, the routes of persistence
and resilience, an honour to acknowledge
the first people and that of the fin fur
and feather they followed.
Lily
A long time ago at least six year which is in fact many transitional lifetimes to a spider... I met a woman. I do not know how she got there, bare foot in the dirt nor do I remember how my eight feet where perched on that particular lily stem overlooking what I knew as my world and her. But I will tell you that garden was vibrant with life and hues one can only dream of, I lived there and I was proud I did.
My adobe was under the yellow day lilies, one in
particular I had a fondness for and not being on the dim side knew bugs were drawn to it as well. The striking poisonous purple of the monkshood brought in the dragonflies, what a feast they made! The shasta lilies and yarrow were the favourites of the flies and bees of all sorts. The lily of the valley well truth be told they smelled all right but nothing else seemed to go near them. A very poisonous plant from root to flower, be still my heart has a hidden meaning in this garden.
She always set me to worrying in the reckless way she had about herself... that nothing could harm her. I grew very fond of her nature because of this, not many can be both sensitive and factual. She was both and there was no pretence about her. When she first saw me, she over came her flight instinct and in doing so her curiosity had time to form questions and a gentle, ello?
Bothers me when I think back to how my death
happened, I knew better. I'd seen them around the
neighbourhood sporting their jackets. But I will get to them later first I need to tell of this woman. A little bit of thing but brave. I puffed up with pride when she looked for me and called my name and as if I hypnotized I would venture out to greet her. I had not the heart to tell her that naming me Lily was not really suitable but then she could have called me Beet and I am sure I'd be red with pride.
She'd ask how I was and I'd wave a leg or four which determined my enjoyment of the day as she worked about in the dirt. Five? Would be like a human putting a hand palm out up and saying stop. Six legs waved madly used only as a sos. And seven and eight used for intimacy, as intricate as the webs I weaved...
Once when a storm was gathering we both could feel it in the air, she got to close and I rushed her as she came near to look at the buzz in my net. She jumped backwards a foot in the air and swore at me. I knew I had hurt her feelings with the slamming of the door which shook my own abode to hell and back! I was ticked but never come between a spider and his food, those nets we spin take a lot of work and are not simply for picture taking.
But, I awaited her return in the moody morn I created in my worry. I had barely slept as I was upset that she might be upset ...she showed up babbling away as if nothing had happened and throwing dead flies and moths into the net which took me all night to weave...lord I let her get away with a lot of things. I like my meat fresh thank you. My worrying simply but annoying mosquitoes in my head, she said she had crazy monkeys in her head which made me laugh.
My lady and I had another good month of conversations of space, life and spirituality. That her life was just as important as mine. That it was okay for her to be alone and it was good to stay busy and to take care of anything said a lot of ones spirit. What you have means nothing if you have nothing inside.
Fulfillment, a good word to place here.
How good it is to enjoy all the colours of life and how can you be afraid of something when you have never had the experience of it. Every little thing and then some all have souls you know? We all drift, float or soar in life and in death.
I wish I could have prepared her for my transition. I wish I could have prepared myself. The wasps started to show up more as they too had everything they needed, a constant food supple of hummingbird feed, water from the birdbath, and dirt from the various gardens to make their hives.
It was a sunny day when heat makes one lazy, I was
half ass dozing listening to the drone of the insects, to a spider listening to different pitches of an insect was like reading a restaurant menu. It was in early
Sept when I felt a burning prick and I knew in a
nanosecond I was in trouble. The wasp stung me and I was dying. I would slowly shrivel up from the inside out.
I did not want to die, who does? But with our birth comes our death, we really do not have a say when it is our time and I was about to make the transition from life to death in this beautiful garden. I would become an important factor in the needs of the wasps to nurture within their hives.
I knew she would look for me when I did not go to
greet her and I was right she lifted my lily cover and peered underneath and gasped when she saw me shriveled and paralyzed. I felt the rush of her denial of my death, it would take time to understand death is useful.
I whispered in ethereal thought ...love beyond borders or the webs we weave.
I sank into myself with a contented sigh, knowing she would be in the garden tending it season after season, cycle after cycle. She would indeed continue to find me there in every web she would come across, every lily she would admire.. I would be there.
Did I tell you she gave me a new name upon
my death? She named me Love.
🍂Pdlietz
A long time ago at least six year which is in fact many transitional lifetimes to a spider... I met a woman. I do not know how she got there, bare foot in the dirt nor do I remember how my eight feet where perched on that particular lily stem overlooking what I knew as my world and her. But I will tell you that garden was vibrant with life and hues one can only dream of, I lived there and I was proud I did.
My adobe was under the yellow day lilies, one in
particular I had a fondness for and not being on the dim side knew bugs were drawn to it as well. The striking poisonous purple of the monkshood brought in the dragonflies, what a feast they made! The shasta lilies and yarrow were the favourites of the flies and bees of all sorts. The lily of the valley well truth be told they smelled all right but nothing else seemed to go near them. A very poisonous plant from root to flower, be still my heart has a hidden meaning in this garden.
She always set me to worrying in the reckless way she had about herself... that nothing could harm her. I grew very fond of her nature because of this, not many can be both sensitive and factual. She was both and there was no pretence about her. When she first saw me, she over came her flight instinct and in doing so her curiosity had time to form questions and a gentle, ello?
Bothers me when I think back to how my death
happened, I knew better. I'd seen them around the
neighbourhood sporting their jackets. But I will get to them later first I need to tell of this woman. A little bit of thing but brave. I puffed up with pride when she looked for me and called my name and as if I hypnotized I would venture out to greet her. I had not the heart to tell her that naming me Lily was not really suitable but then she could have called me Beet and I am sure I'd be red with pride.
She'd ask how I was and I'd wave a leg or four which determined my enjoyment of the day as she worked about in the dirt. Five? Would be like a human putting a hand palm out up and saying stop. Six legs waved madly used only as a sos. And seven and eight used for intimacy, as intricate as the webs I weaved...
Once when a storm was gathering we both could feel it in the air, she got to close and I rushed her as she came near to look at the buzz in my net. She jumped backwards a foot in the air and swore at me. I knew I had hurt her feelings with the slamming of the door which shook my own abode to hell and back! I was ticked but never come between a spider and his food, those nets we spin take a lot of work and are not simply for picture taking.
But, I awaited her return in the moody morn I created in my worry. I had barely slept as I was upset that she might be upset ...she showed up babbling away as if nothing had happened and throwing dead flies and moths into the net which took me all night to weave...lord I let her get away with a lot of things. I like my meat fresh thank you. My worrying simply but annoying mosquitoes in my head, she said she had crazy monkeys in her head which made me laugh.
My lady and I had another good month of conversations of space, life and spirituality. That her life was just as important as mine. That it was okay for her to be alone and it was good to stay busy and to take care of anything said a lot of ones spirit. What you have means nothing if you have nothing inside.
Fulfillment, a good word to place here.
How good it is to enjoy all the colours of life and how can you be afraid of something when you have never had the experience of it. Every little thing and then some all have souls you know? We all drift, float or soar in life and in death.
I wish I could have prepared her for my transition. I wish I could have prepared myself. The wasps started to show up more as they too had everything they needed, a constant food supple of hummingbird feed, water from the birdbath, and dirt from the various gardens to make their hives.
It was a sunny day when heat makes one lazy, I was
half ass dozing listening to the drone of the insects, to a spider listening to different pitches of an insect was like reading a restaurant menu. It was in early
Sept when I felt a burning prick and I knew in a
nanosecond I was in trouble. The wasp stung me and I was dying. I would slowly shrivel up from the inside out.
I did not want to die, who does? But with our birth comes our death, we really do not have a say when it is our time and I was about to make the transition from life to death in this beautiful garden. I would become an important factor in the needs of the wasps to nurture within their hives.
I knew she would look for me when I did not go to
greet her and I was right she lifted my lily cover and peered underneath and gasped when she saw me shriveled and paralyzed. I felt the rush of her denial of my death, it would take time to understand death is useful.
I whispered in ethereal thought ...love beyond borders or the webs we weave.
I sank into myself with a contented sigh, knowing she would be in the garden tending it season after season, cycle after cycle. She would indeed continue to find me there in every web she would come across, every lily she would admire.. I would be there.
Did I tell you she gave me a new name upon
my death? She named me Love.
🍂Pdlietz
In Multiply Ways ( excerpt )
.....
lifting me onto your lap everything rhythmic
everything as it should be with no definition
I thought I would drown I thought I would fly
you took me there time and time again
in multiple ways in multiple lifetimes
~ how I miss you in this one ~
🍂
.....
lifting me onto your lap everything rhythmic
everything as it should be with no definition
I thought I would drown I thought I would fly
you took me there time and time again
in multiple ways in multiple lifetimes
~ how I miss you in this one ~
🍂
Bohemian Tendencies
persistent resonance, a synchronous vibration
that materializes in an aura of blue
drawing from an innermost place that has no name
senses inundated right, left hemispheres
madly volleying synapses
fervor consuming..
🍂
persistent resonance, a synchronous vibration
that materializes in an aura of blue
drawing from an innermost place that has no name
senses inundated right, left hemispheres
madly volleying synapses
fervor consuming..
🍂
Redox of Atoms. ( excerpt )
one would say as common as breathing
my heart a nonconformist by fair means or foul
against this redox of atoms
breathe in breathe out
damn your silver
damn your gold
damn this life
I behold
🍂
Lot of Scared
I staggered through places I knew
naught and should not have been
following a path that had been weaved
by story tellers of the ancient and new
caught in their vortex of consonants
and vowels
hooked like a fish out of water
christ I am scared
I staggered through places I knew
naught and should not have been
following a path that had been weaved
by story tellers of the ancient and new
caught in their vortex of consonants
and vowels
hooked like a fish out of water
christ I am scared
Six FIve Four Three
Jealous of my sisters having a slinky, I watched in awe of this toy they would not let me touch. "What walks down stairs, alone or in pairs, and makes a slinkily sound?" I do! I do! Since I could not have one I decided to be one and visualized my body as a coiled piece of metal to the point of realization. In my three year old brain there was no failure. At the top of the staircase I planned head, hands and swing feet over, head, hands and swing feet over. There was a moment of indecision but I was not old enough to take heed. Bending down I put my hands on the first step while pushing up and out with my feet. Ass over tea kettle comes to mind. I could not scream as my face bounced off all fourteen steps. Did that stop me? Nope. Did I absorb more of the Twilight Zone than my parents had thought and took dodo-dodo literally? For once again I was thinking of flight. The front four steps, yes those right there leading up to the veranda, I tried to clear with my brand new tricycle. Back and forth I careened on the veranda madly until I thought I had enough momentum. I hurtled towards the steps, a three year old with an adrenalin rush visualizing a three point landing. The strip of scabs up my face some of the best I would ever have. They nearly made me cross-eyed.
The bricks around the veranda a creamy colour, to a creative child that means boring and dull. Everything screamed for colour including me. My new friend heard me, she was four, not toddler three but four the same age as me, came over with her crayons. A big job indeed but we had the span of the afternoon to colour the whole house. Ha no problem! We had reached only so far when my mother of all people, a noted artist stopped us dead in our tracks! What we had done was nothing but beautiful and I was not sure how her anger and the use of colour could trap me so coldly in a rectangle square. Later I snuck back with a fat black permanent marker I had pilfered from her drawing room and in a fury got rid of every bit of colour…till only an ugly large black patch remained.
This is why fifty years later when I read the words penned by John O'Donohue, "Yet, it is not that black is without colour; it is rather that it is the absence, the outer surface, behind which colours secretly dwell." I smiled knowingly and bonded with the book.
The bathroom in this house large as some living rooms, a huge old porcelain tub to match, perfect resting spot for the painted turtle I had found god knows where. I poured a calculated amount of water that I thought would make a captive turtle happy and set the creature in his spacious new home. In want of another adventure I soon forgot the turtle and was off searching for the next moment to live in. I did not get far when that moment became reality. Once more my mother shouting my name Paula Dawn get up here. I did not know there were hundreds of leeches somewhere in the turtle that would spill out and stick to the tub. I too looked in disbelief and tried to tell this to both my mom and the turtle.The paint withdrew his head into his shell. That may be the first time I threw a shell over myself as well, imitating the turtle seeking refuge within.
Before moving from this house to the one my parents would build the new studio onto there was one more defining experience to be had at six years of age. It was the day I realized being the smallest in my grade 2 class did not mean I was not without power. But it was how I used this new found knowledge that still weighs upon me. He lived up the street. A shy boy of merely four, yes four, no one knows anything at four. My colouring friend, I and this boy were poking around in the garage in the backyard. The only light let in by cracks and by doors casted ominous shadows on the earthen floor. There were fishing rods, tackle boxes and a huge aluminium net which I swung around a few times and then suddenly thought to net the boy. I caught him in one felled swoop, I still have no idea why. I think he whimpered, head bowed by the weight of the net. From the length of handle I told him he could never leave unless he took down his pants. I think he whimpered. I jerked the net and said you better do it or else. What 'else' was I had no idea. Perhaps he did, as he dropped his pants.
As children we thrive on one anothers energy, we did not know then the words to describe the utter depletion my actions created but we sensed it. In a nanosecond everything changed and everything was wrong. Untangling him from the web I quietly gave him a marble, no not my favourite. What had happened had nothing to do with nature or nurture, it was a split second decision that I carried into action. With the absence of joy we now just wanted to go our own way. We left the gloom of the garage and stepped into the net of society.
🍂
all pieces published and copyrighted