Dream Pantoum

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Don’t lose the number she said.
Her face contained a message I could not read.
The number blurred and then erased itself in my hand.
Who has stolen the letters of my name?

Her face contained a message I could not read.
The words rearranged themselves into something geometric and alien.
Who has stolen the letters of my name?
She pretended that she had never seen me before.

The words rearranged themselves into something geometric and alien.
Don’t call me that I said.
She pretended that she had never seen me before.
No space would open to hold my configuration.

Don’t call me that I said.
The words stubbornly resisted my efforts to speak over them.
No space would open to hold my configuration.
A stranger took my hand and led me out of control.

The words stubbornly resisted my efforts to speak over them.
I tried to convey the causes of my distress.
A stranger took my hand and led me out of control.
We faded away, farther and longer away.

I tried to convey the causes of my distress.
The number blurred and then erased itself in my hand.
We faded away, farther and longer away.
Don’t lose the number she said.

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I love the puzzle of composing a pantoum.  Loosely following the Day 19 NaPoWriMo prompt to compose a poem from a story, I used the dream I had last night just before waking.  I had this stitched magazine face in mind, too, as an accompaniment.  Below is a synopsis of the source for the poem

My Dream

They gave me a name tag and a number. “Don’t lose the number,” they said, but immediately my number blurred and then erased itself.  The name was not my name, but it stubbornly resisted my efforts to mark over it.

I tried to tell the woman who seemed to be in charge that I needed to be called something different, not the letters that formed a sound that belonged to someone else. She pretended not to hear.

Someone took my seat. Someone I was sure I knew acted as if they had never seen me before.

We were supposed to write stories. I could find no notebook, no pencil or pen that belonged to me.

I sat in the back, alone.

A stranger, a tall young man, his face all glasses, took my hand and led me away. I tried to convey my distress; tell him my story.  He smiled and did not answer.

We faded away, farther and longer away.

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Procreate for iPad

I’ve been hearing about the Procreate app for a while. I downloaded it the other day on my new iPad. I couldn’t really understand it. My daughter looked at it and said it’s a lot like Photoshop. Anyway, she created this image out of art that was on the iPad. How, I don’t know. But she said she would help me figure it out. I’ve seen some great work done on this app so I hope she can help me. Again (disclaimer) this work is by my daughter, not me, but she gave me permission to post it!

Autumn (after Joan Mitchell)

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I am startled by silence
appearing suddenly, grey, tangled, dense–
all color has fallen away,
hanging by whispers to sharp edges and desolation.

I reach for wind–
carry me to fields where sun
returns blue to sky,
calls trees to green.

The NaPoWriMo prompt for Day 18 was to take lines from a poem (backwards, from last to first) and write a response to each line to make your own poem.  Since I have been using the art of Joan Mitchell as inspiration this month, I was pleased to find that she had published a poem, “Autumn”, in Poetry Magazine.  You can read it here.

 

An Oldie

I came across this painting I had given to my sister. It is quite old although I don’t know the exact date. It is inscribed “to Jane with all my love”. My sister was my biggest fan; she always said when she retired she’d be my agent. I wish she had lived to accomplish that goal.

I’ve always liked drips and this is an early example. I think it’s straight watercolor. Another gloomy day in NJ but the daffodils and forsythia are blooming. Spring: soon!

Endlessly

dusk to dawn blkForever between today and tomorrow, suspended in presence. Infinite darkness mingling with perpetual light, like shadows photographing a mirror.

At first the beginning is closer than the end. Suddenly the finish has left the start far behind.

What is the measure of now? Who can hold the moving hand, the cell dividing again and again?  Where does the universe locate the particle that waves as it disappears and reappears on its random path?

Who can draw the map that connects never with always?

The remainder of
dusk meeting dawn.  What mortal
can enter the stars?

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For Day Seventeen of NaPoWriMo, I’ve done a haibun for the dVerse prompt, Lingering Day.

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(the sound of dripping)

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The night was
percussive, breathing
bellows that
mimicked the
humming of the wind, leafless
branches clapping hands–

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undreamed hours
counted in measures
unsigned, un
requited,
unoblivioned—sounding
still with unsilence–

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doubled bass
drumming in discord,
thundering
dark into
unarranged song–restless air
on endless replay

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NaPoWriMo Day 16 asks us to think about playing.  The weather is definitely playing with me today.

When I walked into my work room I was greeted by the sound of dripping…all over my drawing table, all my work and scribbled notes there soaked.  Not surprising that the roof would leak…the wind and rain in the last 12 hours are worse than all the nor’easters we’ve had this year combined.

Not surprising that the internet is cranky, too, but at least the computer didn’t also get wet.  I’ve passed through anger and despair to resignation.  They say they will come and look at the roof when it stops raining.  In the meantime I cranked up the heat and there is paper spread out everywhere…

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on tides

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to be weight
less, sparkling colors
in water
or air, caught
ungrounded and threaded with
invisible light

My post for Day 15 of NaPoWriMo–better late than never I guess (wordpress has not been cooperative this morning either)–is inspired by Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.  I went off the edge of the page for my response.

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Gouache Resist-Failure

Yes, it looks okay but artists, check your ink before you do a gouache resist!

The gouache underpainting before inking. The idea of the resist is that the Higgins Black Magic ink will stay on the white paper and the gouache will stay-fading a bit in the process but giving a cool look.

Painting over the gouache. Unfortunately I did not check the ink. It was Higgins but not the right kind, just regular India ink.

As you can see, the black ink washed off. Darn! I’ve done this before. What to do? I promised Kerfe I’d post something today. Only way to save it was to paint the background in so I did. I will try another one of these this week and will be more careful this time!

Tea with the Oracle

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tea with the Oracle

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teacup spilling clouds
of moon fruit–
tendriled secrets
from rivers of flowers–
thick with the wild longing
of animal song wandering
through birdwind

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Today for NaPoWriMo Day 14 we are dreaming–who better to consult than the Magnetic Oracle?

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At Sixes and Sevens

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“Don’t walk under any ladders,
don’t break any mirrors,
don’t spill any salt,
and don’t walk by any black cats.”
–advice for Friday the 13th

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Will climbing the sky
undo the journey below–
open the passage?

Can the crossing be
repaired?  Riven, it shatters
both inside and out.

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Gather the scattered,
the lost, the unfortunate–
season with healing.

Fly with the circle
of thirteen moons—returning
as both dark and light.

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The prompt for day 13 of NaPoWriMo involved playing with a familiar phrase.  I decided to go with superstitions, it being Friday the 13th.  They all have interesting histories,  but I was especially taken with salt as a covenant of friendship.  It was once rare and precious, as friendship always is.

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