Art and Writing…#109

I have shared below a few of my own art collection, during a time when I was in grief over the loss of my child I placed my thoughts, scenes from my childhood into painting in acrylics and watercolors.  My hope is that someday they will become family treasures.  I continue to paint today for my enjoyment.



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A short-short story


The young man standing over the battered woman was bitter with his life; filled with arguments and questions he was unyielding. He needed no prompting; his waking hours devoted to causing heartache, pain and suffering. He had a skill for creating pain, even in his passionate moments. His joy was to reign over his rightful possession, his wife. On their first day of marriage, she would cease to have a will of her own, she was afraid and she obeyed. To serve, to have no mind of her own, without any support from others she too thought that he owned her. She would never be his equal, when he was with her his words brought new bleeding to her heart and mind. He was only satisfied when he drew blood, his appetite for hurting never ceased.

He had broken their vows thousands of times, his mouth foul and dishonest with an adulterous heart beating within his broad barrel chest. She thought maybe his past, his youth; his own suffering at the hands of another had brought him to this day? He was not true or kind; he felt no shame in the bruises he left behind. Among those who knew him, he could do no harm; people did not know him. She had not asked for pearls or rubies, and she did not ask that her blood be spread across every moment of her life. His moods released terror in his path, and eventually she lay like twisted metal after it had met with deadly winds. She felt no worth, or equalities, she believed in only his wrath and his sickly attempts to have her go mad.

His affections never tender, many times, she was like a lamb to be killed at the altar by his manic desires. At times when people would try to get acquainted with her, he and only he owned her. The scars of battle went unseen; she was a caged animal in their home. Her discipline she held by grace but she vowed never give in to the bond he commanded, she fought back.  One day she rose from the floor screaming at him, “Your fist no longer stings, my stomach will no longer will live in knots, and my body will no longer be confined. Your torture inflames my spirit, it does not kill it; I will no longer cringe in shame and silence, and I will no longer suffer the pain; I will no longer live in shock or fear.”

Later that night she asks herself did her torturer have a soul; did he take an oath with the Devil? She did not weep, she did not cry, or show fear, “It is the last time,” she thought. She was not aware of the time that he put the poison in her food, but she somehow sensed that she was going to die that night. He would never let her leave him, with her face covered with tears she closed her eyes, there was no one to hear her moans, and she could not escape the tragedy of her life. Finally, she fell into a sleep from she would not wake from, a final thought danced across her dying mind, she was free.




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If fear were a color,
it would be black, void and unfeeling.
If fear were a taste,
it would be that of bitter weeds.
If fear were a feeling,
it would be that of suffocating.
If fear were a smell,
it would be that of burning flesh.
If fear were a sound,
it would be the rattle of one’s last breath.



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Old Age…#106

“In something called the Pew Study, the responses were clearly that old age begins at 68. However, those older, 65, considered old age to begin at 74. As for me, at 80, old age may be 90.” Elizabeth Ann Johnson-Murphree.

Old Age…

Therefore, there are more older people than ever before, most are not working forty hours a week and many are unsure of what they are going to do with their time. Life changes at advanced ages are both physical and emotional. I have struggled with the loss of loved ones and a share of my independence; almost everyone who has reached that magic number that declares we are old age shares this. I have tried to maintain a healthy life style, yet, as the body ages like any vehicle or vessel, its parts wear out. We have to maintain the highest quality of life possible, a fulfilling life and we must find ways to live our life. If you are mindful of changes in your life the ones that restrict you will not come as a surprise, it is known that exercising will contribute to a long life and it is never too late to start.

Exercise can help prevent memory loss; it provides you with “feel-good hormones known as endorphins. It helps reduce chronic pain, improves metabolism and it can improve your quality of sleep. Keep your brain active, you can feed your creativity now that you are no longer working, it is important to keep the brain strong.

It is said that older people living alone are lonely, unhappy and isolated; a study revealed that older people living alone are often poor and desperate. LET ME DISPEL THIS STATEMENT AS A MYTH! I have lived alone in the old age timeframe for ten years, I am not lonely, unhappy, nor do I feel isolated; and I am far from desperate. I am not poor, I am rich in family and the world around me; I have all that I need and want. Family, living in the moment and creativity is my chosen lifestyle, one that fulfills me in every way.

How do I maintain this outlook on life? I keep up with technology and modern culture while embracing my past and what it held for me, I do not disrespect that of others. I try to exercise within the limits of my current abilities; it is less than ten years ago, but every step counts. I try to keep my aches and pains to myself as well as my mental state at any given moment. As we, I have aged, I go through a gamut of emotions, and I do not believe that people change in old age. I do believe that their personalities and health cause unhappiness if they were unhappy as younger people, and they are happy if they have always tried to look as the glass half full instead of half empty. I consider above physical health that mental is the most important, without a good outlook on life the physical health does not have a chance. Family and social ties are a plus; I have to work on social ties.

I try to “practice what I preach”, I still have work to do on myself and probably always will, yet nothing stops me from trying. I have embraced my age, I have adopted a healthy lifestyle and I set goals. Yes, goals, I intend to continue to make myself as healthy as possible and I intend to continue to “write”, on anything and everything, to expand my world and move beyond that small bubble that is my life.

Want you come with me?



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Harvest Moon the Fall of Life…#103

Image result for Harvest Moon Images Free


Harvest Moon in the Fall of Your Life

Harvest moon hangs over the tops of the trees,

shines upon the white lilacs shadowing the wall

by the sea. The night birds call as evening falls.

Boughs of spruce stay green in winter’s cold,

the willow tree weeps as the earth becomes old.

A moonlit night that will never die, memories

in time watched over by God’s loving eyes.


Mist across a nearby brook lies low under

dimming stars fireflies dancing afar. Rain seeps

into the earth as vines cling to ghostly street

lights; in the shroud of silence, souls take a

heavenly flight. Life and death, time and lack

of memory are all lost on youth, breath taken

away, there will only be truth.




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Death, a Saving Grace…#100

Violence against women is clearly not solved, not at all solved, and the reasons for it, which are controlling women’s bodies in order to control reproduction, are definitely not solved.   Gloria Steinem


Death, a Saving Grace…

At dawn, the life light went out of the

woman’s abused body, it laid in front

of her the children she tried to protect…

she was a mother, she was a woman,

and she was a wife.

A coal oil lantern glowed against rustic

rough boards, shadowing the fragile

souls left behind in the damp shanty

where, she was a mother, she was a

woman, and she was a wife.

Laid to rest in a shallow grave in the

Louisiana heat, dug by a man with

moonshine seeping from his body; the

moon glowed upon soft damp earth

holding, what was once a mother, a

woman, a wife.

Tears burn hot upon the dirt-streaked

faces of her six children as relatives

who heard the shots from the long arm

barrel of hate ring out into the night

took them to their homes, she was

their mother, she was a woman, and

she was wife.

Drunk with evil spewing from his

tobacco-laced mouth the skeleton of

a father had shot his wife, because

she was pregnant again; she was a

mother, she was a woman, and she

was a wife.

No one will ever know beyond the

borders of Bayou Gauche, that mother,

woman, and wife will never return,

her death for her, a saving grace.


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There are Choices…#99


There are Choices…

A roar of thunder melds with the coming storm, the man standing with his hands to his side now wonders if his heart is stone; he knows that because he feels nothing. Crimson liquid spreads across the floor from the body below him. Doors locked, a decision has to be made and quickly. His life ended when he would not let her leave. The police and ambulance sirens filter into the house. He sat on the bed asking, “God, will I go to Heaven if I choose to take my life?” Many would ask is that really the question.

• Over half of the killings of American women are related to intimate partner violence, with the vast majority of the victims dying at the hands of a current or former romantic partner.
• Women’s shelters are available in more than forty-five countries, this will not be enough until every city, town and small burg offers a safe house for abused women.