Tag Archives: angel

Angel on the Auction Block

Frances Loretta. Started in 1997, signed in 2004. Oil on hand-stretched canvas. No prints available. 13×19”.


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I WILL KEEP DANCING: Grace. Happy Mother’s Day to my little boy.


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Filed under and angels, art, books, children, cool stuff, diary, duality, dysfunction, enlightenment/spirit, existentialism, film, imperfection, life, love, mental illness, MUSIKKKKK, nature, people, photography, poetry, random, sadness, saints, saints, sinners, and angels, sinners, stupidity, The Good Life, Uncategorized

2014 in Review: Saints and Sinners (janice j. cunningham)

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2014 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

The concert hall at the Sydney Opera House holds 2,700 people. This blog was viewed about 8,600 times in 2014. If it were a concert at Sydney Opera House, it would take about 3 sold-out performances for that many people to see it.

Click here to see the complete report.

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No GOODBYES. See you again, my friend. (For Stephanie C. Havran. 10/17/83 – 7/24/2014. I miss you so much, mama.)

i love you, always. xox Jaybird

i love you, always.
xox Jaybird

I lost one of my best friends last night.
I feel like I am swimming underwater.
She was only 30,
and left behind a 12 year old little boy who adored her.

She was a beautiful, brilliant, shiny soul —
who could not get past the broken part of her that hurt so
badly with the mental/emotional torment that many uber-intelligent people
We read the same books, listened to the same music, wore
the same kind of clothes, both loved David Foster Wallace
and swimming and trees, art, writing, and BOOKS BOOKS BOOKS.

She invited me over to swim a few days ago and I
was busy. The grief I feel at not having gone is
unfathomable. I hate myself for this.
I will never see her sunshiny blond head and shy smile

I watched her try so hard, and grow, and bloom…
I was wearing her clothes this morning when I found out.
She was a recovering anorexic who gave me heaps of her “skinny clothes” —
just five days ago.
(I told her I was glad that at least SHE did not fit into them, and then laughed sarcastically at my morbid self-deprecation.)
She said she prayed for me every day and gave me a hug.

SHe ALWAYS gave me a hug hello, and goodbye.

If you love someone dearly, please make sure you tell them today.
Give them a hug too. Ask them how they are…
how they REALLY are.

You just never know when they
will gave you the last

Rest in peace, Stephanie, dear friend.
I hope you finally have found peace.
You are loved and will be missed by so many.

I will write to you in my journal later. I know you will read it, and I know you heard me when I cried in the woods today. My arm hairs stood up. I love you.
I will NOT say goodbye.

I will say,simply,

See you again.


Filed under enlightenment/spirit, existentialism, film, life, love, MUSIKKKKK, people, sadness, saints, sinners, and angels, Uncategorized

A Poem for Papa (教皇的一首诗)

To honor single mothers everywhere who CHOSE LIFE:

A Poem for Papa (教皇的一首诗).

Your little one says, “Thanks, Mama.”

Happy Mother’s Day.


A single mom sans child. ❤


Filed under art, children, diary, duality, enlightenment/spirit, existentialism, life, love

painted into ether (she never DID find that reason)

She found a pristine paintbrush and painted her half of the portrait out, easily and without any thought.  In its stead, she painted an azure cloudless sky.  And three white rabbits, one sitting on his shoulder.  His strange, absent gaze fell upon the creature now instead of upon her upturned nose.

In the sky, where clouds might have have been floating aimlessly by on any given day, she scrawled two simple words in violet cursive:

Good Bye.

She caught a fleeting whiff of fresh cut lilacs, turned her back on the painting , and walked into the waning sunlight of an early summer evening, extinguishing a white candle on her way.

Free from the confines of desire, she happily hopped far, far away. (THE JIG OF LIFE, one half of diptych. 8×10, oil on canvas. 2012.)

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To a Fatherless Son

This makes my heart swell with love, joy, pride of mama-hood,

and sadness for an innocent little elf who deserves so, so much more.


God bless you, William James Maxwell Cunningham.

You are my everything.

I will never, ever abandon you — and I will give you every iota of my heart and soul

as long as I am alive

on this earth.

♥ ♥ ♥


Mommy xoxoxox


Cleveland, Ohio.





You will be aware of an absence, presently,

Growing beside you like a tree,

A death tree, color gone, an Australian gum tree —

Balding, gelded by lightning — an illusion,

And a sky like a pig’s backside, an utter lack of attention.

But right now you are dumb.

And I love your stupidity,

The blind mirror of it.  I look in

And find no face but my own, and you think that’s funny.

It is good for me

To have you grab my nose, a ladder rung.

One day you may touch what’s wrong

The small skulls, the smashed blue hills, the godawful hush.

Till then your smiles are found money.

Sylvia Plath        26 September 1962

i love you, my firstborn and only son. You are a shiny soul.

even angels need to close their eyes sometimes.

my cooking buddy.

shiny shiny soul

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Filed under children, cool stuff, diary, love, nature, photography, Uncategorized

SYLVIA PLATH – Mad Girl’s Love Song. (Set to her poem ARIEL.)


Stasis in darkness.
Then the substanceless blue
Pour of tor and distances.

God’s lioness,
How one we grow,
Pivot of heels and knees!–The furrow

Splits and passes, sister to
The brown arc
Of the neck I cannot catch,

Berries cast dark

Black sweet blood mouthfuls,
Something else

Hauls me through air—-
Thighs, hair;
Flakes from my heels.

Godiva, I unpeel—-
Dead hands, dead stringencies.

And now I
Foam to wheat, a glitter of seas.
The child’s cry

Melts in the wall.
And I
Am the arrow,

The dew that flies,
Suicidal, at one with the drive
Into the red

Eye, the cauldron of morning.

Mad Girl who loves anyway and writes poems. (Me, hehe. Nov 2011)


Filed under art, books, cool stuff, imperfection, life, love, people, poetry, sadness, Uncategorized

Out of the Ether, Into My Bones

everything is arbitrary now,

you see.

i am grateful for

the small accidents:

a broken china cup.

spilled white sugar.

a burned fingertip, a razor

nick, a

blown-out bulb.

these things force me

out of the ether and into

my bones

make me BE, Jesus


just where i am

planted in the earth.      it hurts

it hurts.     the salt of the

earth, it hurts.

this salt of the earth

is dangerous

to tender slugs born sans armor


i am still


jjc 1.20.11


Filed under art, diary, poetry


Per Mia Dolce William James (dall’estate 2009)

Mia dolce William,
L’estate sta scivolando da subdolamente, con un vuoto lasciato tra le mie braccia dove hai utilizzato per essere costantemente. Un’altra Domenica trascorso sul ponte, inutilmente lettura di 2 anni arretrati vecchia di Newsweek e resistenza (non sempre con successo) la voglia di e-mail di tuo padre sui danni che ha fatto.
Tutto ciò che fa male così acutamente. Vedendo gli altri ragazzi del bambino seduto nel seggiolino per bambini dei carrelli della spesa a Pathmark. Annunci Magazine per la formula di bambino. Il tuo cappello piccolo dom denim, ora troppo piccolo per la testa, sdraiato tristemente in panchina pianoforte.

Più tardi …

E ‘quell’ora magica, quando il fiordaliso azzurro del cielo comincia a girare sempre in modo leggermente rosa e, come sempre, sto pensando a te, figlio mio dolce. Ancora una volta la piscina per bambini ha accumulato una collezione pietosa di foglie e insetti ribelle, che, pensando che può fare un tuffo veloce, ha incontrato la loro prematura scomparsa. Le lucciole stanno appena iniziando a lampeggiare con orgoglio i loro gruppi ottici posteriori e vorrei poter mostrare loro a voi. Ma tu non sei qui, e qui mi siedo – potatura mia pianta di basilico su qualcun altro … e di nuovo ponte a guardare le formiche senza meta, mentre meandri che desiderano fossi uno di loro. Oh, se non altro per non sentire nulla.

Il sole sta calando, e stanno crescendo troppo buio per vedere quello che sono scarabocchi. Sto piangendo, desiderio di abbracciarti e non lasciarti andare.


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