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Corvus

corvus s

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.

corvus close up s

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

Centaurus

cnetaurus b s

This image is a monoprint taken from the background painting I did for one of the other celestial haikus, done over some images from something else (I can’t remember what–I often take leftover paint and drip or press it onto paper, thinking I can use it for something, somehow, later)  As I did for Andromeda, I embroidered the constellation on top.

centaurus close up s

You can find the haiku for this image at Pure Haiku, here.

Andromeda

andromeda s

I was honored when Freya at Pure Haiku chose me to be the featured writer for the Celestial Bodies theme.  It turned out to be a double blessing, as it gave me something tangible to do creatively when a member of my family became ill.  He is doing well, but I’m sure most people know the drill with cancer–surgery, and then weeks of radiation and chemo, to be followed by testing and more interventions as needed.

I want to thank everyone for their good wishes, and will try to visit your blogs when I can.  Nina and I both hope to be more present in the coming months.

andromeda close up s

You can find the haiku to go with the illustration above here.  Thanks again Freya!

May Day

stitched blue tondo undone s

Breath held, returning
we rise, dance the beginning
open to the sun.

Spiraling blessings hum wind,
blood lines quickening, bowing.

For Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday, with synonyms for sing and celebrate.  This painting/embroidery is one of the Joan Mitchell inspired pieces I was working on for NaPoWriMo and didn’t finish.  So it’s still in progress.  I will definitely complete this one, but the rest may be put on hold (along with a pile of others…)

stitched blue tondo undone close up s

I’m feeling at loose ends, and I need to put my work space in order so I can find what I’m looking for.  Still many boxes unopened as well.  Time to regroup…but May is starting out with plenty of sunshine!  That feels good.

Calendars

jm 9a comp

ensorcelled by time–
repeating forms, I cross the
signs marking the gap,

the shift from circle to square–
caught on the edges of lines

I’ve used synonyms for Colleen’s words this week, enchant and shape, for my tanka for  NaPoWriMo Day 25.

jm 9a front close up s

The art, inspired by Joan Mitchell’s “Bonjour Julie”, is done on graph paper (at a recent exhibit of Josef Albers’ work I noted that he started with graph paper for some of his work as well).

jm9a in processThis is the way I used to present my sweater designs…marker dots of the various colors to show the pattern.  I decided to cross stitch over this design, and I like the combination of texture and color on both front and back.  And, well, grids…

jm 9a back close up s

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Crossing the Line

jm 3a blk s

My lines are
drawn, but I fail to
remember
convergence,
intersection, obliqueness.
Which side faces out?

I have stepped
between them, under
and over,
dropped, swallowed
and walked them. But where is the
point of no return?

jm 3a stitching close up back s

For Day 23 of NaPoWriMo, we are playing with words.

jm 3a stitching close up s

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Dream Pantoum

jm 5b wht wht flip

Don’t lose the number she said.
Her face contained a message I could not read.
The number blurred and then erased itself in my hand.
Who has stolen the letters of my name?

Her face contained a message I could not read.
The words rearranged themselves into something geometric and alien.
Who has stolen the letters of my name?
She pretended that she had never seen me before.

The words rearranged themselves into something geometric and alien.
Don’t call me that I said.
She pretended that she had never seen me before.
No space would open to hold my configuration.

Don’t call me that I said.
The words stubbornly resisted my efforts to speak over them.
No space would open to hold my configuration.
A stranger took my hand and led me out of control.

The words stubbornly resisted my efforts to speak over them.
I tried to convey the causes of my distress.
A stranger took my hand and led me out of control.
We faded away, farther and longer away.

I tried to convey the causes of my distress.
The number blurred and then erased itself in my hand.
We faded away, farther and longer away.
Don’t lose the number she said.

jm 5b eye s

I love the puzzle of composing a pantoum.  Loosely following the Day 19 NaPoWriMo prompt to compose a poem from a story, I used the dream I had last night just before waking.  I had this stitched magazine face in mind, too, as an accompaniment.  Below is a synopsis of the source for the poem

My Dream

They gave me a name tag and a number. “Don’t lose the number,” they said, but immediately my number blurred and then erased itself.  The name was not my name, but it stubbornly resisted my efforts to mark over it.

I tried to tell the woman who seemed to be in charge that I needed to be called something different, not the letters that formed a sound that belonged to someone else. She pretended not to hear.

Someone took my seat. Someone I was sure I knew acted as if they had never seen me before.

We were supposed to write stories. I could find no notebook, no pencil or pen that belonged to me.

I sat in the back, alone.

A stranger, a tall young man, his face all glasses, took my hand and led me away. I tried to convey my distress; tell him my story.  He smiled and did not answer.

We faded away, farther and longer away.

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jm 5b fading

 Also linking to dVerse open link night.

Autumn (after Joan Mitchell)

jm 5a blk s

I am startled by silence
appearing suddenly, grey, tangled, dense–
all color has fallen away,
hanging by whispers to sharp edges and desolation.

I reach for wind–
carry me to fields where sun
returns blue to sky,
calls trees to green.

The NaPoWriMo prompt for Day 18 was to take lines from a poem (backwards, from last to first) and write a response to each line to make your own poem.  Since I have been using the art of Joan Mitchell as inspiration this month, I was pleased to find that she had published a poem, “Autumn”, in Poetry Magazine.  You can read it here.

 

(the sound of dripping)

jm 6c blk s

The night was
percussive, breathing
bellows that
mimicked the
humming of the wind, leafless
branches clapping hands–

jm 6c close up 3s

undreamed hours
counted in measures
unsigned, un
requited,
unoblivioned—sounding
still with unsilence–

jm 6c close up 2s

doubled bass
drumming in discord,
thundering
dark into
unarranged song–restless air
on endless replay

jm 6c close up 1s

NaPoWriMo Day 16 asks us to think about playing.  The weather is definitely playing with me today.

When I walked into my work room I was greeted by the sound of dripping…all over my drawing table, all my work and scribbled notes there soaked.  Not surprising that the roof would leak…the wind and rain in the last 12 hours are worse than all the nor’easters we’ve had this year combined.

Not surprising that the internet is cranky, too, but at least the computer didn’t also get wet.  I’ve passed through anger and despair to resignation.  They say they will come and look at the roof when it stops raining.  In the meantime I cranked up the heat and there is paper spread out everywhere…

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At Sixes and Sevens

jm1b blk s

“Don’t walk under any ladders,
don’t break any mirrors,
don’t spill any salt,
and don’t walk by any black cats.”
–advice for Friday the 13th

jm1b stitching s

Will climbing the sky
undo the journey below–
open the passage?

Can the crossing be
repaired?  Riven, it shatters
both inside and out.

jm 1b mandala back s

Gather the scattered,
the lost, the unfortunate–
season with healing.

Fly with the circle
of thirteen moons—returning
as both dark and light.

jm 1b mandala s

The prompt for day 13 of NaPoWriMo involved playing with a familiar phrase.  I decided to go with superstitions, it being Friday the 13th.  They all have interesting histories,  but I was especially taken with salt as a covenant of friendship.  It was once rare and precious, as friendship always is.

jm 1b wht s

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