Sunday, January 25, 2015

Lost Poems: Carpenter

Window Gazing Practice Sloppy Studio


If I made something with my hands
I am afraid a sloppy carpenter I would make
trying to hammer hay into gold
only pounding away to mulch,
digging out the foundations
when I can not afford the concrete.

So I will stare at the prayer nailed to the door,
missing its hinges,
reading Rilke's:

      Because One Man wanted so much to have you,
      I know that we can all want you.

~ Written by me, Annette, in the Spring of 2003


We Have Been Called

We have been called
as if it were
a dirty word
We have been called
as though with shame
our cheeks should burn
We visited with
the careful idols
of cynicism
to learn to sneer
and pant and walk
   so as not to feel the scales
   of judgment rub wrongly
But we say
   some things must
   remain simple
   some things must remain
   and pure
lest we all forget
the legacy which begot us
the health of our origins
the poetry of our fundamental selves

And so
it is to
the longing hearts we sing
rise! spread
your wings!
Let no hand
nor ill will
keep you.

~Published by Jewel, "a night without armor" in 1998


Sunday, January 18, 2015

Lost Poems: girl

Altar Lost Now Found Found Poems

Shabby stings, of blonde hair,
ends colored as if dipped in honey,





down the grape blouse,
sleeves pulled over to hide half of her hands,

                      fingers exposed.

Hands rocking back and forth,
left fingernails torn between the teeth,
the right, cradling,
outside the mouth for its turn.

Those melancholy sage eyes
nestled in mottled skin
the glassy figure in reflection.

~ Annette
Written in the Spring of 2003.

Thursday, January 8, 2015


3Parkin3 7FoggyWalk 7Valley 7InTheWoods 7WinterCoats 7TheWaySheLooksAtMe 7Buds 7FreshStart

Listen.  It's the word that is centering me these days.  An intention, a resolution of sorts.  To pause, to listen inward.  I have ambitions great and small for this new year, 2015. Some will be met and achieved, others will fall away unrealized.  But that's okay.  The most important thing for me this year is to listen. Let's see what happens.


Do you hear it?
I do.
I can feel it.
I expect a miracle is coming.
It has set loose this restlessness
inside of me.

Expect it.
Dream about it.
Give birth to it in your being.
Know! Something good
is coming down the line.
Finding its way to you
like all things find their way
to God's children.


- "Miracle" by Jewel Kilcher

Wednesday, April 23, 2014

Little Stacks

23Radio 23CafeTable 23SofaTable
I have little stacks around my home.  That's how I most like to organize things it seems.  Little stacks of bills to be paid, little stacks of clothes, little stacks of dishes.  My favorite stacks to make though are little stacks of books.  These three sit in different corners of my sitting room.  They so eloquently express what brings me joy in this moment.  Spring, flowers, Beatrix Potter, hand making, gardens...

Sometimes I wonder if I am more of a sofa gardener.  One who likes to sit and read about gardens, look at photos of gardens than actually get out there and do the gardening.  Is that me?  I want to be a gardener I think.  The thing is I hate weeding and that's what most of my gardening consists of right now.  Weeding in a space that I don't really care much for what's growing there.  All five azaleas are old and sick.  The rhododendrons are overgrown and too numerous to count (maybe it's just one or two but it takes up a third of the yard.)  There is a errant vine maple growing in the middle of an overgrown bed and too many juniper bushes for one who's allergic to juniper. I do love the lilac and the magnolia and the quince tree.  There's where you'll find me gardening.

We are in the process of transforming our front yard into a beautiful English cottage garden.  It's where all the sun is.  Big galvanized tubs were put in on the side yard a couple weeks ago.  Think cutting garden and veggie patch that little slugs and rabbits that wander these spaces can't reach.  I planted my first flowers seeds on Easter in one of the tubs. Bells of Ireland and Bachelor's Buttons.  On Tuesday I walked over to the little tub, bent down, and whispered quietly to the little seeds underneath the layer of soil.  "Grow big and strong little seeds.  Sweet bells of Ireland, my little bachelor's you can do it.  Reach up for the sun my dear ones."  They feel like my little children.  I must nurture and care for them gently and tenderly and wait patiently for them to grow.  Fingers crossed I'll soon be bringing in some homegrown blooms to fill vases.

Tuesday, April 1, 2014