Love, my dearest.

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Have you forgotten the days when you were ash, when you lay in shadows and glittered in the mist of the moonlit night?

And your walk was humble on the ground, and you saw a miracle in a single rose and magic in the stars?

Love- my dearest.

It has always grasped you and sheltered you even when you were ash burned from the fire of a most passionate love.

You know how low one can go, low enough to think I have died and reincarnated and simply remembering that-

everything seems beautiful… like the bird singing on my windowsill this morning, up on the 11th floor of this loud city of Los Angeles, was beautiful.

Just moments of self-reflection and remembrance of the pain this peasant heart has rooted from.

 

never forget-

love, my dearest.

 

Bonnie Bluebird

Currently Hibernating…

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I am currently hibernating in the most loudest cities there is, city of Los Angeles, but it can be done.  I just ignore the sirens, the lights and the late party life. I am taking this time to reflect, and get better- lick my wounds. I’ll be back soon my loves.

what luxury to be here!

 

my best,

 

bonnie bluebird

 

 

 

Magic is…

 

Magic is when everything is synchronized

the winds and ruffles of paper,

the rustling of trees,

the sudden dance of the leaves-

the graceful wave of a hand

a smile that melts a heart

Magic is…

whimsical and serendipitous

it is love at first sight

and comets at night

it is fast as lightning

so quick and gone

its faster than thought

and you stand there in awe

 

Magic is…

the white feather the floats by

the ticking clock

the shadows that pass us by

the rosebud born in the night

that full incandescent moon

 

magic is everywhere…

It is the desert that finds the spring

the mountain that meets the ocean

the lighting bolt born of darkness

the light at the end of the tunnel

a rainbow in the rain

magic is in the mustard seed that moves mountains

if you believe,

it can move mountains

 

from a believer of magic.

 

 

yours truly,

bluebird

“What happens to a dream deferred?”

What happens then to that dream deferred? Was it truly your dream all along? Were you denying yourself of something? Avoiding a realization? Or naming your dream in the wrong category?

 

 

Does a dream have a different face? Or do you fail to call it by name? Do you need to dig deeper to find its name? or do you dare just say it? What if your dream is like that of all the rest-of vanity and appearance? Doesn’t it seem too unreal?-too discouraging?

Is that the dream you are chasing? Can some dreams be harmful? If so, dare I go chase it? Is there even a questioning them? Don’t all dreams come from that same stem, of life, truth and beauty?  If So, my dream has to be true. Anything sprouting from that stem has to be beautiful-even if the rose has thorns.  Dare I- or better off, what makes me think I am anybody not too?

Inspired by Langston Hughes, “Harlem”

To speak of Importance…

 

 

 

Those who speak of importance speak of necessity

we must have air to breathe,

 food to eat,

a shelter to sleep

a coat- some warmth- at least!

Speak no more of necessities!

It dissatisfies me

 it is but a life with no meaning, no feeling

I need love to breathe, affection to eat!

why breath

why eat

 why live

without love

love feeds the hungry soul

laughter warms it

affection shelters it

I live for I breathe for beyond the cravings of the flesh

I live for I breathe for a spiritual sense!

What I love…

 

What I love… I love reading, writing, I love my coffee in the morning. I love books, film, photography. I love flowers in the Spring, eucalyptus, lavender, dried flowers pressed in my books, flowers as gifts, flowers picked from the fields, flowers from past lovers. I love nostalgia. I love candles, chocolate, and wine. I love being wild and irresponsible. I love grapes. I love eating and singing and dancing. I love nature and camping. I love travel, backpacking, hiking, I love adventure. I love Edgar Allen Poe, Mark Twain, Walt Whitman, and John Steinbeck. I love the ocean and the sea and the cliffs and the forest and the trees. I love hand-written letters and postcards, I love little notes and all my journals. I love music, and family, and food, and sharing meals. I love people, people laughing, people smiling, people crying. I love hugs, I love fires, fires that burn, fires that ember, fires that smoke. I love the rain and the moon. I love the shapes the clouds form, the colors of the sunset, and the constellation of the stars. I love magic and rooftops. I love warm Summer nights and cozy Winter blankets, I love the leaves of the Fall. I love to sleep,  to sleep with my lovers, watch films with my lovers, snuggling with my lovers, being silent with my lovers. I love talking, caressing, I love nurturing. I love my dog and my plants. I love this pen. I love this paper. I love, I love… I love the wind, the breeze, the fresh linen scent, a clean house, home cooked meals, I love brotherhood and camaraderie. I love, I love… so much but I don’t know a damn thing about how to love.

 

From yours truly,

bluebird

I want to Fly

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I raise my voice to the heavens,

Bring down your rope of hope,

send down your latter to climb,

I want to dream,

I want to fly.

This has been my current dilemma, my stop sign. And I have been standing there, at a crossroads, having to decide, this way to walk, this way to fly.

I choose to fly. Hopefully, I will be writing much more these days.

 

Always,

your bluebird