Loving Darkness, Sharing Light


There are souls who
illuminate the darkness,
gilding its velvet hues
with rich, golden textures,
and azure accents.
Carving beauty
from the unknown.

~JL ©2015

Today is my birthday.

In my quiet life, I am always so amazed to wake up to a social media storm of well-wishes and many happy returns.
It humbles me.
I happily live in my own introvert bubble, and I lovingly create my own adventures and journeys that suit my whims. I live amongst books, movies, and my own writing and art. I occasionally step out for coffee dates, dinner meet-ups, visits, and the rare small gathering.
So when the universe grants me just a small peek at all of the lovely souls that surround me, I can only say thank you. I simply say a prayer of gratitude. Because we always forget that we touch lives everyday. No matter how quiet or reclusive we can be in our outer worlds, there are still ways that the tendrils of our souls reach out and make connections with others along the path.

I find that is the basis of why I write, and why I have decided to share what I write with others. I want to reach out of my safe place, and touch your hand, my dear readers. I want to communicate in the best way I know how; from my heart and using the voice of poetry. This is how I give back to all of the love I recieve. This is how I find beauty in the darkness and transform it into light.

I hope these offerings bring you something you need.
I love every one of you.

“The poetry of the earth is never dead.”
~John Keats

Divine Poetry


“Do you know what you are?
You are a manuscript oƒ a divine letter.
You are a mirror reflecting a noble face.
This universe is not outside of you.
Look inside yourself;
everything that you want,
you are already that.”
― Rumi

How many times in my life have I struggled with communicating with the divine?
How many nights have I sat in meditation and stillness with the prayer to open my heart wider, and wider still?

Then the light inside my heart reminds me that, for myself, poems are the codes to the vast universe. They are the very key to unlocking each and every door in my heart.
There are so many poets who hold the sacred keys; too many for me to list and touch upon. I will share these:
Alice Walker is the language of the earth, her words like honey and soil glowing in the southern California sun.
John Keats is the realm of the imagination, a fairy’s child spinning webs of pure beauty and innocent adoration.
Pablo Neruda is the sultry essence of the body, tactile and trembling, an erotic dance of passion and loss.
Whitman’s poems are the cries of the human spirit, echoing in the darkness for love, for freedom, for the right of self!
And Rumi’s poems are the very voice of the prophet. The gold and silver light woven into the tapestry of the cosmos. Always touching the face of spirit with a trembling hand, he carries the message back to us with poems of ecstatic joy.

Reading Rumi
I am always
that the gift of 
is the language of 

For the Love of Keats

“I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the Heart’s affections and the truth of the Imagination.”
― John Keats

keats portrait


One of the most powerful experiences I had while traveling in England last November, was the opportunity to visit Keats House in Hampstead Heath. P1010013
His work has always been a powerful inspiration to me, and his brief life and history has forever moved me.
When approaching the house, after a brief walk from the tube station, my friend Dee and I found ourselves in what appeared to be just a beautiful, small residential neighborhood. It was then I realized, this makes sense, because this is what sprang up around the house as time passed. We are all fortunate that people thought to preserve this magical spot. For it was here that John fell in love with Fanny. And it was under a tree in this very yard, that he sat and wrote Ode to a Nightingale.

Upon entering the house, I was touched by the simple beauty and quiet reverence of the place. A tour was about to begin, led by a delightful man who obviously loved Keats as much as those who came to see the house. He led us through the rooms with stories, and made the experience even more pleasurable with his knowledge and enjoyment of his task.
At the end of the tour, he led us into a parlor room that was built after Keats had gone. He then proceeded to recite a couple of his poems.
And I admit, I wept, and without shame.
You see, nothing could have convinced me when I first read Keats over 25 years ago, that I would  standing there listening to his words in the very same dwelling where he wrote them nearly 200 years prior.
I felt I had brought the ghost of my younger self to the very source of my passions. I had fulfilled an unspoken promise, and it healed a place inside of me that I may not have known was damaged.
Keats words have always brought me joy. I am so blessed to have been able to visit the place of their source.

For the Love of Keats

In the flicker of a brief moment,
you came into this space
with the gift of words
and the realization of mortality.
You entered the very chambers
of our hearts with the vivid starlight
of your imagination,
with the bitter-sweet poetry
of your tender love,
and with the tragedy
of your brief existence.

Thank you for your life,
for the very breath of your words,
for the beating of your delicate heart.
The beauty you admired
is forever made immortal
by the ink onto your page.
Your memory is eternal.


I find that I cannot exist without poetry—without eternal poetry.
-John Keats

Links to Keats House website and Facebook page: