Shannon Marie Lemire
Bio
Writing is a part of who I am; I go between handwritten lengthy journaling to sitting here glued in front of my laptop. As inspiration hits, I write; following the intuitive nudge on what to share.
You'll see many sides of me here.
Enjoy.
Stories (14/0)
Time of Nectar
Dear Heather, Greetings of peace and love. I hope you are well and happy. I am writing from the retreat center where I stayed for the past week. I have been enjoying the serene atmosphere and the spiritual company of fellow seekers. I have also been practicing Amrit Vela every morning, and I wanted to share with you some of the benefits and experiences of this sacred time.
By Shannon Marie Lemireabout a year ago in Poets
Human
Dear Friend, I hope this letter finds you well. I am writing to you from far away, where I have lived for the past few months. I came here to learn more about myself and the world, to experience new things, and to challenge myself. I wanted to share with you some of the things I have learned and felt, and the joys and sorrows of being human.
By Shannon Marie Lemireabout a year ago in Poets
Nature Love
My dearest thunderstorm, You are the most thrilling and captivating phenomenon I have ever witnessed. You fill me with awe and excitement every time you grace the sky with your presence. You are the perfect blend of beauty and power, of light and sound, of calm and chaos.
By Shannon Marie Lemireabout a year ago in Poets
Hope.
Whirling, wet wild winds whispered.
By Shannon Marie Lemireabout a year ago in Poets
A Sandpit and Leather.
It started our night innocently, suggesting a country drive and a walk somewhere. The warm summer air blew through the open sunroof of my white Mazda as he expertly drove through windy back roads; I lit a joint, our conversation flowed, and foreplay began to build. Immersed in the topic, I was chatting as he slowed the car to take a left and park under an alcove of oak trees off the side of the road, and I smiled in recognition of where we were the sandpits- a place both of us knew well; him with riding his dirtbike over the years and me hiking. It was quiet other than a couple of bluejays squawking, and I could smell the fresh scent of the forest. R.S. turned the ignition off and put the seat back to stretch, closing his eyes as he did.
By Shannon Marie Lemireabout a year ago in Filthy
