Nina and I consulted the Oracle together this week. We did our art independently, but the Oracle is always watching.
Now out to look at the blood moon!
Diamond rain crushing
the sky with shadow wind,
bitter like an ache–
Blood singing of moon storms–
languid music so still…
I want an enchanted garden
of madness and mist
to whisper through beauty–
of its travels,
The way is tangled, over
grown. It breathes green—magnified in
scattering space into layers of songs.
Questions shrink calcified, mineralized,
undone and unspoken, visceral,
lost, unsettled by reflection.
All directions are the same.
The heart beats mesmerized,
soundless and riddled
with light, cocooned,
Who/what are we? a mystery.
It’s 4 in the morning, almost December–
each day I return to you hoping you’re better,
New York is a hospital, dying and living,
machines full of numbers, the music of beeping—
Do you dream of your house with its ceilings and stairs?
Are you living inside it now, making unseen repairs?
As your past comes by full of stories and tears,
what you gave what you feared–
all the things left unsaid…
drowning in the unsaid—
Now each day is the first and the last and the always,
no masks to uncover, disguise what the time plays–
We come and we stay and we go meeting only ourselves,
spending fortunes and throwing them away like wishes in wells—
You hand us no thoughts and your eyes gaze beyond,
skipping dreams through the air like stones on a pond—
I see you there still breathing harshly with pain,
what abides, what remains–
will we waken or sleep?
to release or to keep—
Oh what can I tell you, what can I tell you,
what can I possibly say?
All the sorrows forgiven, lost tomorrows now riven,
our lives intersected and frayed…
All is circling round to the center of you–
you can be who you need to be now without fearing the truth—
And thanks for the gifts that you didn’t intend–
thread to bind and to mend—lives I didn’t expect—
And the years collapse spilling stories and tears,
nothing left now to fear–
all the words disappear…
Inspired by William Edouard Scott (above) and Leonard Cohen. The responses to Scott’s painting (which immediately brought to my mind Cohen’s “Famous Blue Raincoat”), can be read here, at The Ekphrastic Review. My thanks to Lorette C. Luzajic for selecting my poem for publication.
Also linking to dVerse, “The Art of Confession”.
The mandala was photographed wet (left) and after drying (right). The mystery and surprises of watercolor.
The first page of the journal Kerfe sent me. The pages are nice and rough. I still don’t have an art space but at least I did a few journal/drawing entries.
He was right outside my window! It was extremely cold with a brisk wind.
I entirely forgot about Draw a Bird day. Just happened to come across a couple of good birds.
And a hawk my friend took outside his house.
I will not forget about February’s Draw a Bird day: a beloved WP tradition.
The sands of time flow
out of the hourglass, and years
fall backwards, crossing
through endings to ways that lead
Neither time nor life
can be saved and spent later–
it is always now
or yesterday retreating,
a hazy remembering,
the details broken
into shreds of brittle bones,
skull lurking beneath
a façade as fragile as
a wine glass, spilling with blood—
All those shiny words
lining flower-strewn pathways–
unvoiced, fallow, mute.
For Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.
Park. No, it’s the dog
us, the song
unsung, tangled and unformed,
a gathered ghosting.
Do you see
the fish, wandering
in thin air?
Molecules abandoned to
trust this unknown space.
conjures shift to where.
What made me think of Prince? Another of life’s mysteries…
Inspired by Colleen’s words this week, a shadorma series of fresh beginnings.
Put it together–
give it wings, luminescence–
send it like a star
joining myth to mystery,
the unkempt shadows of night—
Go, fill it with sound,
ringing and dancing around
the core of the tree—
Mend its beginning, the dark
of the seeded centering—
Release it into
exhalations of wonder,
a netted ceiling
filling the cracked branches with
a shared ancestry of light
For Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above. It goes nicely with my theme today of branches.
see branches growing solid
in the rising light–
the cries of solitary
forms in motion–fleeting, dark
I’ve been drawing the branches outside my window when I wake up. Above is a grid of 9 of them. In the early morning light, the birds are like shadows that come and go.
Another poem about branches and birds, Tess Gallagher’s wonderful “Choices”, can be found here.
Happy Draw a Bird Day!
To say the last month or so has been hectic would be an understatement. My daughter has gotten motivated to clean up the second floor and I’m her assistant. Yesterday we demolished an old couch down to the bone. Oddly satisfying.
Most of this stuff isn’t dated but I’d say around 1968 on most.
1967. Maybe a linoleum print?
So as I have nothing new to post (no art space, stuff stuck in boxes) I thought I’d post some real old stuff.
We watched the Marie Kondo show on decluttering. Very inspiring! The amount of stuff here (books, records, paintings) not to mention clothing which Marie says to take out and pile on the bed. Whatever doesn’t spark joy, you thank and say goodbye to.
It’s different with your own stuff. I guess that’s why I have so much of it.
Best wishes for 2019. I promise to do at least some drawing and hope to be situated with a spot to paint in soon.