Wednesday, May 31, 2006



Today, with nothing else to do
I thought to dig through the trash heap of a wasted life.
I scraped aside memories;
scraps of torn and faded photographs,
forgotten promises,
mistakes, disappointments,
wrong turns, and disillusion.

Epiphany, they say, is understanding,
so when I found, in the trash,
still living, breathing pieces of myself,
it was an epiphany of sorts.

Carefully, I scraped the scraps together
and fitted them like a puzzle
until I met with me again,
the way I was—the who I was.

Can I keep them, those precious pieces?
Can I go home again,
be who I was again?
Can I do now
the things I pushed aside then
because I was too busy pleasing others,
living their lives instead of mine?
Will the she I was take my hand
and lead me once again into her world,
give me that second chance
to feel the sunshine upon my face,
the wind in my hair
and the exercise my legs require, or

have the years piled up so fast
that the she that was is but a memory
to fade in time as the pieces flutter once again
onto the trash heap of my life?

Vi Jones
©May 31, 2006

Hermitage Urn And Cherubs

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Secret Grove

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Acanthus Leaves In Masonry Art

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Hermitage Water Fountain

The Hermitage Fountain is
overflowing with water...
copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Monday, May 29, 2006

Ease Of Trees

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Sunday, May 28, 2006

Seed Pod Conference - A Meeting Of Minds

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Gathering Of Leaves - Important Meeting

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Saturday, May 27, 2006

Late Season Colour

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Light Through A Blackwood

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Friday, May 26, 2006


" Deep Peace"

Deep peace of the
running wave to you
Deep peace of the
flowing air to you
Deep peace of the quiet
earth to you
Deep peace of the
shining stars to you
Deep peace of the
infinite peace to you

I came across this in reading my morning paper
Imogen and thought of you .....Love from .....

Lois (Muse of the Sea) 27.5.06

Late Autumn Season Tapestry

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

That Glowing Sky

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Thursday, May 25, 2006

Season of Strength - Almost Winter

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Winter Weaving

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Wednesday, May 24, 2006

Travelling Root Maps

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Red And Green

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Cypress Dance

The ancient cypress trees
down by the sea
are dancing in the sunbeams,
aware of almost winter.

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Hermitage Cypress Grove

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Tuesday, May 23, 2006

Hermitage Conservatory Treasure - Maiden Hair

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Monday, May 22, 2006

Almost Winter

Almost winter.
Leaves crowd the grounds,
the trees almost bare.
It's cold, and dew appears,
with misty blankets,
the habits of the household.
People are sleepy, hovering inside,
or more adventurous,
briskly walking,
rustling the leaves with
their boots as they go.
The sea looks
chill and grey,
green vegetation
gives way to starkness
of wood,
and stone.
A quiet time,
of fruits now hidden,
making odd snatches
of green all the more
lovely, looked for,
yearned for.
Yet the Winter is not
without its gifts,
as they are there,
only not so obvious,
and give way to
self-care and
Lovely it is to
hide, blanketed
in Winter's cave,
and then come
out like a blossom
in the Spring,
copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Saturday, May 20, 2006

Autumn Leaves And Clover

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Late Autumn Blooming

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Friday, May 19, 2006

Ravens - Ancient and Modern

(Reposted from August, 2005.)

Lately there has been a proliferation of local ravens, with the coming of Spring and the nesting season. Many of these beautiful birds have come gathering lately, allowing themselves to be seen at close range. This is a real treat; they are gentle and very alert, contrary to common superstition. They mate for life and the large raven, found in the southern hemisphere, can live up to fifty years of age. The oldest known raven was sixty-nine. Part of the Corvid species, they are the largest, and their constellation lies directly above in the heavens at the moment, and is called "Corvus". Before their ecological link was properly known, they were persecuted in England and Europe, almost to the point of non-existence. Once the public were educated, the culling stopped, and the corvids were welcomed back again, to breed again. They are considered nature's tidier, sorter, and order keeper, and this is their ecological purpose.When Corvids fly, they do so at a measured single-minded pace, in a steady line. This is where the saying "As the Crow Flies" comes from; it means to go in a straight line. When nesting, both birds build a solid twiggy home, and the male feeds the female while she nests. Both sexes feed the young, flying out searching for food, and often any excess is buried for later. They are intelligent and have a connection with Wisdom lore and tales of all cultures. Gregarious by nature, these birds can be trained to count and to interpret and mimic human speech. A caged Raven was once helped to escape by two wild Ravens who dug a hole into its cage from the outside while the caged bird dug out from the inside. Ravens have been much maligned by man in the past, though modern research has shown that they, like crows, do far more good than harm. Mostly this was due to projected superstition and lack of knowledge, and now there is more education on this species in general, there is also far more respect.They were included with other animals in the ancient cave paintings at Lascaux near the French Pyrenees, and have had a long association with man. Historically they occupy space at the top of the Tower of London, and it is said that if fewer than six are present, the consequences are dire, so are welcome in the city streets and squares for the important work they do. - credit and link

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Thursday, May 18, 2006

Adventure Calls!

The festivities are over, the performances done, the sweepers sweeping up,
after the gala event. The travellers have moved on, including the Hermit,
off for a taste of adventure. Post or join us, as you please, or make the most
of the solitude! We're off on a ramble though cyberspace with
L'enchanteur as our guide!
copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Wednesday, May 17, 2006

Several people had asked about staffs, especial 'strangle wood'. On the left is the bottom of a staff in our 'armory'. The other fella is named 'Tryzone' and holds a candle to guide folks back to the center area for an evening presentation. Important function, thus a poem ...


My heart is a smoldering ember
Seen as stars in the pacing night.
With three fingers alone upheld
I grasp this heart of fine Council,
And bids thee follow, nay invite
Each one to a wedding of dreams.
Come along then as children,
In joy and expectant learning.

Leave your cares and shoes at the door.
Cushions await you – and you – and you.
Follow now the pace of Trysone.
I will guard the portals of fear,
That love and charity abide
In all that enter here in peace.
No one will pass except by me
And nothing leave ‘cept harmony.

Tuesday, May 16, 2006

Autumn Wedding - Confetti Leaves

Leaves of gold, tear’s delight,
ever white in turning – spin and fall
in splendored dance,
and poet’s hush
Speckled lace, a thought or two,
more or less in yearning –spin and fall
which side will show,
and pray for me
copyright Faucon 2006.

(Faucon's Inspiration on Autumn Leaves and Weddings.)
copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

My Lady Naked

I think as I gaze upon my naked lady about how everything is reduced to the bare necessities—how naked, how bold, and without embarrassment. Let me tell you about my naked lady and how she flaunts her body without being brazen.

My Lady Naked

She is my lady naked,
bare for all to see,
or turn away
embarrassed, to look upon the lady naked.

I prefer to see my lady clothed
in gowns of green
and flowing robes of grasses
with wild flower buttons,
scarves of ferns
and belts of leaves—
And yet, out here,
the desert shared with me
a strange and sensuous work of art.

She is beautiful,
my lady naked,
for in her
I see every mountain peak
and valley,
every wrinkle,
every crease,
every cloud that casts a shadow,
every precious drop of rain that falls,
every lightning scar.

I love to see my lady clothed,
but when I see her naked
with no place to hide her ravaged body,
I know just how much,
how very, very much the lady means to me.

Vi Jones
©May 16, 2006

Hermitage Golden Elms

The Hermitage Elms are so
impressed with the performances
passing through the Amphitheatre
they have become quite regal and golden...
copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Monday, May 15, 2006

From the Lab Rat's desk

Finally dragged my sorry ass to the doctor today, and as expected I have an infection (I'll keep the details to myself), which explains why I have felt beyond lousy the last few days. tomorrow my daughter treats me to my first ever pedicure, her mother's day gift to me. Feeling rotten that I did not feel well enough to visit my mom on Sunday, but she understood I was too ill.
images aletta mes 2006
Haven't been able to focus my eyes very well or sit up for long thanks to this infection so I have mountains of emails to get caught up on. To pas the time I put what energies I had to my balcony garden which is shaping up better than even last year. So much of it has kept on growing through the winter.
images aletta mes 2006
My lavender,, my Spanish lavender to be precise, is not waist high and in bloom. I've been snipping away and taking cuttings of nemesia, thyme and rosemary to fill in any blank spots.
The sweet peas and morning glory are taking their sweet time. Must be the cold nights we are still having.
images aletta mes 2006
I exhausted myself today dragging home a big giant bag of soil. My father would shake his head at such things, the notion of buying dirt. Took everything out of their posts and with the help of tiles I have all over the place (another of my in-progress plans) used the upside down shelving as planter boxes. Poked holes in the bottom using my soldering iron et voilá, some very nice extra garden property. I was being kept company by dog and cats, and it was a splendid warm sunny day.
images aletta mes 2006
Not being able to use the computer much last week also resulted in my closet finally being pulled out and put back again, resulting in over nearly 100 empty hangers which were taking up much of the space. Now at least I can find things.
images aletta mes 2006
At the pharmacy to pick up my anti-biotics I was stunned to find they did not have the full number of pills I needed at hand and have to go back again tomorrow. Are we Canadians selling of so much on-line to foreigners that we are becoming an afterthought? Well, folks I'm hitting my limit for the day. Be assured I do read my emails even when I do not respond, I will as soon as I can.
images aletta mes 2006
Meantime I will enjoy the frangrances of my little garden and sound of my lion fountains. Life is good.
images aletta mes 2006
So I might be stragling a bit, but I am on this journey, absolutely.



( just don't tell Heather I've arranged this little side trip or she'll have me and my crew walking the plank before you can say shiver me timbers!)

Ask Anita Marie for an Invite and become one brave and foolish Souls that will venture into the treacherous dark Lemurian Waterways aboard the Mysterious Buccaneer Ship The Calabar Felonway in search of the infamous Dead Man's Chest.

FOR YOUR INVITATION CONTACT (and for your secret Buccaneer instructions...shh don't tell anyone)Anita Marie
gargoyle642001 at

pieces of my soul

A soul that aches...

In the silence between
darkness and dawn
Lie the shadows of a life

Maybe I have hidden so long
Behind the mask I wear
That I am afraid to remove it
Afraid that the real me
Will have withered away beneath it
Lack of sunshine and fresh air
Lack of love and tenderness
Having taken their toll
Maybe I will find that I no longer am
That I have faded away into nothingness
And the mask is all that remains.

For a moment
I dared to dream again
I felt a crack open up ever so slightly
In the stone that encases my heart
I thought for a moment that the warmth I felt was love beginning to seep in
But as it grew hotter and hotter I realized that rather
It was the searing fire that comes from being cast aside again Burning away a piece of my heart leaving only ashes and charred flesh
Where love should have been.

Sunday, May 14, 2006

i'm late....

for a VERY important date.... I wake. Those nervous clutchings at my stomach, why today? Think.... what's to be remembered? Oh my goodness! The gala perfomance! Aagh

Rushing, catapaulting myself out of bed, all senses now in overload. I can do this!

Dressed, packed (surely what I forget, I can buy along the way!), see ya dogs, bye cat. Dry toast as I race out the door....

Into the car, oh hang on, Hubby took it to work today. Oh no.... slight tones of resignation creep into my voice. Okay, my bike..... I can leave it at the gate....

Wind whistles past my ears, scarf flapping, bag flying, knees burning. I think I can, I think I can....

I take a flying leap from my not quite stationary mode of transport, crash through the door. Everyone's waiting. Fling myself onto the stage and start....

"I did it my way"

humble attempt I know, but I signed on so late and am so concerned that you'll leave without me! Now..... where is that donkey? smb

A flutter of wings

It’s time to go to bed and my mom comes in to tuck me in. I am getting a little old for it, but I like it. We walk towards my room and I gasp. She stops and looks at me, “What’s wrong?” I whisper, “Don’t you see them?” She looks at me, puzzled.

My room is crowded with pulsing, quivering wings of angels. They surround my bed and look at me. Their eyes are glassy. But they smile serenely.

My mom kisses me goodnight on the forehead, like every night, since I can remember. The door is left ajar. Light from the hallway barely streams in. But my room glows with their soft light.

Murmuring among themselves they gently tell me not to be afraid. He loves me and they will be near. I can feel their hands pass over my head, like adults do when they are saying hello, but with a more reverent manner.

All night I can feel them, watching me sleep. It’s comforting. In the morning only one angel sits and waits. She smiles at me and tells me, she will shadow me all day. I shrug, “okay.”

Jeremy’s birthday party starts with food and games. Everybody brings towels and swimsuits. We play King of the Mountain, Marco polo, and more games I don’t know. Everybody jumps in the pool and starts to push.

The pool is really deep with a fake waterfall and tropical plants. I only learned how to swim last summer and I hang on the side of the pool most of the time. When everybody starts to play water polo the real pushing begins. Kids start jumping for the ball and crash on top of one another, laughing. The angel gazes at me from near the house.

In the middle of pool the ball comes right to me. Before I can jump up to return it, kids from all directions crash on top of me. The water is blurry and bodies move everywhere. I can’t catch my breath. I struggle to come up, but I am sinking. Bodies wiggle and swim away.

I watch my body fall to the bottom of the pool. I feel warm hands around me. The angel has come close and says it’s okay. I can’t remember how I got out of the pool. The water glitters and somebody starts to shout. All the kids get out of the pool. The waterfall makes it difficult to see. A shape lies on the bottom. Someone jumps in and pulls out my body, it’s grey.

The angel holds my hand. Another wipes at my tears. A circle has formed around the body and kids stare and babble like they don’t understand. But they do.

The pool sparkles. I start to shake all over. Suddenly, I am wrapped in light. An angel leans down and whispers we need to go. Golden eyelashes touch my cheek. A fluttering of wings enfold me. A crowd hovers just like last night. I try to see my mom. I can hear her voice. I can hear her crying. A beautiful face looks inside me, without words, I feel safe. An overwhelming love embraces me. I feel a buzzing in my head and it’s peaceful. I drift with the angels like clouds following music that is vaguely familiar.

Author’s Note: I wrote this in memory of a little boy I didn’t know. He saw angels the night before he died. I wanted his story to be remembered here.

Perched atop a Giant Sequoia

Sitting atop a giant sequoia waiting to be rescued, I ponder Heather's idea of surrendering something and shedding my skin. A perfect place of solitude in which to write, but I have no computer, no pen or paper. Surely I'll be the last to arrive for the gala performance. Perhaps a short poem will suffice to get me on the Serpentine Road.

I count the me's
that I have been
since I began,
Remembering the seven (so-called) ages of a man

For women, though,
there must be more
or I, at least,
am rare,
for me's there've been beyond a count
that I would care to share.

The old me is disolving
swept away
like falling rain.
What hurts the most,
I liked her best.
Will part of her remain?

When The Wind Blows From the West

When the Wind Blows in From the West

The wind blowing from the west brings clouds that
herald yet another storm.
When lightning strikes the great expanse
of sand and rock and grit and dust,
we feel the shock that it must bring to Earth's bare bones.
When thunder rumbles across the desert sky,
reverberating from mesa top to mesa,
it disturbs the ghosts of those who lay in shallow, desert graves.
It echoes through the darkened windows of long deserted ruins—
those empty dwellings built high upon the cliffs.
Then, the rain in cloudburst falls
creating tiny craters in the heated, stony sand.
The desert drinks, but it's too much, all at once,
and so the muddy waters gather and race to shallow accepting basins,
only there to overflow, displacing those who dare to live in this unforgiving place.
Lightning dances in the distance—
spears of jagged fury from the sky
meeting Earth's upward charge,
visible for milliseconds,
enough to frighten, to cause us to fall on bended knee
and ask the Thunder God to spare our miserable hides.

Now, as quickly as it came, it's gone, heading east and north
to worry other humans in its path—
to nourish other earthly plots with phosphorenic energy.
All is calm now in the west—the air is cleansed—the sky is clear—until, once again, the wind blows from the west, and the clouds
like charging armies, herald yet another desert storm.

Vi Jones
©May 14, 2006


A friend, who has now found love again,
was expounding on what he felt at Sakin'el
and our wedding -- inspiriation to be open again.

I offered how important 'respect' was to a relationship,
he was much taken -- even to musing that
the prophetic words should be,
"respect they neighbor as thyself."

So I wrote this at sunrise ...

Look Again Fondly

“As a child,” it is said – or Given –

“With nothing but innocence – follow,”
we are guided by Word and Light.

“Have done to thee as the least of men,”
is the song of the yearning soul.

So I must return – turn again …
I must remember – join once more …
I must respect – look back and again …
and for this I need you,
my love.

Your eyes can see what I cannot,
and hear the cries of passions lost,
and share with me a touch of awe –
again and again,
I will look again

Let me be a mirror of soulful mirth,
a shield against the trembling Light,
a shoulder on which you can stand –
again and again;
please look again
with kindness.

Each by each and in cleaved embrace,
we may know in twain what one might hide
from self and life and fearsome child –
again and again;
most fondly again,
re-spect with me.

Wiltshire Horse - Epona Inspiration

Inspired by the post on Epona below,
here is a link to the Wiltshire white
horse at Uffington, and others I had no idea

Blue Oak - copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Saturday, May 13, 2006

Somewhere in the Dark

a poem for the Stage

Somewhere In the Dark

Somewhere in the dark
An owl hoots a lonesome cry
As a man walks alone.
Unsure of where he's going
and wanting to forget where he's been.

Somewhere in the dark
a ghostly hand reaches out.
Reaching for nothing and finding it there
It quietly returns to nowhere.

Somewhere in the dark
a child cries at what goes bump in the night
and the wolves errie call to the moon

Somewhere in the dark
Hides a dream of what the world should be
As a child wishes upon a falling star
and a few dreams come true.

Somewhere in the dark.

A Slight Detour

I'm off the map. I don't know how it happened. I started out from Riversleigh where I'd been resting up, gathering my strength for whatever le enchanteur had up her sleeve, and trying to get my creative juices to flow. I didn't want to do the red shoes with wings bit. That was my first mistake, others followed, I saw the trees in the distance. . . . .but it's a long story and I'm afraid I'll miss the performance, not to mention be stuck up here forever. If you are reading this message, the blue jay, made it. Swoop's part of the story, too. Could you send an eagle to fly me back to the Hermitage or maybe a crane (the mechanical kind that does buildings) to at least get me down (my backpack and red shoes are down the bottom--don't ask)? I'm in the middle of a redwood forest, (sequoiadendron giganteums) stranded in the top branches, up about, oh, I'd guess 250 feet. Swoop will show you the way.

I'm sorry Heather. This is so embarrassing.

I'm that girl, or is she me? (my offering on stage)

I used to be someone who cared- sort of. I wondered what it would be like to be part of that crowd, you know- the one where everyone is happy and smiling and their clothes always look nice and their hair blows beautifully in the wind. But I never could quite bring myself to become one of them. I'm not sure if it's because I thought they wouldn't let me, or if I just couldn't be that kind of girl.

Surely you know that girl. Her skin is clear and flawless. The curl is always set in her hair just right. She has the really great clothes, and everyone waves and smiles as she goes down the hall. That girl.

But sometime in high school I started thinking that maybe it wasn't so great to be that girl. I thought about how hard it must be to have to look good, be good, all the time. And then I thought it was better to be me, not perfect- and having people know I wasn't exactly so, even if they made fun of that. I'm sure she must have wished she was me sometimes too.

Photogram positive

Photogram negative

May I Present...Anita Marie

I wish I could perform a poetry reading for you all, or present a lovely work of art or dance. But I can't create or perform any of those things. Trust me you don't want me to do these things. Instead I thought I'd share with you something I've taught my nieces.

At the ages of 4 and 6 they called me up and told me to come over right away. They decide what they were going to become.

I did go to my Sister's house right away because, trust me, when my Nieces work together on anything the results are never small and they are NEVER boring.

When I got there they told me their plans and I was touched, happy and proud.

In fact I was so excited at their 'news' I piled them in my Jeep and we went out and bought them some outfits, tools and even maps so they could be fully prepared to meet their destiny...

As Buccaneers.

So let me share with you a song that we've sung together for these past five years.

anita marie

Fifteen men on a dead man’s chest

Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum

Drink and the devil be done for the rest

Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum

The mate was fixed by the bos’n’s pike

The bos’n’ brained with a marlin spike and

Cookey’s throat was marked belike It

Had been gripped by fingers ten and

There they lay all good dead men like

Break o’ day in a boozing ken__

Yo Ho Ho and a bottle of rum

Fifteen men of a whole ship’s list

Yo Ho Ho and a bottle of rum

Dead and be damned and the rest gone whist!

Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum

The skipper lay with his nob in gore where the

Scullion’s axe his cheek had shore

And the scullion he was stabbed times four and

There he lay and the soggy skies

Dripped all day in up-staring eyes at

Murk sunset and at foul sur-prise

Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum

Fifteen men of ‘em stiff and stark

Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum

Ten of the crew had the murder mark

Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum

‘Twas a cutlass swipe or and ounce of lead or a

Yawning hole in a battered head

and the scuppers glut with a yawning red and

There they lay aye damn my eyes

All lookouts clapped on par - a - dise all

Souls bound just con – tra – ri - wise

Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum

Fifteen men of ‘em good and true

Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum

Every man Jack could ha’ sailed with old Pew

Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum

There was chest on chest of Spanish gold with a

Ton of plate in the middle hold

And the cabins riot with stuff un told As

They lay there that had took the plum

With a sightless glare and their lips struck dumb

While we shared all by the rule of thumb

Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum

Fifteen men of a dead man’s chest

Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum

Drink and the devil had done for the rest

Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum

We wrapped ‘em all in a mains’l tight with

Twice ten turns of a hausers bight

And we heaved ‘em over and out of sight with a

Yo heave ho and fare you well

And a sullen plunge in a sullen swell

Ten fathoms deep on the road to hell

Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum