Endings

‘I would that the Boar without bristles had come from the West
And had rooted the sun and moon and stars out of the sky’
—W.B. Yeats, from ‘He Mourns for the Change That Has Come Upon Him And His Beloved, And Longs For The End Of The World’

And what says
Jupiter?  Skies fly
thundering
blinding light,
untamed and all-consuming–
the eagle on fire.

What witness,
what testimony?
What reflects
from the void
of planets and stars?  What then
answers Mother Earth?

Seeds silenced.
The arrogance of
sapiens,
ingrown with
violence.  Sacred oaks seized,
broken, scattered.  Dark.

And so November comes to an end.  Many thanks to Eliot at along the interstice for sponsoring Shadorma November, and to Jane Dougherty for A Month With Yeats, inspiring many a deep thought and plenty of wonderful verse.  December will bring new challenges I’m sure…

Box

Twelve by ten
squared.  Numbered, measured,
one hundred
percent box.
Organizing a piece of
the air containing

mysteries
that spiral into
hidden and
unrealized
spaces.  What remains unseen?
What role could the box

play? Is your
desire the key to
what shivers
inside? Do
you ask for more? more than the
possible, more than

to open?
The Inner Sanctum.
Still.  Waiting.
Surrounded.
Chambered and then nautilused.
Complete or undone?

Inspired by Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above, I took an old poem that has already had several lives and reworked it again.  The only thing that remains constant in all the poem’s versions is the fact that it’s about a box.  The one in Sue’s photo seems both sad and mysterious.

Once again I’ve taken different pieces of the handmade paper I’ve accumulated and stitched it together.

Shadorma November is almost at an end (but not shadormas, for me, anyway).

I’m in Print!

I’m excited that my neighbor used my artwork for her holiday edition box of chocolates. I know I already posted the artwork but forgive me for my lack of humility today–I think this came out great! I always think back to the options I had in art school and if I could do it over probably would have majored in advertising, industrial art or anything I could have made a living at (painting and sculpture does not a career make unless you’re Jeff Koons or Richard Diebenkorn). Anyway Federica’s bonbons are available in a limited edition with my artwork at dolcefederica.com. Apologies for the shameless buzz marketing.

Nothing is Empty

To find the place where words and image meet. To explore the integration of form and content. To refine and expand the old. To wade into and confront the new. To add threads to the weaving of the web, voice and hands singing. To call and to respond.

The circle dances,
the snake becomes a flower–
what is and is not?

dVerse is asking for a haibun about the plans we have for our writing…as you may know, plans are not my forte.  But I have lots of ideas.

The collage is from 1979; in my cleaning I found several portfolios of old work and I’ve started photographing them.  Through the magic of Photoshop, I’ve added a recent watercolor.  The Old always informs the New (and vice versa of course), and may be just as surprising upon rediscovery.  I wish I still had some of that rice paper; I remember it well.

Fly Me to the Moon

the textbook opens to page 13 (for Laura Nyro)

If you could
learn to be lucky–
if you could
hitch pathways
to stars–would the road go on
infinitely, light?

Bottoms fall
out and down with luck,
mirroring
in reverse
the patterns so recently
aligned in those stars.

Why not drink
of sweet blind dumb luck?
Tempt fate to
work its will?
Why not open the gates to
floods of temptation?

Floating boats
on darkened rivers,
out of hands
to lend—out
of sight the treasure map–
out of luck the tide.

 

The birdlings are back…in this case, it’s serendipity.  “The Song Is…” blog has published several of my works inspired by Laura Nyro and Joni Mitchell (the Joni piece appeared here already).  The above poem appears on the blog with a different piece of artwork, but this one was also done for the Laura Nyro theme.

And to prove how much I have always liked and used the shadorma form…also serendipitously for along the interstice and Shadorma November…

 

 

The Door Opens

‘We who still labour by the cromlech on the shore,
The grey cairn on the hill, when day sinks drowned in dew,
Being weary of the world’s empires, bow down to you,
Master of the still stars and of the flaming door.’
—W.B. Yeats  ‘The Valley of the Black Pig’

Once again I’ve consulted the Magnetic Oracle about one of Jane Dougherty’s Yeats quotes–this one from Day Nineteen.  The Oracle zoned right in on the stars and the flaming door.  Of course that’s always compatible with my artistic pursuits as well…

In the shadorma form for Shadorma November.

Stars breathe frost
ancient as soul stones–
deep cold fire,
sacred, dark–
roots that wander wild, leaving
paths seeded with light

 

Random Noise

‘We know their dream; enough
To know they dreamed and are dead;’
–W.B. Yeats from ‘Easter, 1916’

Bleak landscape,
layered grey on grey–
hard, ashen,
featureless.
This mourning has no ending–
uniforms of dust.

A Month with Yeats, Day 24, sponsored by Jane Dougherty.  Shadorma November sponsored by along the interstice.

Trampoline

Down at the Jersey shore they used to have these inground trampoline places. My sister and I had never jumped on trampolines and we used to like going. I found a picture of me jumping with my sister in the foreground.

Here’s the photo probably taken by my father. We’ve been going through a lot of stuff and I continually find myself intrigued by old photos. I went through all my colored pencils and arranged them in color order in two containers; also sharpened them. Colored pencil on black paper is a fun way to draw.

Lake Champlain/Lake Rickabear

In 2001 we were invited up to a fellow singer in a group I was in (The Humdingers. We sang in nursing homes in Essex County, NJ). In a showoffy way I jumped off a dock into the water. I have never felt colder water and I thought I was going to have a heart attack. Recently found a photo someone took of me in the water. I painted and repainted the face four times but couldn’t get the agonized look. Finally decided to cut out my face and paste it on. Ignore the double chin. I was a bit fatter then but the fat did nothing as far as providing insulation.

Strangely my friend texted me a painting I did a lot of years ago. I don’t even remember doing it. It was a lake in Kinnelon where we used to go and take the kids. I guess I like painting lakes!

To all beautiful WordPress friends, I hope you have a lovely Thanksgiving day.

steal away

“Away, come away:
Empty your heart of its mortal dream.”
–W.B. Yeats

arise, fly–

follow the soundings–

radiant
gravities

beyond paths already crossed–

openings unkeyed

Going back to Jane Dougherty’s Day Thirteen of her Month with Yeats for this Shadoma November poem that also uses the Secret Keeper’s words as inspiration.  And more birdlings.

arise, fly–
follow the soundings–
radiant
gravities
beyond paths already crossed–
openings unkeyed

I’m also linking this to dVerse, poems about animal/human connections–don’t we all want to fly?