the rapscallion's lair

a.k.a. rabbit hole

3 notes

methuselah’s last stand
if i could walk away from the answers my footprints would fill with more questions
i am held in place by the harpooned taproot of my own bark-coated existence
but the leaves i toss into the wind have every right to fly
the ground you walk on is made from the crust of today’s leftover uncertainty
nothing is real but faith and i believe in the sun burning through my temporary cloak
winter is meant to reveal what we’re made of and you think it should be more complicated
forever is time’s long lost daughter singing to the sailor of finite
what you see is only an echo
. ~Kelly Letky .
 (via that’s mrs. mediocrity to you)

methuselah’s last stand

if i could walk away from the answers
my footprints would fill with more questions

i am held in place by the harpooned taproot
of my own bark-coated existence

but the leaves i toss into the wind
have every right to fly

the ground you walk on is made from the crust
of today’s leftover uncertainty

nothing is real but faith and
i believe in the sun
burning through my temporary cloak

winter is meant to reveal what we’re made of
and you think
it should be more complicated

forever is time’s long lost daughter
singing to the sailor of finite

what you see is only an echo

.
~Kelly Letky
.


(via that’s mrs. mediocrity to you)

Filed under poetrytuesday poem spilled ink

3 notes

Stepped outside just in time to see a flock of about 100 crows flying directly over my house, gold from the setting sun glinting off the undersides of their wings. A murder of ordinary magic.

4 notes

armour
you gave me a shield to stand behind sharp edged and burnished spike
for protection, you said
and i laughed because you were always running and i was always lost
at least it looked that way when the off center sun came shining through varicose leaves of false forgiveness
and i raised my spear but you said no, like this
and handed me a polished stone of blue lace agate tied with twine
i held it up to the center of everything
hoping for music
but somehow silence was the perfect fit
. ~Kelly Letky .
 (via that’s mrs. mediocrity to you)

armour

you gave me a shield to stand behind
sharp edged and burnished spike

for protection, you said

and i laughed because
you were always running
and i was always lost

at least it looked that way
when the off center sun came
shining through varicose leaves
of false forgiveness

and i raised my spear
but you said no, like this

and handed me a polished stone
of blue lace agate tied with twine

i held it up
to the center of everything

hoping for music

but somehow silence
was the perfect fit

.
~Kelly Letky
.


(via that’s mrs. mediocrity to you)

Filed under poetrytuesday poem poetry photography

4 notes

bella grace: an ordinary artist
I am so honored to have my poem “make-believe” published in Stampington and Company’s gorgeous new magazine, Bella Grace: Life’s a Beautiful Adventure.
To launch this first issue, Stampington set up a blog hop, as a way to introduce some of the featured artists and also to offer you a chance to win your very own copy! It really is a gorgeous publication, more book than magazine, filled with beauty and grace and words from so many fabulous artists.
In addition to the free issue, I’m going to send the lucky winner your choice of any 8×10 print from my etsy shop, and a pair of silver earrings as well! All you have to do to enter is leave a comment on this post before midnight on Wednesday, August 20th. I’ll announce the winner on Thursday, August 21st.
Stampington will be updating the blog hop page daily, so be sure to hop over and check out the other artist’s posts for even more chances to win a copy of Bella Grace.

… … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …
 an ordinary artist, an ordinary life
The other day, I was painting outside… not art, but my house. Because it needed to be done and it was a perfect-painting-weather day and autumn will be here soon enough.
I was working away on the back entryway, repainting the door my dog insists on scratching when he wants in, and I heard a sound in the stones behind me (we have a pea gravel patio area). When I turned, I saw a very large toad hopping his way across the stones, heading right for the spot where I stood, like he was in a big hurry to get there. After he made it to the rectangle of sidewalk just outside the door, he stopped. And then, keeping one eye on me, slowly made his way over to the pair of sneakers my husband keeps tucked beneath a bench for when it’s lawn mowing time. I watched as my new friend climbed into one of the sneakers and settled in. Apparently, this is where he lives.
Later, as I was painting along, I had to move the bench and in doing so, scared Mr. Toad out of his hiding spot. Before I could stop him, he hopped inside the door I’d left open, and then hopped/fell his way down the basement stairs. And then I couldn’t find him. But two days later, just as I was throwing a load of wash into the dryer, there he was, hopping right up to me again, asking to be rescued. And so, Mr. Toad was set free.
This is my life.
And I am an artist.
When I was young, I thought being an artist somehow meant being special. Weird in a good way, extraordinary, or at the very least, different.
But I was young (and therefore somewhat foolish) and if there is one thing that life has taught me, it’s that I am just like everyone else. A perfectly ordinary woman living a tiny little life in a tiny little house.
If you met me at a party, you’d be quite bored. As an introvert, I’m not good at being charming or social, I don’t dress like an artist, I don’t look like an artist, I usually don’t even tell people I am an artist (unless, of course, they ask). I live in a small town in a very rural setting and my life centers around my family, nature and my garden, the seasons, my art. There’s no exciting city or cultural life going on here. In fact, most weeks, I leave my house 3 or 4 times total, and at least two of those excursions involve food shopping. I call myself a hermit as a joke, but the truth is, I’m pretty much a hermit.
Yet here I am, making my living as an artist. I wouldn’t say it’s an easy life, but somewhere along the way, ordinary magic found me–when I wasn’t even looking. I planted a garden and fell in love with the sky. My pencil found its way back to the page. My camera became a daily accessory. These days, I mark the passage of time by charting the seasons, and the friend I speak to most often is a mockingbird. (I could say it’s a cat, but I’m more inclined to call them family).
I spend my days making something from nothing, and there is no other word for that but magic.
A client needs a brochure, and from a jumble of words and thoughts and half-ideas comes the piece they pass on to their customers. I plant a tiny seed, and a few months later I have a flower. A pile of beads and silver becomes a lovely bracelet. A blank screen with a blinking cursor turns into a poem about love and life and supermarket flowers. A camera and a quiet moment become my latest favorite picture. A refrigerator filled with vegetables becomes the perfect pot of soup.
It’s all magic. It’s all so ordinary.
And it’s all art.
I sit outside when I can and listen to the world. Where I live, that means bird song and tractor sound, grasshopper whirs and wind in the poplars, hummingbird wings and toad feet on gravel.
But I am a busybody when it comes to art. There is never enough time and there are always words waiting to be written, weeds needing to be pulled, birds with new stories to tell. I do the best I can to strike a balance, but most days, I wouldn’t say I’ve succeeded. Most days, I work long hours on the work that pays the bills, and just a few on the work of my heart. But I always squeeze that time in, making it part of my daily existence, part of my ordinary, part of who I am. Art is what keeps me whole and centered and I have learned that, for me, there is no other way to be.
Art is life. Not some glamorous, mysterious pursuit. Nor some extraordinary gift. Not something to be kept in a box, only taken out on special occasions.
Art is the rain dripping from the tips of my favorite flower, the steam rising up from my first cup of tea, the pattern of my footsteps on this worn wooden floor. It’s washing dishes and making beds and painting scratched up doors. And it’s showing up, every day, to do the work. Again and again. The work of living.
Life is, indeed, a beautiful adventure. And ordinary magic is everywhere you turn.
In fact, some days it comes hopping right up to you and makes its home there, at your feet.
All you have to do is say, welcome.
(click here to leave a comment and enter to win! bella grace: an ordinary artist - that’s mrs. mediocrity to you)

bella grace:
an ordinary artist

I am so honored to have my poem “make-believe” published in Stampington and Company’s gorgeous new magazine, Bella Grace: Life’s a Beautiful Adventure.

To launch this first issue, Stampington set up a blog hop, as a way to introduce some of the featured artists and also to offer you a chance to win your very own copy! It really is a gorgeous publication, more book than magazine, filled with beauty and grace and words from so many fabulous artists.

In addition to the free issue, I’m going to send the lucky winner your choice of any 8×10 print from my etsy shop, and a pair of silver earrings as well! All you have to do to enter is leave a comment on this post before midnight on Wednesday, August 20th. I’ll announce the winner on Thursday, August 21st.

Stampington will be updating the blog hop page daily, so be sure to hop over and check out the other artist’s posts for even more chances to win a copy of Bella Grace.

… … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …


an ordinary artist,
an ordinary life

The other day, I was painting outside… not art, but my house. Because it needed to be done and it was a perfect-painting-weather day and autumn will be here soon enough.

I was working away on the back entryway, repainting the door my dog insists on scratching when he wants in, and I heard a sound in the stones behind me (we have a pea gravel patio area). When I turned, I saw a very large toad hopping his way across the stones, heading right for the spot where I stood, like he was in a big hurry to get there. After he made it to the rectangle of sidewalk just outside the door, he stopped. And then, keeping one eye on me, slowly made his way over to the pair of sneakers my husband keeps tucked beneath a bench for when it’s lawn mowing time. I watched as my new friend climbed into one of the sneakers and settled in. Apparently, this is where he lives.

Later, as I was painting along, I had to move the bench and in doing so, scared Mr. Toad out of his hiding spot. Before I could stop him, he hopped inside the door I’d left open, and then hopped/fell his way down the basement stairs. And then I couldn’t find him. But two days later, just as I was throwing a load of wash into the dryer, there he was, hopping right up to me again, asking to be rescued. And so, Mr. Toad was set free.

This is my life.

And I am an artist.

When I was young, I thought being an artist somehow meant being special. Weird in a good way, extraordinary, or at the very least, different.

But I was young (and therefore somewhat foolish) and if there is one thing that life has taught me, it’s that I am just like everyone else. A perfectly ordinary woman living a tiny little life in a tiny little house.

If you met me at a party, you’d be quite bored. As an introvert, I’m not good at being charming or social, I don’t dress like an artist, I don’t look like an artist, I usually don’t even tell people I am an artist (unless, of course, they ask). I live in a small town in a very rural setting and my life centers around my family, nature and my garden, the seasons, my art. There’s no exciting city or cultural life going on here. In fact, most weeks, I leave my house 3 or 4 times total, and at least two of those excursions involve food shopping. I call myself a hermit as a joke, but the truth is, I’m pretty much a hermit.

Yet here I am, making my living as an artist. I wouldn’t say it’s an easy life, but somewhere along the way, ordinary magic found me–when I wasn’t even looking. I planted a garden and fell in love with the sky. My pencil found its way back to the page. My camera became a daily accessory. These days, I mark the passage of time by charting the seasons, and the friend I speak to most often is a mockingbird. (I could say it’s a cat, but I’m more inclined to call them family).

I spend my days making something from nothing, and there is no other word for that but magic.

A client needs a brochure, and from a jumble of words and thoughts and half-ideas comes the piece they pass on to their customers. I plant a tiny seed, and a few months later I have a flower. A pile of beads and silver becomes a lovely bracelet. A blank screen with a blinking cursor turns into a poem about love and life and supermarket flowers. A camera and a quiet moment become my latest favorite picture. A refrigerator filled with vegetables becomes the perfect pot of soup.

It’s all magic. It’s all so ordinary.

And it’s all art.

I sit outside when I can and listen to the world. Where I live, that means bird song and tractor sound, grasshopper whirs and wind in the poplars, hummingbird wings and toad feet on gravel.

But I am a busybody when it comes to art. There is never enough time and there are always words waiting to be written, weeds needing to be pulled, birds with new stories to tell. I do the best I can to strike a balance, but most days, I wouldn’t say I’ve succeeded. Most days, I work long hours on the work that pays the bills, and just a few on the work of my heart. But I always squeeze that time in, making it part of my daily existence, part of my ordinary, part of who I am. Art is what keeps me whole and centered and I have learned that, for me, there is no other way to be.

Art is life. Not some glamorous, mysterious pursuit. Nor some extraordinary gift. Not something to be kept in a box, only taken out on special occasions.

Art is the rain dripping from the tips of my favorite flower, the steam rising up from my first cup of tea, the pattern of my footsteps on this worn wooden floor. It’s washing dishes and making beds and painting scratched up doors. And it’s showing up, every day, to do the work. Again and again. The work of living.

Life is, indeed, a beautiful adventure. And ordinary magic is everywhere you turn.

In fact, some days it comes hopping right up to you and makes its home there, at your feet.

All you have to do is say, welcome.

(click here to leave a comment and enter to win! bella grace: an ordinary artist - that’s mrs. mediocrity to you)

8 notes

assorted chaos in the realm of reality
the water keeps fighting to get in and i am out of buckets
not learning how to swim feels like a mistake
now
too late for fixing and too soon for proving
but already my feet are wet and the water falls down the steps with a lion-headed roar
the other day you brought sand bags built me a fence to keep the outside out and the inside in
and that was love
these four walls are my haven and my prison
and i paint them all pretty coat them with pictures
but i’m always staring out the windows
at the empty places
in the sky moon harbor my hope sloshes home from
it’s cloudy today and the grey washes in
floating past my knees in a ribbon of revelation on its way to almost forgotten
the hummingbird at my window flies right through the rain her wings turned to jewels by habit
and the hollow fueled echo
of hunger
.
~Kelly Letky .
(via that’s mrs. mediocrity to you)

assorted chaos in the realm of reality

the water keeps fighting to get in
and i am out of buckets

not learning how to swim
feels like a mistake

now

too late for fixing
and too soon for proving

but already my feet are wet
and the water falls down the steps
with a lion-headed roar

the other day you brought sand bags
built me a fence
to keep the outside out
and the inside in

and that was love

these four walls
are my haven and my prison

and i paint them all pretty
coat them with pictures

but i’m always staring
out the windows

at the empty places

in the sky moon harbor
my hope sloshes home from

it’s cloudy today and the grey
washes in

floating past my knees
in a ribbon of revelation
on its way to almost forgotten

the hummingbird at my window
flies right through the rain
her wings turned to jewels
by habit

and the hollow fueled echo

of hunger

.

~Kelly Letky
.

(via that’s mrs. mediocrity to you)

Filed under poetrytuesday poetry spilled ink