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Headway

23 names for snow s

My skull is clouded, mute. My eyes can’t penetrate the storm of fog.  I wake at night with brain burning–not red fire, but an uncomfortably warm, rough, choking smoke.  There seems to be no ending; the black and white video merges into exaggerations of grey.  All maneuvers lead back into themselves.  I am ill with unease.

Trees stand leafless, calm.
Earth is soaked in melting snow–
awash in waiting.

 

An old collage, but I think it works well with the grey-themed haibun, done for dVerse.  I also used word prompts from Colleen and the Secret Keeper.

Enough

red rain mandala s

Instead of your child,
alive, we are sending you
our thoughts and our prayers.

For dVerse, brevity.

From One to the Next

lunation s

Like a murmuring moon,
my lunation turns and repeats,
always unfinished.

As indistinct as air–
unbroken darkness veiled
in expanding light.

Before and after become lost–
the shifting rhymes
remain untamed.

The edge waxes and wanes.
The colors blend and unrainbow–
silent, dazzled, unforeseen.

lunation close up s

A quadrille for dVerse (murmur), which also includes this week’s words from the Secret Keeper.  It was also inspired by Frank Tassone’s hazy moon challenge, although I’m not sure these verses meet any real criteria for haiku.

Sanctuary

sanctuary s

The day is grey
along the way
forever dying

I don’t know why
but somehow I
just feel like crying

The day is leaving
and it’s deceiving me

No one is near
to stop the fear
within me growing

That moments past
are all my last
without me knowing

The day’s been taken
and it’s forsaking me.

I wrote that song as a teenager caught in the aloneness and isolation of my adolescent angst. Self-indulgent?  Yes.  But that grey world was often very real to me.  It seems strange that a young life so full of possibility would get caught in such a spiraling web of hopelessness.

Of course I’ve never stopped having my moments of self-doubt and gloom. I spent much of 2017 in an intense and draining state of anger at the world, for instance.  But over the years I’ve learned to keep moving, always looking for an opening that leads out of that self-perpetuating labyrinth, one that can pull me into a place where I can reconnect with the world.  Eventually, my vision clears; the color returns.

At the end of this
circular tunnel, a door–
the light welcomes me.

Sue Vincent’s photo prompt this week, above, reminded me immediately of that song I wrote at 16 or 17 (amazing that I still know all the words, right?).

sanctuary close up s

And that I may have actually learned a thing or two between then and now.

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.

 

fortune

lighthouse #4 1980 s

fortune magnetic

I consulted the Oracle this week with Colleen’s Challenge #66 in mind (synonyms for guide and destination).  The collage is an old one, from 1980–I did a series of lighthouses, inside and out, although this is the only one I found so far in the storage room.  It seemed to fit.

sailing on starclouds—
beacon dancing with fools
inside the outcome

 

Exposed

moon on the floor s

Paul Simon said that one man’s ceiling is another man’s floor. Whose floor is the sky?  Does it open at night to spill the dance of the stars, the sailing of the moon, into our earth-bound feet?

Moving toward eclipse–
double reckoning of light
bearing winter’s tides.

My windows become eyes to let the nightshine in.

 

Could I resist the dVerse winter moon haibun prompt?

This was my best photo of the first New Year’s Moon (that’s a rubber band that was on the floor…how did that happen?).

A Sighting of Silence

let there be winter open s

The Collage Box Oracle was insistent–I kept finding words I’d dropped on the floor…

let there be winter turning s

How to render silence?  I thought of records, LPs, the different tracks, the spaces between.  That line that both separated and connected.  Lost now to the digital world of playlists.

let there be winter melt s 180

For dVerse, a sighting of silence.

Let there be winter–
wild sound, indefinable–
adorn birth with stars.

 

January 2018

grid scan 1s

With my ruler, I put time on a line. I make lines into boxes, containers to hold the evidence of my existence, to keep the unfamiliar far away.

grid scan 2s

But I can’t enclose the holes, the openings. My frames can’t stop the vortex that pulls everything into the circle, the border blurring then and now.

grid scan 3s

the year a mirror–
what is behind reflects in–
and before looks back

grid scan 4s

A haibun for Colleen’s #Poetry Challenge 64 and the New Year.  The grid collage is done on reflective paper, but a flat scan doesn’t show it at all.  I tried various ways of scanning with the lid partially open, and also did a photo on black and white.

jan bw old s

Light and space, a gap–
coming out and going in
between and beyond