lucy wightman

NEVER!!

it does make you think somehow 'no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.'....that maybe even this place was already known to her. i see the 'knowing' in the dark area over the door, the positioning of the people to match the pillar and the bush, the coloring of the walls in linear strokes (not solid) as if sensing the lines of ivy, the white rocks positioned in places where they match up with the snow....

what's interesting to me is that even if one of the people fell (and one has), they wouldn't really fall very far....they wouldn't be out of reach or retrieval or earshot or sight. unlike if she had drawn them on a mountain or a building or a bridge.

and I wonder which one of them is talking?

It is amazing how people know.. I believe there was someone there to catch her. She is somehow okay.. like you said, she knows now a peace she hadn't known before. She'll be there to catch you...

Good point, which one is talking? The larger of the figures is slipping, and perhaps asking the smaller not to let "her" fall. And when I say larger and smaller, I'm not referring to body size because Torri became physically taller. Perhaps you've slipped Lucy, but she's not going to let you fall.

The day before my grandmother passed she said to me out of the blue with a twinkle in her eyes that she would like to see me again on the ocean. I didn't quite know what to say to that. It was a rather odd thing since as far as I could remember back through the years we had never been on the ocean together and, at that time in my life (twenty two years old), I wasn't into boating or beach combing or sandcastle construction the way I am today, nor had the ocean ever really come up in our talks or in my understanding of how Michelena ordered her metaphoric life. She hated the beach and often expressed a fear of drowning. Her words only made some kind of sense in the light of the next day when she died on the ferry ride over to Martha's Vineyard.

Yup. People somehow know.

I like your interpretation of the drawing Chris. I hadn't looked at it that way before.. I wonder if Lucy has.

Dying on the ferry is kind of a nice exit.

I suppose if I could choose where and when this inevitibility happens, I could definitily live with leaning waterward on the top deck...hearing the horn begin its blast as Vineyard Haven pulled us in.....eyes watching West Chop as the gold gave way to grey.

Colorful Writing
By Joao S Martins

I have a mug full with pens
as a bouquet on a jar

with lots of pens,
a rainbow of colors...

With the blue pen I write
ocean, kindness, fantasy,

paradise, dream, adventure,
moon, melody, alley, wind

In red I design
poppy, journey, stories,

romance, joy, pilgrimage,
faith, victory, memories and glory

I try green for future,
perfume, freedom, passion,

smile, sea-gull, plenitude,
infant, button, wisdom, novelty

How can I use
the yellow pen?

To build castles? Sand,
solitude, sun, daisies,

illusion, heat or candle light
and how can I imagine

nostalgia, woman, interior,
destiny, life, a secret,

a kiss, love, or eternity?
In purple? Pink?

Silver? Gold?
Constancy, courage, will,

from man to man,
in a way that will remain

and could be accountable,
must be written in black ink,

black, yes, very clear and plain...
Sometimes I write

with a neutral gray pencil
right away I change to

the happiest pen of my jar,
and I write and write

with a permanent ink
the time will never delete

even after me
I have my preferred pen

according what I write
the pen of light

visible in the dark night,
or the ancient one

that I gain with friendship;
but the very special and unique

uses invisible ink
that only will be read

eyes on your eyes
and in between lines and spaces

Oh! Could I write
all the stories that I learn

from those pens of my jar
I will never forget

that close to them
I have one special picture...

i loved the poem till the last line...when the author (Joao? how do you say Joao?) teased me with the introduction of the picture... Is there a sequel poem? about the picture? I feel kind of tricked. like the who shot JR dream thing. boo.

What is so strange about that poem, if i am correct today is the 27th. I have just read the comments for the first time and it is after 10 pm. I made the tracing this morning, scanned it, and posted it. I used a pencil, then a permanent marker, both taken from my jar. As I traced I thought that there is so much, maybe to place it together visually will make it seem more real...

weird. so there IS a picture...of sorts. created from the unknown pull of the poem.....

Live

By Heidi Morgans

Run.
Everywhere.
Aimlessly.
Without worrying.
Without looking back.
For the freedom.
Run.

Play.
Without thinking.
Without planning.
With imagination.
With love.
With life.
Play.

Laugh.
Loudly.
Endlessly.
Innocently.
At yourself.
For yourself.
Laugh.

Be.
Crazy.
Funny.
Courageous.
Loving.
Yourself.
Be.

Live.
For yourself.
Helping others.
The way you want.
The way you need.
Your life.
Live.

Love ya Lucy....

I feel a need to explain my thoughts about Colorful Writing. My good friend Lucy has been working on a book. She's a gifted writer. I was imagining that being a writer is/can be such a powerful thing, and I thought it started playfully when reference was made to the colors of the pens and what they could stand for. I liked the reference made to the pen of light, visible in the dark night. This made me think of enlightenment. The reference to the special picture brought to mind the image of Lucy writing with a picture of Torri there with her and the jar of colorful pens. It was a little weird how two days later Lucy decided to add the trace over. You're right martha D. it is weird. Maybe not a great choice on my part, though my heart was in the right place.

I think you and Lucy might have had one of those unknown-knowing things going on, Martha S. (But I also thought you might have been Lucy herself posting....as Martha Stewart). Now I am feeling pleased at myself for sensing or requesting the advent of a picture...or for Lucy sensing my request...however those vibes work...a picture sent from Lucy's pens. The poem is really quite simple but lovely all at once. No need to explain it. It made itself belong here.

one special picture is so much....

in the rise and fall,
in between the lines and rhymes
a rhythm for all, a kith in kind.

I believe Joao rhymes with prow?