“Allow life to write on you and what you write in response will become your art.” -Kevin Honeycutt, educator and artist
Friend responded: Life writes on us, no matter what.
From Kevin: Whether that writing becomes scar tissue or art, story, music is up to us.
Pondering – what kind of art has life made with me as the medium?
Melded, molded, created
What have I become?
Not in verse – free or otherwise
I realized I’d better get back to A Mother’s Garden when I submitted a poem to my hometown’s sidewalk poetry contest and a week later, I can’t remember what it was. I think that means I need to start creating new material again, rather than dipping into and revising the old.
Suggestions for content welcome.
I wrote and posted this poem several years ago on a theme of “A Mother’s Dream of Peace.” In light of events in Charlottesville, It’s still relevant.
I dream that differences will be valued, not disdained.
Eye color, hair color, body shapes, and skin shades will be appreciated for their beauty and variety.
Cultural traditions will not disappear, but will thrive and grow together into a rich and fascinating sharing of knowledge and beliefs.
I dream that blindness will be merely a different way of seeing, and deafness impair only the quantity, not the quality of the language ‘heard’.
Children will matter because they own the future. Their education, academic and social, will become and remain of utmost importance.
Mediators and peacemakers will be recognized as the strongest leaders.
Questions will come from curiosity, not ignorance, and the answers will breed respect.
Knowing each other, knowing ourselves, will lead to knowing that fights and conflicts, wars of all kinds, can cease to be of value.
A caption could read “What happens when an overtired husband plays with the books on my dresser”.
I need to
Oh, no, first I should
But if I’m not
No one else can
Everyone counts on me
Did I forget to
I hate to, but if I don’t
If I don’t, who will?
I haven’t had a chance
I’ll do it myself, just as soon as
Don’t worry, I’ll get to it
We teachers take on so much,
We forget that we take it on voluntarily
And we forget it’s okay to say no.
We caretakers and quiet leaders need care, too.
It’s time we put ourselves first – and mean it.
Two tiny pieces
Little treasure chests built of sugar and cocoa, storing creamy caramel or peanut butter.
In their shiny pink and purple wrapping
Fit perfectly in the cozy cubbyhole beneath my car’s radio.
Sharing their intimate space with extra sunglasses, they wait patiently.
For the day they’ll be needed
When their sweet aroma
And savory filling
Will satisfy Mom or Dad or child or teen
Traveling a long distance
Or running errands until dinner time is past.
How long will these little treasures last?
They will provide pleasure far behond
What their diminutive size might suggest.