November 2021

what carries the truth?
wind scattering fallen leaves–
fragile, decaying

October 2021

fallen leaves
the crunch of footsteps
clear blue sky

reflecting the rain
changeable skywind spatters
colors patterned light

full moon of autumn appears
leaves too soon amidst hopes of endless harvest
fragments linger, gold glittering

stars remember every invisible map
imprinted on the approaching dark
paradigm

earth saturated with bonfires and bones

Two haiku and a sevenling for October and Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday theme, suggested by Franci Hoffman, the harvest moon. The photos are of September’s full moon traveling across the southern sky outside my window. In the first one, it’s half reflected on the window pane.

The artwork is the first page, front and back, of a handmade paper journal I bought on Etsy. I bought three, one each for myself and my sisters-in-law, as we all have great intentions to do art journals–and hopefully this will get us going. I painted the page, and stitched over the front with a technique I’ve been wanting to try. Since the color bled through the paper, I did a small autumn grid on the back.

Happy October!

July 2021 with blue door

let yourself be
enchanted with each moment
as it appears

July makes me long for the ocean, so my grid is composed of ocean doors. But I also found a blue house door into the garden level of a brownstone that makes me think its owners are reminding themselves too every day of the sea.

You can join Thursday Doors here.

June 2021

long green days
open like roses
like fresh dreams

fragrances whispered
into clear blue skies

That’s my hope for June anyway.

when skies tendril (May 2021)

It’s May! I haven’t done any artwork for a month, having used art from the archives for my April NaPoWriMo posts at kblog. So it felt good yesterday to ignore the moving boxes and pull out my watercolors and paint. I did two paintings, below–a landscape and some impressionistic flowers.

I then cut them into one inch strips and wove them together for my grid. I also did some further experiments, cutting some of the strips into one inch squares and arranging them in different ways. But that’s for another day with more time to think.

The moon visited me at dawn yesterday. It was dancing with the clouds. The Oracle managed to insert it into my May verse. Well we know how She feels about the moon.

wild winds grow full
of flowers
listen to Maysongs
birds seeding spring air
with gardens rooted deep
in the fertile paths
that follow the wandering moon

April 2021 (Renewal)

the seed waits, dreaming–
colors pulse in liquid sound
spirit overflows

This is a reprisal of my April 2015 grid with a new poem for Colleen’s #TankaTuesday, haiku/senryu. The collage and original haiku were inspired by Monet’s waterlilies.

I’m going to continue my monthly grid and draw-a-bird day here, while I will be posting for NaPoWriMo on kblog.

water lilies: green
creeping, imperceptible,
suddenly present

March 2021

what dream is this?  circling
spiralling into form
slipstreamed fertile reborn
continuous

Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday theme is dreams, so I’ve written a variety of dream poems for March, a dreamy month I think. I’ve interspersed some of my previous March grids.

in March I
ruminate return
remember
rains that be
come sun-dappled spring—shining,
blooming with birdwings

dreams become
part of the landscape
filling in

colors
begin to dance
with waves of light, singing
sun into roots, filling
my nights with dreams
of dawn

Poetic forms are, in order, abhanga, shadorma, haiku, badger’s hexastitch.

February 2021

are the days
moving on, circling
back, slipping
through?  or are
they giving up, slowing down,
following the un

seen astride
the invisible
vibrations
of tidings reaching for shore
lines that aren’t there–echos of
places remembered,

emerging
from folds of pages–
not maps, but
renderings
sparkling against the stardust
of reflected nights–

between here
there and then not now
conclusions
masquerade
as omens—uncaught, eddied
by prevailing winds

For my February grid, another mandala. We are still mired in confusing times. Too many trees, not enough forest.

Sometimes a change of perspective can clarify, or at least calm the stormy seas.

December 2020

all shadow,
this season—sky-rilled,
edged in ice–
overflown
with feathers of darkening–
hovering between

Diane di Prima (1934-2020)

          …we do it for
the stars over the Bronx
that they may look on earth
and not be ashamed.
–Diane Di Prima
from “April Fool Birthday Poem for Grandpa”

I wanted to note the death of Diane Di Prima, a poet, social activist, Buddhist, and teacher.  A native New Yorker, she was a member of the Beat Poets, and moved to California in the 1960’s. I made this grid of the Bronx in April 2015, inspired by her poem, “April Fool Birthday Poem for Grandpa”.

Read an obituary with some wonderful videos of her reading here.

And here is a reading of the entire poem that inspired my grid.