Catching Light

by ltestonMarch 5, 2017

She knew beauty from inside out

flaming life with gentle sparks

When death like cancer found her heart

beauty breathless cried for help.

She died too early for spring’s warmth

beneath the surface broken, hurt

with hopeful lilies by her side

and dreams of color catching light.

-For Janice.

Lock the door on your way out….

by ltestonJanuary 1, 2017

I always remember my dreams. They reset and reframe the truth lying just underneath my daily life and struggles.

In anticipation of 2017, my sleep brought the terror of a whirlwind. Being swept away by the forces of nature, I woke distressed to say the least. This unsettled mood lasted through the last day of 2016.

I woke this am, however, on a journey abroad in the company of family and strangers . I was advising others on how to pack but also reorganizing my own bag.

Perhaps I am ready to move on.

Lock the door on your way out.

Looking Out

by ltestonNovember 27, 2016November 27, 2016

Looking out with weathered views I find there is much seen from places away from where I stand

The other window, past the trees where the wind blows from the north is something else

if I close my eyes and listen closely – I shiver and know.

I am blind though to the color of the eastern view from my western space

Looking out with simple delight– only with framed views I fear.

Photography via Julieallyn wordpress.com

On a limb

by ltestonOctober 29, 2016

I really depend on problems. They engage my intellect. Energy flows best in me while in the “problem solving” mode.

But it’s killing me.

I spend hours intellectually solving the emotional crisis created in make-believe power struggles to right a wrong. I tune in preferentially to the oppression of wrong thinking, ready to push back. My eyes notice first the thing “wrong” with the picture.

I was educated to do this. My skills honed to fix the broken.

I have the mind of science, dissection as discovery.

Did I mention it’s killing me?

I use the quest for perfection as motivation to create. I think and talk and type until my voice is heard.

I yell louder – and over power.

I think deeper – and over intellectualize.

I focus harder- and over work.

It is killing me.

Can I just hang there? Can I hold a view on the edge that accepts the death of needing to solve the moment? Can I then live within the fall of mind to heart?

Can I live in the pain of brokenness, of autumn’s peace and beauty and know season’s change is not my call to arms?

Can I just die a bit in the strain of change without the torture of failure?

Image courtesy of Brenda-meditative journey with saldage.

Daughters Sad Goodbye

by ltestonAugust 21, 2016August 21, 2016

His poverty of love betrayed every effort

and he settled for survival-

afraid even of comfort

a man alone in a mind framed by fear.

His death came as could be expected-

outside, nature fallen.

Along his years-

he was loved without knowing how to love,

embraced not knowing how to hold,

home not knowing how to father.

Yet in this moment, in this breath

he is today beloved.

photography courtesy of Sarah Vaughn

Reconciliation

by ltestonJune 15, 2016

The story deep in the marrow of my life betrays the simple touch of air to skin. Blood-spilt memories lay unheard, unknown but pulse with my breath and soul.

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Looking out with weathered views I find there is much seen from places away from where I stand

The other window, past the trees where the wind blows from the north is something else

if I close my eyes and listen closely – I shiver and know.

I am blind though to the color of the eastern view from my western space

Looking out with simple delight– only with framed views I fear.

Photography via Julieallyn wordpress.com

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Image courtesy of Brenda-meditative journey with saldage.

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His poverty of love betrayed every effort

and he settled for survival-

afraid even of comfort

a man alone in a mind framed by fear.

His death came as could be expected-

outside, nature fallen.

Along his years-

he was loved without knowing how to love,

embraced not knowing how to hold,

home not knowing how to father.

Yet in this moment, in this breath

he is today beloved.

photography courtesy of Sarah Vaughn

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The story deep in the marrow of my life betrays the simple touch of air to skin. Blood-spilt memories lay unheard, unknown but pulse with my breath and soul.

The stains of love and hate look the same in me and equally reflect the tragedy of my fears-

and I pray for reconciliation.

Photography courtesy of Ginny Hunt

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Maybe it’s just restlessness

in the perpetual grind of a broken spirit.

Maybe it’s fearfulness

in the gasp of life without meaning.

Maybe it’s loneliness

in want of being home where I can be we.

It’s definitely unstable

with steps not leading to a lone path.

It’s definitely noisy

with doubts out-crying a rhythm in dissonant tunes.

It’s definitely me

in a space holding it all

in a matrix of twisted becoming

in quest for a soul – everliving.

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