It’s raining so hard that all the windows shudder with delight. — Annette Marie Smith
Summer Sea is a goddess
with limbs of copper and brown.
Gold from dread pirate’s loot
is braided into the nets of her hair.
Goldfish dart like lightning bugs
and koi fly like kites at her side.
The seas rise and fall, billow, swirl,
like sails on storm-tossed ships
whose figureheads chant old sea songs
with night lips painted red.
The salt and the spray are rosaries
for the mermaids who use them to pray
to Summer Sea goddess,
always the same prayer
that Summer Sea goddess will stay.
— Annette Marie Smith
He sat on his ice mountain and surveyed all within his view and he knew, he knew, there were far off places with strange flowers and different stars. There were breezes whose acquaintance he had yet to make and waters deep with secrets in hidden forest pools. There was moonlight that fell in showers, like rain, instead of curling down in ribbons of silver. There was a selfish sun that would trade one small spark of fire for every whisker he owned and his tail too! He surveyed all he knew for one more long luxurious moment before unfurling the wings — of his imagination — and leaping into the air. — Annette Marie Smith
Happy Father’s Day to all the women out there who, like myself, had to be both mother AND father to their child(ren).
Happy Father’s Day to the storybook perfect dads AND the ones who are not storybook perfect but who are heroes for feeding their flaws to the pit of responsibility and stepping up and DOING.
Happy Father’s Day to all the dads who have gone on to other worlds but who have left their fingerprints tattooed on our faces (his eyes, his hair, his nose) our selves (his humor, his temper, his wit) and our hearts (his love, his love, his love).
Happy Father’s Day to all the fatherless daughters and sons out there because if he was a good man he left some of that goodness for you and if he was not a good man, sometimes you are BETTER OFF without that particular father. So Happy Father’s Day.
Happy Father’s Day to you and to me and to all of us who love or hate or miss or don’t miss our dads because we are here in part because of them and so Happy Father’s Day to one and all, to you and you and you.
❤ Friday is here to set you free. ❤
"Photographer Diggie Vitt plays with visual improbabilities in his growing collection of surreal photography and self-portraits.
The 22-year-old creative, who hails from Jacksonville, Florida, recently wrapped up an incredible 365 photography project that further encouraged himself to translate his imagination into enchanting and, at times, eerie images." — Rebloggy(dot)com
Small acts of kindness and compassion are microcosms of connectivity and healing, small spheres of goodness that, when arrayed in the scheme of consequences, grow in size to equal their true significance — they mean the world, these small graces, to their recipients. — Bonum Mundi, Annette Marie Smith
like sheets tangled around my feet
you pull those sheets up and over us
with your teeth.
the night has become a private tent
for us to wander with hands and tongue beneath
the arch of sky dark with desire
what aurora borealis we!
what way we lose ourselves upon
beneath the wind tossed trees!
— dream poem, Annette Marie Smith
Summer sprang up at my feet like a painting. There was nowhere to step without getting paint upon my feet. So I stepped where I was wont and when I returned to inner dwellings I carried summer on my soles, left footprints fresh as paint through all the halls and carpeted ways. Elevators were stamped with my barefoot graffiti. I splashed the stairwells with color too. The last thing to be affected — besides my soul — by these fresh and vibrant hues, were my toenails. I look at them now and they are painted in O’Keefes with rhinestone decoration made of morning dew. — Annette Marie Smith
One of the oldest stories we have told ourselves about ourselves, as humans, is the story of our love of words, of naming things:
“Out of the ground the LORD God formed every beast of the field and every bird of the sky, and brought them to the man to see what he would call them; and whatever the man called a living creature, that was its name. The man gave names to all the cattle, and to the birds of the sky, and to every beast of the field…” Genesis 2:19-20, New American Standard Bible
We love naming things so much that we make up names for things that don’t exist yet and then, through the power of our naming them, bring them into existence: flying machines, space travel, bionic bodies, to name a few. Objects and concepts are given life by our words.
“Words make concepts concrete.” — Jas Jamison
I love being a namer. 🙂