We See PINK~Life is much Happier~When You LOOK for the HAPPY

Thinkingpinkx2 tonight…

thinkingpinkx2

photo by Jeanne Marie/art by MichelleMarie photo by Jeanne Marie/art by MichelleMarie

Life is much happier
≧◔◡◔≦

When You LOOK for the HAPPY

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LOOK for the sunshine

≧◔◡◔≦

LOOK for the good things

≧◔◡◔≦

LOOK for the peace

≧◔◡◔≦

LOOK for the AWESOME YOU

≧◔◡◔≦

I SEE YOUR AWESOMENESS

≧◔◡◔≦

Let’s be HAPPY TOGETHER

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The Fire

Pen to paper

I am the fire
I am the stone
Searing flesh
And charring bone
Choking smoke
Aching tears
Evaporate
Extinguish fears
Steam rising
Power fierce
A mother’s sword
The world to pierce
I am the fury
Knuckles crack
Skin full of scars
Rippling back
Flaming arrow
Archers hold
Roaring blaze
Green eyes bold
Let fly the wind
Lightning flash
Berserker charge
Shields clash
If I need it
I will build it
My cup is full
For I have filled it
I am the soldier
Upon the field
I am the blade
To me, all yield
I am the fortress
All I desire
Black as night
I am the fire

About me:  Ekadevi is a single mother, raising a radiant ‘little flame’ and living a simple country life in Australia. She enjoys writing poetry about the wisdom that grows from facing life’s challenges.

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If you would like to have…

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The Hobby Horse I Ride (Billy Collins, too!)

Elizabeth Gauffreau

When I was in graduate school, there were two types of people in the English Department: Lit People and Writing People. The Lit People breathed the rarefied air of theory, while the Writing People were pretty much viewed as the idiot savants of the department:

Awww, isn’t that sweet. You wrote a lit-tle po-em. Bless your heart. Now, step aside while I tell you what it REALLY means and why, in point of fact, you felt compelled to write it. No, better yet, I shall deconstruct it into meaninglessness. And if that is not enough to send you sniveling back to your misbegotten scribblings, I shall prove that your poem does not even EXIST until I read it!

All right, I may be exaggerating just a wee bit.

However, I do believe that poetry is meant to be experienced, not used as an exercise in sociocultural and phenomenological theorizing.  Interpretation…

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PINK~Cotton Candy

Feels like a good night for pink cotton candy to me.💗💗💗

thinkingpinkx2

Cotton candy
PINK~Cotton Candy
reminds me when I was 6 my baby sister was just born and my Momma took my brother and I the country fair. It started to rain and there my Momma stood with my brand new baby sister, under the covered pavilion, holding PINK~Cotton Candy and she was smiling. My Momma never smiled much, but when I see PINK~Cotton Candy I think of that day, in the rain, My Momma smiled and the taste of that PINK~Cotton Candy tasted like love to me.
I’m smiling just thinking of it!

Does this bring back memories for you too?

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Momma I met a boy…

I love this one from my thinkingpinkx2@wordpress.com partner, Michelle Marie.

thinkingpinkx2

mommaImetaboy

Momma I met a boy
he’s so cute and sweet
and if you wait till summer
I think you will meet
the boy of my dreams
cause Momma
he makes me feel safe
he laughs at all my jokes
but mostly Momma
he holds me when I cry
he steals kisses
like sugar candy
in the sun
he warms my heart
he’s so much fun
but mostly Momma
he asks baby girl
how do you feel
just like you do
he takes care of me
like you do Momma
Oh Momma
I met a boy

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A Note From Grace (My Mom)

Women Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie

grace garden sit

A NOTE FROM GRACE (My Mom)
When my children were growing up and got into their “teenage problem” years, I’d become exasperated with them. I’d think, “They’re just like their father!”
Then, one day the light dawned on me, (Marblehead) because after taking a hard, honest look at myself, I realized; they were just like me. The me I had suppressed and hidden deep inside, where no one else could see. I was as wild and rebellious as they, but I had put up a shield of adult perfection, striving to become the perfect mother that everyone expected me to be.
I have now learned that I need to let this child in me come out to play, or the adult becomes a cold hard shell. I must confess, now that I’m older, I have to do this through my books, and old TV movies.
My mind wants to run…

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All Poetry Contest.

Lucy's Works and Co

Hello everyone.

I am currently hosting a contest through All Poetry, and it is centered around writing poetry inspired by Wallace Stevens. This is the first poetry contest I am doing through there and if anyone would like to participate, you must submit your entry through All Poetry.

The contest ends on December 3rd, 2020 where I will then judge the pieces received. You can read more about it here, if you would like. You can write in any style you want, there are no restrictions. Further more, please nothing discriminatory, sexist, or racist–your piece will not be accepted if that is the case.

A minimum of 20 lines is allowed (but I’m not strict on this part of the rule). Maximum is the sky. Prose and prose-poetry will also be accepted.

Profanity is allowed, just label your piece under the “Adult” tag. Your piece must be related…

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Lost To Sleep

blackrose
Sleep eats my hours
Devours my moments
I awaken to find 
Years and years 
Were sacrificed
Lost to sleep.
Lost in a fog
Of numbness
I hide myself 
Inside each day
Veiled by darkness
I embrace each night.

October is National Domestic Violence Awareness Month. Does It End October 31?

Women Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie

My first question was, why not everyday? Several women (angrily) asked me that same question when I posted or re-blogged articles related to domestic violence, emotional, verbal or sexual abuse. Well, I told them that I wondered that too, and that I didn’t name the dedication, I was just trying to honor the victims and the survivors because I come from that country and I am fluent in that language.
The question I have asked myself repeatedly this month is this: What does national awareness do for the victims? Does it change the abuser’s mind? Does he (or she) say, “Damn it! I’m not going to swear and scream at you until National Domestic Violence Awareness Month is over, you lucky bitch!”
Does he pay the bills, buy some food, keep his hands off his daughter because it’s National Domestic Violence Awareness Month?
Will the family have a month of…

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Yellows, Reds and Golds


In the midst of my autumn
watching my colors turn
yellows, reds and golds.
When the last leaf dies
storms will throw their icy
weight upon this body old.
Snowflakes will drift and pile
the tree limbs will come down
when boughs fail to hold.
Gifted with four seasons and
it seemed a time so long,
yet quickly, my leaves turned gold.
I pray you remember me as autumn
dancing in the wind, swirling and
bursting with colors so vivid and bold.

we were…

Women Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie

we were young
we were wild
we were free.
We were hippies
we were kids
who didn’t know
our love
would not always be.
We loved
and we fought
then….
we went separate ways
but we had three children
who got lost in our maze.
People can judge
and guess who’s to blame
but it was me and it was you
who held our love in the flames.
Pushing the line
until it was erased.
I stopped running
you no longer chased.
We burnt our love
like a steak forgotton
on a hot charcoal grill.
We said goodbye
but we also said
I love you
I always will.
The last time
I saw you
Our lips touched
with sadness
not passion.
One last time
I held your familiar
body close.
You said,
you’ll always be mine.
I shook my head no
but my tears said yes.
Tears fell from our eyes

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My Wolf

I have howled mournfully at the Wolf’s moon,

knee deep in the snow of a frozen winter’s night.

Grieving the loss of my lover, the fantasy

of he and I tangled in white, cotton sheets,

touching for the last time his rough face

happy, content, in love, just an illusion.

It’s complicated, he growled

as he changed into the Wolf and fled.

I have howled, screamed and cried

wept tears that froze on my cold cheeks.

I have walked across a barely, frozen lake

stood at the edge of a rocky cliff,

searching for my Wolf in the darkness.

Offering up the bloody remains

of my heart to tease his hunger.

Surely, he didn’t forget the taste

of me.

Inspired by The Wolf Moon By Charles Robert Lindholm, The Reluctant Poet
The Wolf Moon

Picture Credit: Pics Art

Where Are My Words?

Where are my words?
I haven’t heard a sound.
They sometimes
Pour from my fingers
Dripping all over
Flowery notepaper
Napkins and notebooks
Anything that makes a sound.
Then the words, the damn
Ugly, beautiful, painfully real
Words, they just go away.
Up to the sky like a balloon
Floating just out of reach.
My mind goes blank
My heart goes numb
My fingers heartless as steel.

The Summer Is Done

The sunflowers reach for the sun
they don’t know that the summer…
the summer is done.
Still bursting with tiny, green, closed buds
and the mother plant proudly presenting
the huge yellow sunflowers that I love.
It will only take one frosty night
and then my beautiful sunflowers
you will no longer be mine.
To the ground, to the ground
sunflower petals and seeds will fall
but I know…I know you will come back
shooting up in the spring, then
once more my sunflowers
you will be mine
until the first frost of fall.

Summer Dreams

It’s so sad when summer goes away.

I thought if my love was strong enough

Maybe this time she would stay.

So, I chased the sunshine

I kissed the sunflowers

I danced with honeybees

I nurtured wildflowers.

I ran with the butterflies

I played in the sunshine

For hours and hours and hours.

I grew daisies and vegetables

And embraced the sun showers.

I woke each morning and chased the day

Then followed the sun’s departure

As daylight slowly drifted away.

I loved this summer like it was my first,

my last and everything in-between

and when the snow covers my windows

I’ll close my eyes and I’ll dream…

I’ll dream of summer.

You Don’t Let Me, 2013

Women Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie

You let me cook
You let me clean
I wash our clothes
I sweep up my dreams.

You let me shop
You let me sew
I have it all
Computers, books and clothes.

You don’t let me
See how you feel
You don’t let me near
Any part of you that’s real.

You don’t let me
Close in our
King size bed
I rebel, but only inside my head.

You don’t let me
Love you
I don’t know why
I know one day, I won’t even try.

5-8-13

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Lost In Love

Women Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie

CAM01828

Lost in love
what is my name
I am you
and you are me
we are the same.
Lost in love
no one is here
to answer the phone
the banging on the door
lost in love, lost in love
but love, love doesn’t
live here anymore.

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