She Was a Friend of Mine

Wendi Winters was one of the five journalists murdered at The Capital, Annapolis, Maryland.

I was driving home when another reporter was being interviewed and he mentioned Wendi’s name. I knew it had to be her: she moved from Montclair to Annapolis around twenty years ago.

We worked together on PTA stuff and I thought she was great: very smart, funny, stylish and substantial. We kept in touch after she moved but I hadn’t heard from her in a while.

I have spent today thinking about men and guns. Why did she have to be there when that maniac walked in? 65 years old with four kids and a good life: gone.

Why, why, why?

Servant in the Palace of Truth

I didn’t think I would have time to post today, but the Oracle was calling, so I’m slipping this in.  I did this drawing of Shabti of Sennedjem the other day.  Her label says she was a servant in the Palace of Truth for Seti I and Ramesses II, and the Oracle definitely had something to say about her.

Actually, we could use her right about now…

Like some elaborate storm
a woman’s arms
cross over the seas
of moons and time
to mend
the bitter and raw shadows
aching
beneath the tongues of blood.

 

Waves

ocean
vast, rhythmic
gathering, devouring, relinquishing
lunar compass that weaves
tides

This didactic cinquain is in response to Colleen’s tanka Tuesday prompt words, give and receive, and Sue Vincent’s photo prompt of waves, below.

My art at the moment is very round. This mandala is watercolor, which was then monoprinted with acrylic, and watercolored again.

Also linked to dVerse Open Link Night.

 

A Couple of Drawings

A stream of consciousness drawing. I just started drawing figures and then gave them all the same face.

A drawing of a woman I work with. I started in pencil but then found a Pilot Rollerball at work and went over it. It kind of resembles her but my husband (with whom I work) didn’t know who it was. Should I show you the photo? Sure, why not.

Yazmin is Dominican and I like her huge eyes and lips. I will have another go at this at work tonight. The night hours are working out well to do some drawing (hope my employers are not reading this however).

Blood From a Stone

My words repeat. Nothing. Your ears are closed like frozen air. You always move away, shrinking me, disappearing me into invisibility.

My words repeat. I am naming flowers. I am calling the names of birds. They remain unretrieved, hesitating on the edges of sound.

My fences are broken. My guard is falling deeper and deeper into the ground. My map shows no return.

Whispering, I stand
trembling with the elements,
my cells unmoored.

The currents swim without me,
expanding the gulf between.

Jilly at dVerse asked for an unconventional haibun this week.  That was easy–all my writing seems somewhat alien to me right now (or maybe my poetry is just always strange and I’m only now noticing it….)

The drawings are from photos of ancient Roman sculptures that have been broken by time. Amazing how much depth and emotion hidden inside the stone was revealed by those artists.

 

by ones and then zeros

“I see today that everyone on earth
wants the answer to the same question
but none has the language to ask it.”
~ Jim Harrison from Songs of Unreason

the words are lost–
rising away,
an invisible phantom
unmapped, unwinged

rising away–
this existence
unmapped, unwinged–
not am or is

this existence,
darkened by stars–
not am or is,
never and nowhere

darkened by stars,
falling like ghosts–
never and nowhere
inside time’s pocket

falling like ghosts–
an invisible phantom
inside time’s pocket–
the words are lost

I’ve been reading some of the responses to Jilly’s Jim Harrison quote prompts, and this quote from Day 21 particularly spoke to my mood these days.  It also seemed to fit with Sue Vincent’s “Wings” photo prompt, above.

My writing muse has been totally absent for awhile, so I’ve just been randomly writing words and phrases in response to things I’ve been reading. Working them into pantoum forms has been an interesting exercise.

The art is watercolor with acrylic monoprint on top.  Not at all what I intended, but I like the calligraphic feel; calligraphy seems a good place for lost words to rest while waiting to be found.

Phoenix

The Phoenix is appropriate to the end of this week of constellation art and haiku.  My life is very unsettled now, and I am really having a hard time focusing, so I’m not sure how and what kind of work I’ll be doing.

But the unknown always has seeds waiting to be scattered on the wind.  Fire destroys, but opens a space for something else to fill.

You can read the words for the Phoenix constellation at Pure Haiku, here.  Thanks again Freya–this was indeed a healing process for me, much needed.

Paterson Armory

The Paterson Armory was a hopping place back in the day. I clearly remember the Pan-American Circus coming to town; my father’s friend was a sponsor and my Dad got to be ringmaster a few times. I still have an elephant tusk which was removed when an elephant had a toothache (or so the story goes). There were lots of other events there as well.

The Armory was a facility of the National Guard as well as being an arena. It was in a state of disrepair and unused for many years. In 2015 it was destroyed by fire despite the efforts of the Fire Department.

Here’s the photo.

Pegasus

This one was like a dream.  Don’t we all want to fly among the stars?

You can see the words that inspired this image at Pure Haiku, here.

Corvus

Like the cry of a crow in the morning, the stars of the constellation Corvus leave plenty of space to fill in with the magic of imagination’s wings.

You can read the words to accompany this image at Pure Haiku, here.