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naked heart faded s

gather, opening
raw lost lines
like threads of light unraveled–
heart silent, naked.

Sarah Connor at dVerse asked us to consider love tokens, and featured photos of tokens left by mothers at the London Foundling Hospital in the 1700s.  Of course the use of textiles appealed to me, but the heartbreak of having to leave your child in the hands of others, with only a glimmer of hope that someday you would be reunited, will not easily fade from my thoughts.


Art in Skin Haunt

I have two pieces of art in “Skin Haunt”, Issue 3 from Hematopoiesis Press.  My thanks to Cosi Nayovitz for including my work in this beautiful publication.

You can read the issue here:

My work is here:
and here:

I address a photo from 1955


You are less
than I remember,
and more than
I forget–
I superimpose myself
like a mask of light.

I’m not really sure this satisfies the dVerse prompt to write a letter, but I immediately thought of the stitching and Photoshop layering I had done using some childhood photos, trying to make a composite of is and was.


Three in Winter 2018 issue of Scribebase


You can see my poems and artwork and read the entire issue here.


pathways 1s

pathways magnetic

my wild roots wander,
longing to breathe blue into
green, seed into wind,

beneath the moon growing full–
yearnings climbing air and light

I consulted the Oracle with Colleen’s words this week in hand.  I tried to go in one direction, but, as usual, the Oracle knew where she wanted to go, and went there, taking me along.  The art is part of a larger piece “in process”–but it seemed to fit the words.


That Which Hath Wings

spiral crows 2s

“Curse not the king, no, not even in thy thoughts, and curse not the rich in thy bedchamber; for a bird of the air shall carry thy voice, and that which hath wings shall tell the matter.” –Ecclesiastes 10:20

Black is for nothing
waiting—shadow bird, mirrored
particles of air

of skies that open
wings, hold inside the absent
voice that shatters all

which is, which becomes,
which hath grown darkness—veiled words
becoming matter—

Nothing is waiting,
nothing sings but the silence.
All is black on black,

formless, flying on
feathers’ breath, and all shall be
now and forever

nothing nothing no
thing nothing nothing nothing
nothing nothing no

cries no conjuring–
every thing zeros falls in
to black as black is–

Frank Tassone’s Haikai Challenge this week is “Raven”.  I have many a crow poem and many pieces of crow art in some form of completion, and this is a poem I’ve been worrying for awhile.  I changed its form recently from a series of shadormas to haikus.  I think the shorter stanzas are better.  But it’s still a work in progress.

Yesterday I was walking on 153rd Street, which borders Trinity Cemetery, and I heard some crows–then many many crows–looking up, a murder, circling and calling against the blue sky.  I haven’t seen that in the city before.  And I thought, well, I have artwork for that too.

What it signified I don’t yet know.

More Crossed Letters

stitched words claudia s

Well the rain rain falls
all morning up on the roof
out of mind (mind) (mind)

You may remember that Claudia McGill and I did a collaboration with writing, and I said I would do some stitching over the final project to add another layer.  After a delay with running out of the embroidery floss I was using and my generally slow pace of stitching, the results are above.  I took Claudia’s words from her deconstructed poem and made a kind of haiku from them, and then cross-stitched most of it on the writing.

stitched words claudia back s

I really like the way the “wrong” side of cross-stitched makes mysterious patterns in an unknown graphic language, so that’s the side that shows up over the writing.  But it looks nice on its own as well (as you can see, I used the back of a paper from an old sweater design for my original letter–no paper goes to waste in my artistic pursuits!)  Here’s how it looked before I stitched it:

me claudia 2s

Nina and I are both overwhelmed with life at the moment, so we are again suspending our posts until we can actually make a regular creating time.  But I will still be checking in when I can to see what everyone’s up to.



box s

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

that spiral into
hidden and
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.
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.

box close up s

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).


cave window s

The end appears, a double crossing tide
in empty light that does not shine but burn
as rain like needles pierces deep inside

Along the bleeding walls no place to hide
from chanted words the mind must now unlearn
the end appears, a double crossing tide

Eyes close and claim the tears that might have cried
all motion paralyzed against return
as rain like needles pierces deep inside

no voices call, no soul appears as guide
emotion gathers tight, afraid to yearn
the end appears, a double-crossing tide

a barren river, unrelenting, wide,
unnavigable, cursed through aft and stern
as rain like needles pierces deep inside

the past decays, erased, annulled, denied
impossible to conjure or discern
the end appears, a double crossing tide
as rain like needles pierces deep inside

I did this awhile ago (last spring) for Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.  I was reminded of it because I just entered the art in a competition.  I’ve had nothing but rejections for quite awhile but hope springs eternal as they say.  The first photo I did was on the window with light shining through.  The other two were done on black and white grounds.  Each has its own feeling.

cave blk s

I think Nina and I were on blog break at the time, and it also took me a really long time to do the embroidery.  I also worried the poem, revising and re-revising.  (It could use more work.)

cave wht s

The poem is obviously some kind of formal verse, but I didn’t write down what, and I don’t remember…perhaps someone recognizes it?