Muse

Muse.

 

Muse

Painting by Michael Gorman

I want to be the sunlight
Or the wind’s breath
Or the hues that make up
The flowers in the field

-the careful brush strokes;

The details.
Or become the quiet hum

Of the woman who stands here.
Or most importantly
The muse who guides your hand across the
Canvas. J. Hamilton

the cottage

the cottage.

the cottage

I often think of
The cottage
With the quiet cove
Steps from the back door.
Expansive white walls
And a large rectangular window
In between
Facing a blue stretch of
Sky and bay.
Language filled pages
Of pebble-white sheets
The way the sun fills a wide undraped room
With its heat
And streams of falling light.
I wrote for hours here
-wishing I would never have to leave.
I walked in the cool
Unfuried waves
Feeling smooth irregular
Rocks under my feet.
The thin cotton
Of my skirt
Wet
And clinging to my legs
As the waves formed slow
Steady circles around my feet.

My children picked rocks from
The lake floor
Close to the mossy edge where swans gathered
At sunset.
The sun speckled rocks
Filled an old chestnut brown-glazed bowl
Along with
a few stray
long white
Fanned out swan feathers
found.
The cottage
Was an ornate collection
Of words
And moments
By the bay
-a place of poetry

For me
And for my children
-a place of wonder
And innocence. J. Hamilton

Firefly

Firefly.

The Summer Olympics

In Jim's Garden

Live from WIJG radio.

“Well, Tom. It’s that time again.”

“Yep, Joe. It sure is. Judgement day! The day the Gold Medal the 2014 Summer Bloom Season is announced. Boy, I can feel the tension and excitement around me.”

“Oh yeah! The crowd is electric. Just think, a whole season of growth, bloom and show all boils down to this. Let’s take a look at the finalists.”

“Okay, Joe. It’s always good to start with the reigning champion. How do you think Bee Balm fared this year?” 

“Well, Tom. You know, Bee Balm is an old crowd favorite and was certainly worthy of the big award last summer, but I’m thinking she’ll have a hard time making the podium this year.” 

“I’m with you on that, Joe. She had a great year but she just wasn’t where she was last season. And some of the other contenders really stepped up…

View original post 501 more words

On a Quiet Night She Finally saw the Moon

Rain at dawn

metaphors

metaphors.

metaphors

A pale handkerchief

Sits inside a hardcover book.

The fabric

As I hold it up against my face

Feels cool and smooth

-smells

Faintly of musty books

And old summer cottages.

But there is another smell,

A comforting smell of

Sweat and skin.

I don’t really think this scent could linger

For so long

Yet my memory

Recalls it

As I touch

The creases of the fabric

Then

let it slip through my fingers

Letting it rest on an open page of a Milan Kundera book

Page 11

Where 3 sentences have been highlighted
In orange marker
And the metaphors are somehow woven into the faded fabric. J. Hamilton