20 Lines A Day

A Community of Writers and Photographers


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One Special Poem

Prolific, he wrote poems, published books,
ideas flowed like waterfalls, not brooks.
My father wrote of nature, music, art,
most in poetic form, sharp as a dart.

He chose his words with utmost care to tell
the stories stirring in his head, to spell
ideas with suspense and tension. Four
weeks after he had died I found some more

of his fine poems. One, though, brought my tears.
Its subject? Me as little girl. He’d not
shared it. I wondered why. Emotion shot
through me. I read this poem. My dad nears.


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Cinquain Challenge

Pine trees
reach arms to sky,
hoping for sun cover.
Today, gray clouds threaten with snow.
No. No.

Poems
lift, play music,
polishing the dusty
haze upon a saddened mood. I
thank them.

Little
stones along the
shore speak stories to me,
share an ancient tradition. I
listen.


Treeless Christmas

No Christmas tree adorned our living room
this year. Our children traveled. So did we.
A few small decorations blessed the bloom
of Christmas in our home. We couldn’t see

the ornaments and tell the stories one
more time of how they came to be, but light
from glowing candles gave us indoor sun
and made the season merry, lovely, bright.


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JT’s Adventures ……part one

Originally posted on Living and Lovin:

JT Close-up

Well by now most of you know our JT (Jess-Tex) at least in photos.  She is our Border Collie and no we do not have a farm.

I have shared my life with fourteen dogs five of which were part of a litter that went on to new homes where they were adored family members.

This dog above was born at a friend’s home,  the male  her father was from Texas and they drove from Vermont to pick him up.  JT’s mother was a dog that was dropped off at their place in Vermont.  Gorgeous lighter Gray with white.  She was scared who knows the kind of life had she lead.

JT was like the runt with a not so perfect face marking and it was just her sister and her no one had chosen to be theirs.

Now I wanted no more dogs but here were the two prettiest…

View original 1,010 more words


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Stones

I have always related to stones, thought that somehow, in the kingdom of things, they speak a language. Listen. Listen hard. You’ll hear the water burble over them, the children’s laughter as they toss them here or there.

And look. See those colors, shapes, the veins? What stories might they tell? Where have they been and what might they have housed? How old are they?

Along the beach I pick up little stones, and big ones too, you know, those angular stones, gray usually, with holes and bumps, which I think are bruises from their journeys.

Kind of like us….we have holes in us, sometimes in our hearts, and bruises? Oh, for sure. Where are your bruises? I know where mine are. A stone is hard, yet water has given it a sheen, a coating, a shine on rainy days. When sun beams down upon a stone it seems to smile.

Me too. Hard. Yep, there are places that haven’t been softened yet, but I know that the “sun and water” of my life will touch and change them.

Pick up a stone. Imagine the conversation.


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Coming Soon

nutsfortreasure:

Fall is on it’s way

Originally posted on Living and Lovin:

 

The nights are getting cooler, finally.

Fall  is near,  I can smell it in the air.

Soon the trees will be decked out in their glorious colors.

I know it isn’t fair for me to go on and on about how pretty they will be.

Some of you will never get to see this beauty for yourselves, so I will be on

a mission to catch some pretty moments and to share them with you as well

 

Just old photos from a Fall past, to get you ready for the change of seasons.

For us who actually get to enjoy four, well me three ,I hate winter but unless I

run away you will surely see SNOW photos as well

 

Stay Tuned!

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The Cabin

Originally posted on Living and Lovin:

 

Wagon wheel is a nice touch not sure where it comes into play though.

Maine is where this cabin sits, out along the road for everyone to see.

The man who owns this property also has some trains out on the lawn too.

There is a huge house here as well and he will charge you to come inside to have a look around.

 

I found this cabin not where you would think, it sits out on the lawn now.

As I got closer I  could see the dirty curtains hanging in disarray.

See the trim?  I am old enough to remember Pom Pom trim, as Mom sewed her own and used this too.

I must say it was NEVER my look.  Mom on the other hand seemed to like using it.

 

No rhyme nor reason  when you see the things he gathers and places on display.

Some see it…

View original 200 more words


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In the Sea

I lift my pen to capture words that float
above, around me, row my little boat
in flowing streams of stories, lines that rhyme.
So many hours pass in the sun. The time

gets well away from me, but poetry
comes close, and offers possibility.
Where would I rather be? I think of no
place better than the Word Sea. There I row.


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Thank You, Melissa

We exercise our brains in discipline
here where our daily twenty lines abide.
Melissa built this home where we can glide
our thoughts to poems, stories, and to pin

them to the screen for others to peruse.
I thank Melissa. What community
she has constructed where I love to see
the photographs that take me on a cruise

to other places, and through others’ eyes.
An artists’ meeting place, I call it, home
for those in U.S., India, or Rome.
Each morning when I come…a new surprise.

20 Lines a Day


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Your Stories

The days I turn wild and rageful are

the days I long to spend with you

I long to see your glorious mind

to hear your stories of lost time

the days I turn to madness are

the days that I feel shackled

to the bonfires of my bosses

to the planks of those hallways

that lead nowhere. I return.

daily I collect paper

like ants collecting the sands of the earth

on their backs

I return,

mad and burnt by the monotony

burnt by this never-ending trail

of the mad, of the stuck, of the gluttony; the dreams of others

I carry on my shoulders and

I return

spent and burnt with the agony of longing

to hear your wonderful stories.

© [Jeanette Shihadeh] and [thepainterspalate.wordpress.com], [2012]. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material, artwork, or photo’s without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to [Jeanette Shihadeh] and [thepainterspalate.wordpress.com] with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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