
Through my open study door, I can see the corridor.
The cats, Geronimo, and Tabby Cat pass by,
independent, yet needy,
they choose to occupy my territory.
The corridor leads in and out,
the smaller exit perhaps,
leading to other possibilities.
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About maskednative
There is a gazebo at the end of the garden. It overlooks the estuary. When the tide is in, sea water pools around seaweed covered rocks. The sound is peaceful, meditative. I drink an early morning coffee, listen to the birds singing morning songs, watch a spider spin his fragile life between timber beams above my head. Even in the harshest of winters, the rise and fall of tides, sun-light on water, movement of sky, cloud, moon and stars, allows an awareness of nature behind the mask of perceived reality. I offer my words and pictures in celebration and gratitude to God, for allowing me a glimpse behind the mask.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Bio: Teri Flynn was born in Wales of Welsh and Irish Parents. Educated in England, she moved to Co.Waterford, Ireland in 1997 where her Poetry has since appeared in “The Turning Tide” – an anthology of new writing from Co.Waterford. “Southward” The Journal of the Munster Literature Centre and “Imagine” The Tallow Writers Group quarterly review. Her poetry appears in “Sticky Orchard”, a group effort with Alan Garvey, Jim O’Donnell and Anthony O’Neill and grant assisted by Waterford County Council’s Arts Grant Scheme. “Listening To The Grass Grow” with Jim O’Donnell and Anthony O’Neill was published by Edward Power at Rectory press and most recently, in ‘Murmurings’, Remembering Anthony O’Neil, with Jim O’Donnell and Alan Garvey.
Her poem Queen Of The Sea was included in the Chesapeake Exhibition at RUH, Bath, 2011. Figurehead Carver, Andy Peters. Photographic display of Ship’s Figurehead Carvings by Richard Sibley – http://www.tallshipsgallery.com
A themed display of her oil paintings and poems entitled Cynefin, were on display in Waterford during The Imagine Festival in 2017. Cynefin-pronounced kuh-nev-in is a Welsh word meaning habitat or place. A place where a being feels it ought to live, where nature around you feels right and welcoming.
I remember this corridor, it leads into the older part of the house….
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Yes, that’s right Rich, the corridor would seem to have another kind of traffic, but it also leads out, through the garage and into the world.
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Ooooh, a lovely gem you’ve crafted here. I admire how you create such a rich world in so few words. No “perhaps” in my mind (although I love the poetic questioning :)) that the smaller exit-in your home, in our souls- leads to other possibilities. Avanti! Thank you, lovely. Xxo
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Thank you ST, you always know what I mean x
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our
transitional
spaces
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fluid dimensions
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