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Deep

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?

 

the other side

other side window 2s

Is the other side
in or out?  The illusion
solidifies air.

For Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.  I did a number of monoprints based on the photo, and picked this one, on a paper bag, to stitch and tear.

other side space s

Then I photographed it taped on two different window, and with a bunch of different visions behind the torn part.  These are just some of the explorations…

other side window s

The light shining through the paper really added a golden glow.

other side paper towel s

And the light changes the colors; these were all taken at different times and in at least slightly different places.

other side space close up s

The eyes and the camera both play with the air and light.

Blue (all I want)

blue shell tattoo s

I’ve been to sea before
I’ve been to sky between
I’ve gathered gifts of air
the road under my skin

I’ve asked the why and where
the where of going round
the why of what I seek
the where of why I’m bound

I’m bound to sail away
my mind tells me to roam
but anchors pull my heart
and sing my wandering home

I’ll sing a lullaby
of needle under skin
the waves will help me fly
the spiral shell within

I had been working on this collage, so the dVerse prompt for a song spurred me to finish it.  In our mid-teens, my best friend Alfie and I would play our guitars with the radio on and write our own songs for hours, either at her house or mine, but I haven’t written any lyrics since then.  Where are all those songs now?–I don’t know, although I do strangely remember one, a love song I wrote for her when she had a crush on a boy she met over one summer.

And Joni…this song (and album) are just about perfect.  Always lodged in my brain.

shell tattoo close up s

Alfie and Joni:

Here is a shell for you
Inside you’ll hear a sigh
A foggy lullaby
There is your song from me

Patchwork#2

patchwork #2s

A husband’s work shirt. A daughter’s favorite dress.  A coat worn first by cousins.  The curtains that once caught the air in the kitchen window.

Convergence of scraps
patching together stories
raveled by the past

Lines do not seek verticals or horizontals. Edges founder in imprecision.  Colors speak loudly and urgently.

Each stitch conjures a voice, face,
gesture—a way of being

A bed now comforted with reflection and dreams.

 

I’ve tried another haibun for Colleen’s weekly poetry challenge.  The collage is a piece I found in my old portfolio, dated 1979.  I think it was inspired by seeing the Gee’s Bend quilts.

August 2017

aug 17 grid close up s

particles playing
a confusion of wavelengths
sun water air light

Haiku for Colleen’s weekly prompt.  Summer is winding down.

 

Mask

fire comp 1

In the intersection between
earth and air—in the space between
coming and going, was and to be—

The other side is inverted
consumed created inserted—
energy takes form—threshold, key–

Opposites crushed in collusion–
time transfigured by illusion—
door opening to nobody.

Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above, was the inspiration for my poem and art.  I painted the fire, then cut it into squares, rearranged it, and stitched it together.  The poetry form is nove otto.

fire scan s

I don’t know why, but this photo reminded me of The Crazy World of Arthur Brown.  Is that his hat burning…?

fire comp 2

 

 

 

Headline Haiku: in which endings are both lost and multipled (War is Not Healthy #3)

in which endings are both lost and multiplied close up s

Silence weeps
and eyes refuse sight.
No questions
can be posed,
nor answers given. Light is
erased. Dust and blood.

The news we see now is overwhelmed with US–our own politics are so chaotic and overwhelming that what is going on in the rest of the world seems almost to have disappeared.  This Headline Haiku was done by me months ago, from what seems to have been a different lifetime of everyday concerns and headlines.

But people are still dying in, and fleeing from, Syria.  And the world still seems paralyzed in response.

in which endings are both lost and multiplied s

My two previously posted Headline Haikus about Syria are currently appearing in the exhibit “We the People: Political Art in an Age of Discord” at the Barrett Art Center, in Poughkeepsie, NY.  All the work in the show is posted online here; Trump is definitely there, but not always front and center.

Out of sight
eyes and ears closing
refugees
out of mind
desperate lost abandoned
Is this will divine?

Politics is local, but we are connected in humanity and survival with all the peoples of the world.  We should not forget that.

 

July 2016

july 16 grid s

May your seas harbor
a transparent clarity
that mirrors your heart.

A grid and haiku for summer and July, using Colleen’s prompts for the week.

Shadows #5 and #22

cave shadow brt close up s

5
Angels are
not shadows.  Angels
are vessels,
complex fire
of holy return–lucent
keepers of to be.

cave shadow brt s

22
Dream shadows
into matter.  Breathe
awe into
emptiness,
growing large.  Embrace each cell,
illuminated.

Man caught in the light at the end of the tunnel

My response to Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.  I have been working on a series of shadow-themed shadorma poems (a form I really like and use a lot), and many of them would have served Sue’s photo well.  They are still all in process, but these two may be closer to complete than most.

And in another bit of WordPress crosscurrenting, read Jennifer Knoblock’s wonderful poem “contemplation 9: you stumble”, posted yesterday.

I photographed my stitched paper/collage taped on the window, so the light would shine through the holes I made in the spiral.  Below, how it looks without the sun behind it.

cave shadow blk s

“Both light and shadow are the dance of love.”
–Rumi

Threaded

twilight 1s

On its way
from crimson to blue,
violet bleeds
dusk–verses
threaded through the deep silence
of retreating skies.

Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, below, was the inspiration for my embroidered watercolor and poem.

The land and air have morphed into water I think….