Sunday, August 30, 2015

I'm Lenore Washington






I'm



I'm a bird perched on a swing,

a ladybug wandering

while he waits

for his wings.

On a raft I float, on the moon, I gloat.

I'm on fire.

I'm a dog nestled on a brand new bed,

heading to sleep after being well fed.

I'm a lion who sunbathes in the plains and free spaces.

I bend with the wind, which blows with unannounced faces.

I'm flexible. I'm confident. I'm evening out, like a picnic blanket fresh from the line,

ready for the basket and a nice glass of wine.

I'm a grand piano happy to play.

I'm colorful in spite of the black and the white

world in which some solely see.

I sneak into living rooms and bring

my friends with me.

We make music and paint pictures

and hang them on walls

that wrap their arms around us all.

I'm here with my whole heart,

with my babies and thee.

I love living this life meant

just

for
me.

Tuesday, August 25, 2015

My Dream


My Dream

My dream is to wake every morning,
rested from a night of sweet slumber
Wrapped in crisp, breathable sheets
To these eyes of brown 
And the smile that melts all hearts

It is a dream 
because although I wake 
to the beauty,
it is only in pictures 
that I see the most amazing woman,
and touch the softest of skin

She is shared with the world now
Cancer took her
like she has taken us

We are still allowed to dream, 
laugh, spin, be free

I want to always remember 
the love of life through death
the fragility of it
the complete powerless vulnerability that is breath
the smell of seasons and salt, and fresh cut grass
my dream is to wake, taking all of this in
because she cannot

Now she smiles elsewhere with her healthy body 
and soulful love, always near, but never here

knowing his dream is to wake 
beside her

she follows him where he goes

Saturday, August 22, 2015

Make Love (not war)



i want to buy a sticker
that says,
make love not war,
and I want to cut off
the not war part
and just have it read
make love


Thursday, August 20, 2015

Garden Market

Sketching in Sumner Yesterday with the Urban Sketchers of Tacoma. Great group of people that are very supportive.



Tuesday, August 18, 2015

i wonder



I wonder
if I'll ever be able
to visit the far off places
my family members
once called home

words by Courtney Hanes  and Art by Sandra Moreano

Friday, August 14, 2015

i give you



i give you

today, i give you myself in spring
new, like flowers
bright, like sun
fresh, like grass
happy, like wind

Wednesday, August 12, 2015

I had No Idea


I had no idea
when i removed
my first baby
from my body
before we'd both
had 
a chance to grow
that i'd never ever
be able to put 
another one in again.

Art by Sandra Moreano
Words by Courtney Hanes

Monday, August 10, 2015

The Canvas



The Canvas


I can take colors
and make them change 
like melted butter 
on my skin. 
I’m a dreamer. 
Do not leave me 
and let me pass. 
I have something 
to offer if you stop and ask.
I can take the splatter 
and the mess ups, 
the blended concoctions 
that go all wrong. 
I can look the other way
while you hurry things along. 
I’ll sing to keep myself busy, 
or whisper our private call. 
I’ll wait patiently
while you rearrange me on the wall. 
When you’re satisFied,
I’ll let you look at me,
and when I’m ready, 
I’ll curtsy neatly on the Floor.

By Courtney Hanes

Sunday, August 9, 2015

Mr. Balloon Man




Mr. Balloon Man



Well then, 
what happens after 
you’ve gathered ‘round 
the guests, 
and 
twisted the bulging 
pieces 
to create a blue and purple 
mess 
disguised
as a message
in its own disguise?
Does it bother you that you 
scare the people 
when the colors 
pop
and collide,
and burst with specks of 
spit and residue, 
and fragments,
leaving them splattered with 
broken clown hearts 
and elephant arms?

By Courtney Hanes

Thursday, August 6, 2015

As a Girl



as a girl 
she 
picked daisies
happily lost 
in magical
landscapes of 
green 
streaked 
with birds 
and 
their worms
    but 
when she 
became a 
woman 
she moved to 
the city 
sprinkled with
skyscrapers and 
mocha dreams
   and
traded in 
her horse for 
an old 
model Porsche 
that
sped her away
    leaving behind 
more than 
dusty corridors 
and 
hay

Poetry by Courtney Hanes