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Robin welcomes the day

robin bright s

song remains as light–
an aural after-image
reflected in green

opening the door to spring–
releasing the burdened night

I missed Draw-a-Bird Day yesterday (again!) but Colleen’s words for Tanka Tuesday were just right for a tribute to the earliest singer of my neighborhood’s dawn.

 

Beggar’s Ride

beggars ride s

What lies beyond up?

Shadows, a winding staircase,
a journey without end.

Clouds traveling unwalled–
a fool’s ship, a beggar’s ride,
a castle in the sky.

My response to Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.  I wanted to try one of Jane Dougherty’s “42” poems–I love a question to start a poem–so that’s the form I used here.

stairs s

I had an idea to combine brush paintings of horses with collage, although this wasn’t what I was thinking when I did the horses.  Mostly I used horse sculptures as references for my painting, but this one was done from a photo of a horse.  I’ll get to the other idea using the other paintings I think.

horse s

 

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.

what is it good for? (#9)

jm 1c blk s

the
long and
short of war
is recorded
in absence—spattered
between the holes in the
skin of ordinary lives–
those empty spaces echoing
with unknowing, with what could have been

Day 30 of NaPoWriMo linked us to oddness for inspiration–I clicked on “Pieces of History” first and was immediately confronted with war, long and short.  There’s no escaping it, it seems.

jm 1c close up s

When Nina and I first started our blog, I was doing mostly art, trying to make it a regular practice again.  One of the series I did then was called “what is it good for?” #8 was posted in 2014…and so it goes, the same question continues.  With #9, a nonet.

I want to thank the NaPoWriMo hosting site for connecting me to so many wonderful poets and pieces of writing, and for helping me actually do 30 poems for the first time.

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And to Joan Mitchell, for inspiring every piece of art I made for NaPoWriMo.  The works that I used as references are below.

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offerings

jm 2b blk s

these wells of wishes–
falling up into the air–
held by waves of light

For NaPoWriMo Day 29 and Sue Vincent’s photo prompt above.

jm 2b close up s

logo-napowrimoArt inspired by Joan Mitchell’s “Grande Vallee”.

 

 

 

Wheel of Fortune (X)

jm 13a s

Wheel turning over like a key
opening fate and chance and time.
In all directions destiny–
still center scatters fortune blind.

Lost in all possibility–
searching the hands and face for signs.
Wheel turning over like a key
opening fate and chance and time.

Shadowed by what may never be–
turning into a circled line–
all paths will mirror and rewind
exposing doors no one can see–

Wheel turning over like a key.

Day 27 of NaPoWriMo asks us to look to the Tarot for inspiration.   I’ve done the Wheel of Fortune before, but one of my watercolors based on Joan Mitchell’s “Blue Tondo” was a perfect fit.

The poetic form I used is Rondel.

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In the Wake

jm 4c close up s

When I think
of you, I see you
floating, sails
unfurled in
iridescence like fish scales
or maybe crows’ wings,

dark and light
reflected in waves
traveling
unanchored
by time.  Will we meet again
on unmapped seas? or

as birds, hearts unveiled, trailing stars?

jm 4c wht s

A elegy for both NaPoWriMo Day 24.  The first one I wrote was quite gloomy.  I took some of the images and began again.

I think the replacement was sent by the Oracle.  It has her mark.

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Endlessly

dusk to dawn blkForever between today and tomorrow, suspended in presence. Infinite darkness mingling with perpetual light, like shadows photographing a mirror.

At first the beginning is closer than the end. Suddenly the finish has left the start far behind.

What is the measure of now? Who can hold the moving hand, the cell dividing again and again?  Where does the universe locate the particle that waves as it disappears and reappears on its random path?

Who can draw the map that connects never with always?

The remainder of
dusk meeting dawn.  What mortal
can enter the stars?

dusk to dawn close up

For Day Seventeen of NaPoWriMo, I’ve done a haibun for the dVerse prompt, Lingering Day.

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(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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Sunflowers

jm 8a s

Joan Mitchell painted sunflowers, over and over, which always makes me think of Van Gogh (as she did, too, although her colors are softer, her strokes open and layered lightly)—the intense yellows and burning oranges, the ground a mysterious combination of blue and green. My father’s Aunt Lil often talked about that undefinable intermixture of hues, which also glowed behind her favorite painting of almond blossoms.

Aunt Lil taught my brothers and me to play poker, ignoring my mother’s silent Protestant disapproval. She was a champion bridge player, a potter (I still have a vase), a judge’s secretary, a woman who became far larger that the life that had been mapped out for her in the early 20th century.  She was the daughter who lived at home and took care of her mother until her mother died.  They watched the Saturday Night Fights every weekend on TV.

She called my father Chickie, and came to Sunday dinner often when we lived in Baltimore.

They say her fiancée died before they could marry.

Your laugh infectious,
opening like a flower–
I smile in return.

jm 8a close up s

I’m not sure this answers the Day 10 NaPoWriMo prompt for multiple things happening at the same time…but certainly the mind rambles and holds many images and thoughts at the same time, even if we can only write it out in sequence afterwards.van gogh flowers

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