FRESH

The vine speaks
The time is now
The color shouts
Ripe.

Leather boots
Know their way
Down the path
Sun-break.

Rich soil
Morning harvest
Knowing heart
Long day.

Hand picked
Smooth food
Tractor sleeps
Sort.

Labels on
Time to ship
Trust your brand
Farm to fork.

SO sweet
Eat well.
Flavor shouts
Divine.

Here I sit in Florence, Italy thinking about my daughters. They are beautiful young women and I love and adore them so. We put up with each others bad behaviors and are so close close close…..a feeling of closeness I cannot articulate with words – only with the pureness that my heart speaks. To all the daughters on our planet – this poem of Princess speaks to you. Big accolades to my sales agent Karen Hart at Showplace Art for selling the Principessa painting you see!

PRINCIPESSA

Daughter take my breath away
Your beauty proud and fine
You laugh, you cry, you go to sleep
Your heart of gold my soul does keep
Right beside of mine.

A playful quest throughout the day
With pink and purple ease
The books we read repeat themselves
With such sweet simple “please.”

Dresses, pants, pajamas
And socks for tiny toes
You try on outfits every hour
We’re running out of clothes!

We sit with awe and disbelief
Girl growing bold and strong
She capture’s every ounce of heart
When breaking out in song.

Savor every moment with video, pics and word
You never know how life will go
They grow so fast and gone you know
With wings so like a bird.

You might grow up to heal or teach
Are you the farmer for a peach?
Math Queens making business grow
Are you the next big CEO?

Brilliance sits so deep within
Often hard for you to find
Yet many chapters later
Jumps up somewhere from behind.

Artists turn to writers
Crafting artful prose
Though some are slow to find their way
That’s just the way it goes.

Love them, kiss them, hug them
Always let them know
“I Love You”
Is always here to stay
Even when they go.

I hope you find a partner
Supportive as you grow
Together you’ll find magic
Trust your heart – it knows.

Remember what I taught you
Bout settling for half-mast
You have the power inside yourself
Your older now – just ASK.

It’s all right to make mistakes
Finding trouble round the bend
The lesson is provided
Your integrity will win.

My darling Principessa
You might someday lose your way
Go find your grace in quiet space
And life will be okay.

I’ll always walk beside you
Sometimes you will not see
Years from now a spirit close
Your own angel I will be.

Your crown was mine
I give to you
No pomp and circumstance
Your ready for a bigger life
Let go – this is your chance!

Whatever be your journey
Your grand fine wish or dream
Go live out loud
With all you’ve got
It’s then you will be Queen.

Copyright 2009 by Rochelle Carr. All rights reserved.

I am here traveling in Rome, Italy experiencing a mecca of old doors. It is my second year without my children living at home. I have a blended family and still manage the time to mother five incredible children. I am free of shoulds. I am free of schedules I do not create on the whim of what pleases me. The time in my hotel room is my own to reflect, remember, savor and use. I am writing incessantly (because I adore it) only stopping to mangia and enjoy a glass of wine. I am staying at a darling hotel near the ancient Colosseum called: Inn At The Roman Forum. The service is nothing short of magnificent and the people are absolutely lovely. I will always return.

I was up writing new poetry “Kayak Man” at 3:30 in the morning as jet lag looked me over with an off balanced sly smirk. I am still here 19 hours later at my computer with stiff knees and a full heart. I have just cried happy tears for finishing a poem (below) that sits perfectly beneath my feet. Kind of like the new Jimmy Choo twinsie boots I bought with my sister last month……I feel that damn good. Smile. My mother would tell me to get out and see the sights. My sister arrives tomorrow with her children and I will adventure non stop.

I have always imagined that old doors could speak. I imagine it sharing years of story and memories just sitting there somewhere under the surface of worn soft wood into that bold rectangle thing we call a door. If doors could speak what would they tell us of their history? Would they pick out a family they loved for lifetimes? Would they remember children that grasped handles with tiny fingers for years until they grew up? Would they remember a sadness that rocked their insides laden with horror, loss, or grief? Would they celebrate a first kiss? A marriage? Mourn a divorce? Shelter us from the rain? Would they remember our hands and how each person feels differently? Would there be fear? Would there be music? Or would there be clippity clop echo sounds of feet on cobblestone walkways?

I believe Old Doors DO remember. Just like I still believe in Santa, Magic Fairies, Moonbows, Convertibles, Mermaids, Hearts, Kings, Queens, and the guy (or gal) on the white horse! “When I am like an old door some day, some will rest hands on me and say: your wishes grand, your heart so true, your story long inside of you, be on your way my dear sweet friend, open doors, begin again!”

The power of love is found in the circle of family…..my family has always had old doors in it. Makes my older children giggle to see me feeling out some old door!
Enjoy!

OLD DOOR

Old door
Speak to me.
What do you say?
What have you seen?

Your face is worn
Yet I can see
Your story long
Inside of thee.

I touched your heart.
I feel your joy.
When did you love
That baby boy?

Bundled in blue
1922
He touched my frame
So loud and true.

His tiny hands
So soft you see,
Ingrained themselves
Inside of me.

Happy sounds
He had that day,
He made a mark
It’s here to stay.

That baby boy
Grew up so fast
His tiny hands
Are large at last.

I miss his touch
His darling face
He found my door
A sacred place.

My face now worn
So I can see
My story long
Inside of me.

Years of passion
Years of Grace
So many hands
Upon my face.

I wonder if
My days spent here
Are honored
And remembered dear.

My memories strong
And lifetimes deep
Some so sad
I close and weep.

Remember me
So loud and true
My story long
Inside of you.

You touched my heart.
You felt my joy.
You knew I loved
That baby boy.

It’s safe you see
Behind my door,
I’ll keep you warm
Forever more.

Be on your way
My new-found friend
Just open doors,
Begin again.

Copyright 2009 by Rochelle Carr. All rights reserved.

KAYAK MAN

She watched him kayak
In her mind.
His boat glides up on shore
He is somewhere
In his own heaven
Exploring deep blue seas.

Always near an island
With sunshine gracing his face.
Salt and pepper
Graying beard
And white ear hairs
Curl and dance
In appropriate face places.

She watched him kayak
In her mind.
Walking softly
Amongst cracked shells someone
Might have stomped with feet
Years earlier.
Island mermaids still slept
sweetly on rose petal beds
With pillows of golden crackled saltwater hair.
He climbed from his craft
Of quiet yellow
And watched them sleeping there
Till it was sunset.

He dreams of retired fruit treasure
As he searches for dry sand
And solace.
Guide him as he steps outside himself
And listens
To the gentle lapping of the shore
And paints his toenails blue
While magical sunset beams
Kindly impale him.
A world of ocean glistens from behind.
He will ponder starlight.

She watched him kayak
In her mind.
He wanders alone on one simple vacation
Originally booked for two.
He always deserved this trip
Yet would never give something to
Himself this way…
It was a gift
Imagining him kayak in her mind
While she was gone on her own
Walkabout
In foreign lands
With foreign tongue.

She watched him kayak
Around a virtual playground of story
Replaying the synchronicity
Of love
And the sexy swagger
Of his saxophone-
He likes to walk island beaches at sunset.

She watched him kayak
In her mind
Enjoying simple things
Unbearable lightness
Of being
Without worry
Or responsibility.
He shouldn’t have to work this hard.
The glisten of sunsets past
Stick to the flat side
Of the paddle
And stroke.
Hear his water
Hear his quiet solid yellow
Ocean stroked heart.

Swish
Swish
Glide…

Copyright 2009 by Rochelle Carr. All rights reserved.

A novel, first published in 1896, and titled In His Steps was subtitled “What Would Jesus Do?”.  The publishing of this book and an increasing popularity of the concept caused a grassroots phenomena to spread through the United States in the 1990s.  Merchandise was made and sold bearing the famous slogan which was originally aimed at making the youth of a church group be more aware of how their decisions were affecting people. 
 
The ability to choose how we react is a power that we all posses, and while the slogan grew in popularity through the 1990s, the concept has been existent forever.  We are not able to choose how we are treated or even the trials that come to us – but we can choose our outlook, our attitude and our reactions.  For me, the underlying principle which governs my choices is love.  The theme travels through my art and the question I find myself pondering on a daily basis is “what would love do?” In the beginning of the painting (before the layers and layers of color) in bold black thick words were first on the raw canvas: “What Would Love Do?” The painting sold as soon as it hit the gallery wall. It is also the painting on the cover of my new book: Follow Your Heart Poetry. I find such joy in the fact that folks in our world still believe in LOVE and HEARTS. It’s quite a universal concept.
 
Earlier in my life I would ask myself this question as I faced challenging moments as a single parent, with a stubborn family member, or dealing with an ex husband.  I would work through this question by myself looking for peace and solace.  Often, the answer which crept into my heart, was FORGIVE.  This word and feeling represents itself as the sister word to LOVE, and I am so blessed to have had several examples of pure and forgiving life experiences that taught me not only to FORGIVE, but also to let go and move on. At the risk of sounding too woo woo….I will move on.
 
Does learning to love and forgive teach me all that I need to hear when reacting to others?  Yes, most of the time it really does. Yet there are moments that nothing works, and my behavior or rudeness warrants huge apologies to friends and family members. Expressing love, manifesting love, and loving is not the same for everyone – but as I ponder this question and learn to provide that same love and acceptance for myself and my partner as I age, I find that eventually, the truth is always present when I open my heart and listen.  The love language I speak now is evident in my affection, support, kindness, belief in the impossible, soft words, hearts, gift giving, gifts of time, acceptance, and artistic expression. My art and my hearts are a gift to the world so to speak. 
 
This painting titled “What Would Love Do”, expresses my feeling that love is the biggest factor in helping to make good choices.  It is a greater force in the world of chaos and unnecessary war than any other single thing.  Our hearts overlap and fill empty spaces as we open them more and more to love. What a miracle it is that we as humans have been provided the opportunity to feel and experience true authentic “love.”

“When you feel you can’t go on, when a loved one can’t be strong, provide a gentle hand from you, and simply ask: WHAT WOULD LOVE DO?”

Copyright 2009 by Rochelle Carr. All rights reserved.
 

“Summer’s Eve” Painting by Rochelle Carr
 
The twenty-second of September rang in the first day of fall – one of my favorite seasons!  Cool crisp days, sweaters, beautiful changing leaves and scenery, children excited to be back in school, parents excited for quieter days, and a chance to breathe from summer adventure and travel. 
 
My abstract fine art works, Summer’s Eve, speaks a wistful goodbye to summer.  The iridescent paint changes color as you walk side to side in front of this piece – the season is changing, the leaves are changing, and the feeling of the year is changing. My life would be abnormal without constant change. You will find this ever so present in my fine art. 
 
I love it as the year morphs and the seasons come and go.  I so enjoy summer and sunshine, the lightness of being, the dreaming, the travel, the water, the late night dinners, the friends, the family, BBQs, excitement, and constant commitments. Ours is a highly functioning abundant life. I am so thankful and blessed, and I will often just pinch myself to make sure it’s all real. 

I appreciate winter (but not my favorite season) the holidays, the family, the bonding and the magic. I do still believe in Santa.  I adore spring (MY ALL TIME FAVORITE SEASON) the rebirth, babies everywhere, the renewed energy, the garden, and my hands in the soil. Yet for some reason, I find I am always ready for the calm and peaceful feeling that comes with fall.  Fall graces the world in a warm blanket of my favorite colors: greens, browns, yellows, reds, oranges. Can you feel it’s warmth?
 
Inside Summer’s Eve, I have painted memories of many a summer sunset enjoyed with old lovers, friends and my husband (not all on the same evening mind you).  I am walking down the beach holding an arm or a hand, crunching shells in the sand, and gazing at the reflections and sparkles as the sun dances on the waves. I imagine myself, in years to come, walking along those same beaches when I’m 105!  I have decided this painting will remain in my private collection. Hopefully, my visitors will enjoy it as much as I do.

Does my painting inspire you to feel something?
Happy Summer’s Eve to all!

ALMOST PEAR

Anjou love
so crisp and sweet
guide my heart
to lips in Crete.

It’s not your shape
I love so dear
yet all your heart
and all you share.

Oh almost pear
how do you see
beyond the trunk of your brown tree?

Please don’t fall
it’s sad you see
I know you’ll bruise
fait accompli.

One more day
and you’ll be sweet
I’ll catch you now
a special treat.

Share with me
your secret true
it’s good your yellow
not so blue.

Copyright 2009 by Rochelle Carr. All rights reserved.

First book in hardcover sold out and now we have created the softcover version. Proof on it’s way, and will be on Amazon before you know it!

Best Grandmother in the world!

GRAM

Your hands…..so soft.
I held your hand as a child.
We walked places.
I have veins like you so close to the skin.
How can our skin be so thin?
I looked forward to tickle backs during summer vacation at your house.
Ever so quietly in the mornings
You’d tiptoe into my room when I was older.
You always knew I loved to sleep in.
I can still hear your voice whisper, “It’s time to get up for breakfast.”
I still make tickle backs and whispers for my children.
Just like you.

Your hands…..so soft.
You reached for the doughnuts,
American cheese and Captain Crunch cereal stocked in your pantry.
We celebrated junk food Italian style.
Our parents were hippies and we ONLY had junk food at your house and
Ate ourselves silly every summer.
Just because you could spoil us.
Your pantry became a Disneyland of food.
I have a pantry.
Just like you.

Your hands…so soft.
You taught me how to shave my legs,
Wear make-up, use Jergens lotion and lather
Noxzema just like Grandma Dappie.
We painted my fingernails and I was “GIRLY.”
My mom hated Barbies because they had large breasts. I loved them.
I loved their designer clothes.
I loved being “GIRLY” with you.
I dress up and I wear sparkly things
And leather coats, and jewelry.
Just like you.

Your hands…..so soft.
I remember watching you that night at the Elks Club
As Gramps took your hand in his
And guided you to the dance floor.
You smiled.
Your body knew what to do with his.
I smiled watching you.
You were made to dance only with Gramps.
Later that night you watched proudly
And smiled at me as Gramps taught me to dance and swing like never before.
It was a magical night and your brother was there.
I found I could dance.
Just like you.

Your hands…..so soft.
You always reached into some secret place
And pulled out a five or twenty dollar bill,
Or much more,
For clothes or anything fun
Just because you loved me.
Many a year you sent me a check
Because I had left home at seventeen and
Couldn’t pay my rent or some bill.
You were my hero.
Your generosity… Never made me feel silly or stupid for needing your help.
I have a secret place with twenty-dollar bills
Or a stack of ones
For my children, nieces, nephews
And others that need a helping hand.
Just like you.

Your hands…..so soft.
You taught me about painting plaster sculpture,
Your passion for sewing,
And you helped me create beautiful things
Because you believed in me ALWAYS.
I am an artist now.
I paint on canvas with white sculpture
And I use your old sewing machine.
I create beautiful things that people buy now.
Sometimes I imagine you leaning over my shoulder guiding me.
I stay in the lines. Sometimes.
I’m the one that learned to sew.
Just like you.

Your hands…..so soft.
Your hands don’t help your body like they used to.
When I visit you from California it’s hardest for me
To look in your eyes.
I hold your hands.
I ache to see you in such pain.
I stare at your hands holding mine.
You can’t say “S” words and it pisses you off.
It’s not fair.
You tell me you are done with your life,
Tired of falling, and not trusting your same body.
Three weeks ago we cried together
As I held your face in my hands before I left.
There is unlived pain inside yourself.
I wish I could own it for you
Making your heart lighter and free.
Tears fall in clumps on my chest.
I write from years of memories that
Sit here grieving inside my head.
I understand I cannot make you feel better.
Instead, I will be feisty, determined, and strong.
Just like you.

Your hands…..so soft.
I remember them on my cheeks,
Brushing my hair from my face
As I lie there in your lap.
Gram, Gram, Gram…
How do I tell you everything just sitting here in my heart?
Do I tell you about the gratitude
And thankfulness I feel just knowing you?
What I believe it means to be a grandparent?
You are the best grandmother in the universe.
I will think I was your favorite just because I can.
I am now a mother of five.
I am a grown-up – whatever that means.
First line on my bucket list:
To be the best grandmother.
Just like you.

Your hands…..so soft.
My hands…..so soft.
Just like you.

Copyright 2009 by Rochelle Carr. All rights reserved.

You Are In My Art
 
Bright, alive, moving, hungry…..
 
These ornamental decorative fish grace ponds, aquariums, and restaurants around the world.  They bring smiles to our faces and elicit squeals from the children who feed them.  One at a time, photographed, these fish are plain and recognizable.  But as a whole community – they make art together. In the world of Feng Shui these graceful creatures signify abundance and wealth and are rightfully noted for their strength and bravery as they swim against the current. Like my world of visual art and words, these fish present themselves in different shapes, sizes, colors and positions – they come together to create a beautiful piece of photographed art – snapped on an everyday kind of day. And so it is with the evolution of my art. 
 
On everyday kind of days, different people, experiences, colors, memories, and moments have shaped and graced my written and visual art.  They weren’t moments I was seeking, they weren’t experiences I always wanted, but I have embraced them.  My life experiences encourage the vibrancy in my work.  Had I grown up cloistered and sheltered my art would lack the expression and passion that defines me as an artist. 
 
Art is my medium for sharing, healing, expression, and safety.  I am in my art. You are in my art.  I allow vulnerability to seep from my work and I want to share it with the world.  As I stand at my easel or sit to write I feel the swirl of life experience around me, influencing my strokes and words. 
 
Like the swirling fish create art together – you have also created art inside me.  You are in my strokes, in my words, in my passion and create my community. Thank you for this incredible gift.
 
As I continue creating fine art, writing books, living passionately, and following my heart…..I just wanted to acknowledge you and thank you for adding to the beauty, elegance, and stories in my world – YOU ARE IN MY ART.
 
Photo posted with permission from Melinda LeSueur.