Impatiently Patient

I’ve been a bit busy handcrafting pieces of jewelry.  I made a few rings I call Molecular Attraction and used Unakite, Agate and Cat’s Eye.

Most of my pieces are on my flickr site and developments in my handmade jewelry pieces are blogged in more detail at my purplbutrflyjewelry blogsite.

Handmade jewelry bookmarks are available for sale at this site: http://purplbutrflyjewelry.blogspot.com/.

They’re available for sale at the site provided above.

don’t post so much here anymore.  very busy with my cam, myFlickr and myBlogger.

i’m also inviting you to look into my photoblog.  leave comments there, too. =)

Blue Silk Petal

Once
upon a time there was a one petaled flower. She lived in a garden with
other flowers and trees and some shrubs. All carefully tended by an old
woman.

The
woman watered them everyday. Loosened
the dirt around their roots. Pruned
their leaves when needed. Put them in
the shade when the sun became too hot and placed them under a tin roof when the
rain was too hard. The woman did
everything she could to make sure they were as beautiful as they could be. And the flowers and the trees and the shrubs
gave her the gift of Care back with Beauty.

The
one-petaled flower bloomed in beauty, too. And watched as the days went
by. And people came in and her friends leave with them. But no one
brought her home with them. Sometimes she was borrowed, to show off in
some dinner or some show, she was returned everytime.

Then
one day a woman came by and chose this and that and this and that and one of
the plants she chose was the one-petaled flower. And the one-petaled flower was very
happy. Especially when the woman passed
by her and stroked her single petal.

‘What
beauty!’ the woman had exclaimed. Silky
blue petals glided against her fingers as she caressed it. And that made the flower happy.

She
sees me, the flower sang to the sky, she sees my beauty and she wants to keep
me.

And off
she went on the big flower truck and her petal waved goodbye to the old woman
who stood by her gate and watched them go.

And the
lady brought them down from the truck one by one. Laid them neatly in her garden. And under her care the one-petaled flower
bloomed. And another petal grew! Yellow and like the sun. And then another petal, as red as
strawberries in the mountains. And then
another petal in orange like the middle flame in the fire. And more petals grew until the flower was the
singular most beautiful flower in the lady’s garden.

And
her
friends came and looked at it and exclaimed at its beauty. And the lady
smiled. And her friends cooed. And the lady loved her a lot and gave
her a
special pot. And called her Her Lovely One. Her Only One. And the
flower
shone all the more brightly.

And
then one afternoon, the old woman came by for tea. And the lady invited her to the garden and
showed her the flowers and the trees and the shrubs she had taken from the old
woman’s garden. And the woman smiled and
caressed and touched each one. And the
lady brought her to the flower with many colors. Her Lovely One. Her Only One.

And the
old woman exclaimed over its beauty. And
then she turned to the lady and asked, ‘What has happened to the one-petaled
flower?’

And the
brightly-colored flower swayed and stood straighter towards the sun. She said, now she’ll tell the old woman how
I’d become more beautiful under her care. How this one petaled flower has blossomed to this beauty with her love.

‘The
one-petaled flower?’ The lady looked a
little puzzled. ‘What one-petaled…’
and then she remembered. At one time one
of the flowers from the old woman’s garden had only one petal. She looked around her own garden and pointed
to a blue burst of petals. ‘It must be
that one…’

And the
brightly colored flower stooped to listen and her yellow petals dropped to the
earth.

‘Or
maybe that one…?’ The lady said as she
pointed to a blue rose hidden in a corner.

And the
brightly colored flower dropped her orange petals as she felt the cold.

The
lady shook her head and pointed to another flower with long silky petals and
said, ‘isn’t she that one over there?’

And the
red petals dropped as strawberries rot from its branches.

And one
by one all her other petals fell as the lady pointed to this flower and that,
while the once brightly colored flower realized the lady didn’t remember her at
all. Didn’t think she was special when
she had only one blue silken petal on her. Until all that remained on the once beautiful flower, the once Her
Lovely One, the once Her Only One was one long blue silken petal.

And the
old woman looked at the flower and said, ‘Here she is.’ And the lady looked and saw the one petaled
flower and said, ‘Yes, there she is. I
wonder what she’s doing in that pot.’

And the
lady looked away in search for Her Lovely One, Her Only One.

And the
old woman caressed the single petal.

- csipin

I’d rather leave this skin
than be trapped inside it with him.

Waiting

To whom do I write?  To her who once
was my soul clenched in that deep silence
of afternoon shadows?

To whom will these lines fly? 
These are stillborn notes left
by the frantic wings late for  south

the remains of a fall season
clinging desperately on the branch of remembrances
before the first snow.

I loved her and how deeply
so that the night and her were one, and the days
were eyes closed waiting for twilight.

(and in this wooden chair
the hours dissapeared in long shadows)

I loved her and remember the soft quiver of her voice.
the taste of her lips, the softness of her arms
her sigh, her smile in every song, in every rain.

And though tonight she is not here,
and though I know she is forever lost,
I write these for her

who is no one except for her hand
still in my chest, the breeze
that rocks this chair.

*poetry by marty
*photography by chie
* marty requested that he use some of the photographs as an inspiration for his poems. i’d like to return the compliment by posting his work on my blog.

And then there was light
(Random thoughts)

I
I remember it well
the avenues paved with christmas lanterns

here the winter is a sharp cold wind
and the nights are mere hours, passing
into the winding timeslessness
of cold and forgotten coffee cups.

It is not the lights I remember
but the darkness it hides

and as if by fate’s whim
there is darkness here, utter, deep,
fearsome as eyes
and many times as blinding.

II
This is my christmas table,
I have tasted the silence
of being alone, like the death
that separates one from all, and from each other.

This table becomes my tomb
and this meal, a post requiem feast
for one.

III
How is it there I ask you,
in the lantern lined avenues of home?
Do you see the light? or do you see the darkness?
What does it matter anyhow?

There are people whose job is to flick a switch
in one of those posts,

and then there was light.

*poetry by marty
*photography by chie
* marty requested that he use some of the photographs as an inspiration for his poems. i’d like to return the compliment by posting his work on my blog.

Nature Finds Its Way

A breeze whispered a tale

"where the mountain cliff bears
a cold morning chill,
where the noon sun casts shadows,
where the imposing mountains
tread on towards the infinite stars,

a flower waits for the exact moment."

A crosswind arrived and spoke
"she has bloomed"

and in that dance of winter winds
the birthing of an oversound

*poetry by marty
*photography by chie
* marty requested that he use some of the photographs as an inspiration for his poems. i’d like to return the compliment by posting his work on my blog.

Conversing with Innocence

A child once asked
"why are there different colors of the sunset everyday?"

and she answered,
"because God is such a great artist"

A man once asked
"Do you call it serendipity or destiny?"

and she answered,
"it is a gift, that is all"

*poetry by marty
*photography by chie
* marty requested that he use some of the photographs as an inspiration for his poems. i’d like to return the compliment by posting his work on my blog.

making love in the dying sun

and not make love in the dying sun