Spirit Finder

I rode my bike in dusty circles,
sliding on loose gravel,
watching the pebbles fly and skip,
imagining them to be butterflies....
plunking,
hopping,
little winged frogs...... waiting to be free....
And
I listened to you ramble on.....and on...

"Do you want to go Blues Night?,
to a steakhouse?,
on a supply run?,
to the Beach?,
do you want to go anywhere anyone has ever named?"
And
I don't.....

I slammed on the brakes
and twisted just far enough to the left
to show off....
and slide...
and slip off...
and almost crash
until I laughed....

And started to ride again...
into the wind...
and around the corner,
and almost to the river
and back again....

And I grabbed my little pink fishing pole,
and a beer and some velveeta cheese
and
plopped down at the River....
to hook a lilly pad,
a pile of drunken peace signs and waves from a passing pontoon,
and a nod from the captain of a cigarette boat on idle....

Because this is why I came here...

For peace....

and my spirit....

And I've found it...

And We Painted the sky......

They dipped the socks into the paintbucket,
pudgy little fingers stirring wildly with
the spirit stick....
Making mud the color of a thousand eyes....
And
when we flipped the bucket upside down and a dozen psychedelic snakes slipped out....
Their laughter rocked my world.

And I knew.... 
This is the music the God's listen to....

The Sky and the clothesline on a sweet Summer evening, tye dying  with little ones at the river.....

RIP Rumors

I drive by in the dusty five o'clock traffic and I don't see the sign...feel the vibe...hear the loudness of the forever quietness, but something snatches a knot in my soul....
and I feel it....
the empty parking lot ....
the now and forever..
the endings of our fancy little bar stories....

I fell in love here...
in knee high boots dancing to Eric Clapton,
blowing balletic smoke rings from filtered cigarettes....
and believing in fairy tales....
and the twang of a lover's make believe serenade....

I broke an ankle here...
jumping jack flash fast to the Rolling Stones,
and smiling
on the downslide...

I  buried a friend here...
Hugging strangers, and selling laughter for dollar donations to bury her in decent blankets and eulogies that  dance on...

I believed here...

And I still believe....
   in the music...
   the moment...
   the magic...
   the magpie fairies...

      It's just that the train has changed tracks...

Can you see me now?

Clink....
You're standing on my doorstep...
January rain dripping down your nose...
And I'm
almost surprised,
and not at all,
at your totally o~kay~ness with just parachuting right back into my world
unexpected and
half a dozen years older.......
I offer you coffee and you'd rather a beer....
and I know then what I knew all along....

You're more fun after 5 o'clock....
And in my imagination....

But, I see you now.....

Words and artwork (C) Singleton

Spooky little Blues Cruise

We drifted....teetering a little to the left, a little upstream, or maybe down, and thicker into the Swamp.  Eyeballs everywhere.  Giant beak nosed vultures, 1000 years old I'm sure, sat perched at Sentinel Guard, staring down at us....Waiting.  Their beady little eyes darting.  Giving us the once over, in case we suddenly became just stiff enough to gobble up. 

The banks of this river breathe....and in the quiet...an impromptu drum circle begins....twigs snapping in rhythm, the footsteps of faieries or Big Foot, I'm not sure,  dancing....in the forest...the laughter of strangers deep in the woods, the low and thunderous groan of the Gator King....his rheumy eyes cast low, and his crooked smile....slurping up the tepid still waters...waiting...

We turn up the radio, just a little bit, Luther Vandross for the soul....

And still, we can hear the banjo's....

Coffee with one sugar and all my Dreams

It's early morning....
and the sky sits low,
crawling just above the ground...
gray and damp,
wheezing like an old dog
curled on his muddy backdoor  rug....

And yet, it's delightful.  Something about it is Old Soul.  Comfortable.  Familiar.

The Blue skies of tomorrow are being painted in a secret room above the clouds, and the wild winds of yesterday are parked in the corner....hung over from their willful misbehaviour last night.

Today is Peace.

I park my crickety old self on the park bench and sip coffee in the quiet just outside my door.  I breathe better here....

Under the simple skies....

Words and artwork (c) Singleton 2013 Coffee table courtesty of Merle, green and splattered in machine oil.... just waiting for me to tattoo the spirit of the river smack on it's ruddy surface:)  Thank you, new friend!

The Porch Party and other floating fairytales

I peek out the little aluminum door at sunrise....watch for wayward wild animals, slithering snakes, strangers....and then barrel out into the morning... Two black pups...nose to the ground....send me flying past curtain number one, two, three..... of fog, leaping over little foothills, make believe bridges, potholes...and into the damp darkness of morning on the river.... To Paradise.... To the sun rising over the muddy water.... To the lazy ripple of old water stretching, rolling over one more time before it has to rise.... And then finally, home again... To This... To Peace Porch and the promise of another Day....

Pass the Peace and Prayers, please...

I string tiny prayer flags, a kaleidescope of colors, across the morning windows....a reminder to believe, to see, to remember, to be thankful, to imagine, to pray, to be at peace.....And when the sun shines through, their tattered colors dance across my dirty floors...And I embrace another accidental gift...

This is it....the end of the year I will forever embrace....and the beginning of the one I was sure I would only imagine....

I've heard tell~tell that how you bring in the New Year is how you'll spend it...and I peek outside for a moment and smile at the tilted moon, quietly applaud the fireworks in a not too far distance, and  hum a little Johnny as the old boxcar rolls down the tracks, for just a moment, snuffing out everything but memories and my imagination....

I look down and the hemline of my flannel PJ's are muddy...proof that a river really is in my backyard and that no matter how many times I wander there, I have to touch the very edge .....have to feel the faint ripple of at least one wayward wake...before I turn around and head for home again...

I might not make it to midnight....
I won't tear up the dance floor....
trip in my high heels on the way out the door...
No, I won't  be Cinderella...this year.....

But if I fall asleep in Peace, and wake up to the River running.....
I have a feeling,
my year will be very, very Blessed....

May yours, too.....
Be the Gift....

The Tin Can Parade

The water is shallow tonight.  Muddy and almost warm, snaking by in slow motion..... And the edge of the sky sways a little....just above the dark forest of skinny little cypress witch fingers....their knotted hands waving.....

It's a spooky little night...

And a good one....

At dark....one by one, the endless strands of lights connect...the electric colors pop, flash, glow and the tiny little tin-can houses dotting the water begin to dance.....a cobweb of extension cords joins neighbor to neighbor, sign post to street lamp....and if you listen....
on this silent night.....
you'll hear the the merry "clink" of wine glass to Beer Bottle....
and sleighbells....
in the sky...
or
in my little hippie imagination....

Merry Christmas!  May the Gift be the moment.....the peace...the love....And may the Circle be unbroken....

The Colors of Peace

And so I flew barefooted
over the loose gravel and down the damp embankment
to the muddy edge
of Peace.....

Fat ducks waddling before me,
and wet dogs .... nose to the ground and tails to the sky...
trailing behind me....

This is Home now....
where the sky is wet watercolor paper....
soaking up our moods,
our stories,
our fate,
and casting it into eternity...
a technicolor drive-in movie splashing before  us...
The colors of now.....

Yes, this is Home now...

Where the bugs have tiny motorboat engines for hearts
and the snakes are bigger than make believe....
where our little glass houses are cellophane tents
and our twisted stories are peppermints.
little party favors for the passing....

I click the camera...
savor the captured wild sky one more time....

And remember....

Every day is the Gift....

And this one is mine......

May your sky be as blessed....

The Afterglow......

I stand at the dirty edge of this tin~can Paradise
and breathe differently than I have in forever,
or maybe ever before.....

I'm free....

And the river flows north.....
to the Sea....

Take me to the River

I made a little list of pros and cons....
in Giant Sharpie letters
and taped it with Scotch tape to the refrigerator....
and my Brain while I slept.....
I scribbled  it again on the back of envelopes in the car....
     in Traffic......
Like The Haunting....

I babbled it into the friendly ears and eyes of
my buddy at the bar,
my Sister Loves,
my children...
Strangers at the post office....

And then I decided....

I'm doing it....

Moving into a little gypsy house on wheels...
on the River....
the running water....
the setting sun....

The Hope....

I'll have to take two steps UP to grab a cold beer....

And one step out my only door to be in Paradise.....

I don't know why I didn't think of this sooner.....

Packing.....up.....

Team Peace and Team Colors...Corn Hole Boards.....
A few stepping  stones from 2001...concrete mixed in a kitty litter bucket and patina painted in the Florida Sun....
Moon Pies Garden Gate....graffitied and tattooed and hinged to swing with our moods.....
A record player and the five albums from after the Hurricanes....
Greg Allman.....Donovan....Charlie Rich....Johnny Cash...and the Allman Brothers....
Two pairs of cowboy boots,
two black Love dogs, a Siamese Cat named Deja and Isadora....the queen of all Felines....
3 psychedelic Samsonite suitcases stuffed with photos.....
Cheetos....
Two pairs of converse sneakers and a pink piggy bank....
a gazing ball...
a bird bath...
Granny Laniers bed and Nana's bamboo bar.......
Some Love Letters....
Three nude mannequins tattooed....
a cell phone charger...
a frying pan,
2 pairs of levi cut-offs,
2 travel toothbrushes, a crock pot, two Margarita glasses, 6 shot glasses, and a new pack of Solo cups.....
A Tent, 7 strings of prayer flags, a cot, and two coleman coolers.....
The Spirit of the Suwanne....the St. Johns....and the waves of New Smyrna....
The Memories....of mudpies....and Moonpie....and Martini Moons...and Rumors....
The Maybes, the wannabes, the I believes.....

Our Souls....

For everything else there's yesterday....And all those other happy endings....

We're running off to tomorrow......

Our House is a very very Hippie House.....

I wander around in circles, my fingers tracing memories in big fat summer dust, settled everywhere.... This House, these walls, these stories....painted everywhere......whisper to me...

And now we're waiting.  I touch things.  Move them ever so slightly.  Echo the little chant..."Keep, pass, toss" and decide their fate in an underwater , upside down state of mind.  It's time to Go.  To Move on.  And to look back, only with Love.....

I wonder, if like Nadine once said, someone will have to spend a fortune whitewashing these walls, sanding over our carvings, blasting the mosaics from everywhere they turn.  If someone will cleanse our house of it's spirit, it's blessings, it's internal tattoo's and I wonder if
for just a moment or
forever....
a tiny hippie haunting will dance on....
in the shadows....
the little creaks at night....
the accidental music of a woodstock wind.....

Good-bye little house and a gazillion earthly belongings.  We're packing up our memories, a few good pair of jeans, two cats, two dogs, a bicycle, a coffeepot, Grannys high poster bed, and Nana's bamboo bar.....and heading to the River....to live in a Gypsy trailer....

and laugh....once again.......

In a place called Peace....

Peace River and the sound of Drums.....

The sound of the Music was rhythmatic...
a lull-a-bye in the tangled trees above us....
leaves fluttering, cascading,
the ruffle of petticoats dancing  in the sky....
Old tree limbs rubbing, scraping,
their knotty arms and legs balancing in a high wire act  above our sleep....
Fat squirrels, skinny squirrels with Mohawks flying through the air,
skittish little trapeze artists diving, jumping, leaping,
and stopping every now and then to shiver,
and give us their beady little brown eyed wink......

And bats....swooshing....
gossiping with each other....
whistling in secret languages to the night stars....
Diving at make believe fire flies in the thick river night.....

A place called Peace.....

We found it there....
and slept through the pitter patter of the tiny footsteps of 300 pound Boars....
lost and lonely,
but too afraid to cross under the prayer flags, the orbs dangling from our trees.....
too intimated to pass the Spirit of the Dancing Lady ....or wake her from her sleep.....
We found it there....
drenched by Monsoon Moon rains....and ankle deep in tea colored mud.... laughing.....
We found it there....
right out our Real World
and
waist high
in Make Believe...

It was the perfect campout.....

The Reflecting Tide....

I blink.....
slow and double eyed...
a lazy man's wink....

And a gazillion years have passed.

The grass is up to my knees,
and the wishing pond is a bejeweled frog's farm....
My body aches..
from Time Traveling,
falling,
bumping,
bruising....
forgetting to watch out,
hold on,
count to 10 before I jump.....

I'm old again....

I drink my beer cold
and hobble in high heels....
I wrinkle just a little bit more with every summer tan...
I can still party all night,
but it takes me three days to raise my head when the music stops...
I'm  in Cahoots with Kimbies...and my baby sister Love...
and sometimes total Strangers that I've known forever
or just a moment.....

Tonight,
when I stopped by to visit Mom....she was playing the harmonica...
Beautiful and Blonde and in her very own world....

She smiled with (My very own smile 25 years from now)
and for a moment she wondered who I was.....
and then she hugged me....

And showed me her circles....
Painted and drawn,
dribbled on paper towels and canvas and paper back books...
Circles with eyes and occassional noses and fins and tails and melting peace signs....
Circles with sun rays and stingers and puddles and weeds....And words....

Shes' an Artist, you know.....

And I do know....

So I smiled with My Mother's smile (25 years before today) as I waved good-bye and glanced at the row of glistening Metallic Blue Shrubs lining her porch......

and remembered the little can of spray paint on her dining room table...fluorescent orange....
Just Waiting.........on her imagination.....

And me,
to follow her footsteps.....

Love Fast

"I had to squint to find you there,
my eyelashes broken ,
venetian blinds fluttering in the wind...
and then
there you were...
skinny legs and
yesterday's beard,
drenched in sloppy beerfoam spray,
the Ocean's last kiss ...
barefooted and climbing the dunes...
back to me,

the girl in the sandbox."

I stumbled on this tonight.
Remembered the very day I painted it.
The sudden claustophobia
of fat babies and tourists,
week-end surfers,
sun goddesses,
scrunching in closer to me,
running from the tide.

Remember
their make~shift fear
of the deep deep waters

rising...

tents and towels rolling,

sand buckets and sandwiches floating.

And tonight,
I know,
suddenly,
finally,
what it meant all along.

I'm not afraid of the murky water at all,
the knee splashing,
breath taking,
roll me under,
kiss the earth tide....

It's the low tide,
the quiet wave...
the waiting waters that scare me...

The Peace.

I'm afraid
that without
the struggle,
toes scrunched in the sand,
seaweed choking me,
undertow
stripping me
down to
skinned knees
and
breathless last moments,
Peace won't be all I dreamed of.

Then again,
I'm tired of dreaming...

I'm ready to live...
to Love...
And I don't have a lot of time to waste.

Eraser Lips and other secrets

I haven't been hiding. I haven't been busy. Or tired.

I've been learning.

I've been shedding skin. And sunning naked in my new colors.

And I haven't been alone.

I've buried a friend. Kissed 17 years of laughter and mischief, crooked smiles, and secrets good-bye...I've been waiting for her to answer me, to visit, to rock my world...waiting for her to cross over...waiting for the teensy weensy sign that she's OK. That it really rocks over there. I've been listening to a newfound silence. And suddenly, I realize, that not all my friends will be ghosts...they won't all trip me in the kitchen, haunt me in my sleep, follow me into the corner store. Sometimes, they'll just disappear.

And that's OK.

When I go, I'm gonna snatch a knot in her ass.

Because I miss her.

I've been camping out at The Men's Center. Visiting on Sundays. Sending care packages that get rifled through, and edited, and recorded. I've collected quarters. So that on Thanksgiving we could buy a Coke for a dollar twenty five from the vending machine. And share it. We can't touch, but we can share.

I've watched my 5lb 2oz baby boy grow. Into a man. The hard way.

And I've prayed.

I've had an affair. And called it off. And started it all over again. I've confused comfort with Love. And Love with memories. And yesterday with today. I've settled, and rocked the boat, and tumped it over upside down. I've tested it, and driven it, and painted it every color, including wrong. I've feigned happiness, and forgotten that what I was faking didn't make me happy.

And I've learned that to be accepted, sometimes, you have to accept. To welcome open armed the difference. That there will never be the symbiotic sameness that I thought was karmic. That perhaps, in our difference, we can build a bridge...And we can carry each other...

And that, in that very need...

We are the same...

I've fallen. And blown out my tattle~tale arm. My drawing arm. My tell~tell arm. I can't paint colors without an extra set of hands to twirl the paper. I can't buy beer unless someone I know and someone that loves me will tote it to the car and pop it in my fridge. I can't shift gears, zip my jeans, or open the pickle jar.

I'm lucky.

I've learned that:)