Art, Uncategorized

BlackHole (Oil)

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Art, Poetry, Uncategorized

KA DOORS

KA DOORS—Ann’s 2016 Christmas Poem
[Ka (pronounced kah) is a spiritual entity believed to live within the body during life and to survive it after death. The ka and ba were spiritual entities everyone possessed.]

Egyptian mythology knew ba and ka,
and so do we who mind-wander
beside carved doors touching memories
as real as hieroglyphs in tombs.

Ka doors were false, opening only to the gods.
Weak-kneed and grieving, you held me up by the ka door more than once.
I am grateful for those of you who stayed, some for a lifetime.
My leaded glass door is hinged; “Come on by, y’all.”

If it is true that ka can be passed with a hug,
the Southern life suits enthusiasts willing their life force
into family, friends and kindred spirits.
Personal space exists for the lonely.

My west, front door is blue—fen shui incorrect.
Like the Irish rebels who refused to paint their doors black,
I love opening my blue door to my ka-hugging friends
who sing, laugh, love children, and live passionately.

New friends, I only have one rule in my home—
display good will or leave; the greatest betrayal is to be unkind.
Expressive, barefoot, and existentially relevant memories thrive in my NOW.
I chisel one hieroglyph in my ka door—thanks.

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Art, Jazz, Music, Poetry, Uncategorized

JAZZ

i can lie
in my head
on the silk
sheets of sound
i’m the sax
metal cold
searched by hands
feeling gold
valves release
sounds escape
improvised
notes on fire
tongue on reed
speak to me
wordlessly
openly
made to dance
ev’ry pore
and my ears
blue notes see
oh the force
of the rush
on the silk
sheets of sound

Poet, Ann Everett Hendrix

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Art, CASA, Children, Uncategorized

CASA Child

With all the noise from neglectful or abusive parents, caregivers, attorneys, judges and teachers, how can a child hear their own thoughts over the sound waves bombarding their senses?  Throw in emotions and fragile dreams.  Breaking through all the noise to be heard is overwhelming and requires the bravest of young souls.  Root for children without voice!  Vote!  Volunteer!  Speak kindly!

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Aging, Art

JUMP!

I had a recurring dream when I was eight or nine.  My favorite aunt, Aunt Mamie, was endlessly parachuting to earth with her skirt flared out mid-air.  She never crashed, but I woke up in a panic, terrified for her.  Aunt Mamie was a feminist before the word was in our lexicon.  She was a chiropractor who refused to be called “Miss Fry” and insisted on the designation “Dr. Fry.”  I loved her most in my world because she served me mints in my hot tea, held me in her lap to read adult poetry, repaired my teddy bear, made me earn my game wins, and always seemed proud of me.  Now I am older than she was when she showed me such respect and love.  I’m not afraid anymore, so I think it is okay for her (and me) to jump.

Jump 2_edited

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