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Between

between full comp

The path connects the path divides,
the sky is rising like a tree–
the ending moves, retreats, and hides
what is, is not, has yet to be.

The sky is rising like a tree,
the land grows following behind
what is, is not, has yet to be–
an offering returned in kind.

The land grows following behind
the dance of water, spirits, earth–
an offering returned in kind–
a trance, a dream, remembered birth.

A dance of water, spirits, earth–
the ending moves, retreats and hides
a trance, a dream, remembered birth–
the path connects the path divides.

A pantoum for Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.  I love the rhythm of circular dance that this form always evokes for me.

between close up wood s

I photographed the art on many many backgrounds; it looked different on each one.  But I kept going back to these two:  vivid blue and wood floor.  Each brings out a different aspect of the painting/collage.

between close up blue s

 

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.

Moondrunk

moondrunk close up s

moondrunk magnetic

Bitter seas rip time
suspended in storms screaming
cravings of raw dreams

Let urges lie still—sleeping
on ships of moondrunk wishes

moondrunk full s

I haven’t consulted with the Oracle in awhile.  No one I know is sleeping well these days–I like her advice.  She graciously included the Secret Keeper’s words from this week as well.

I’m also connecting with dVerse Open Link Night.

 

Young Nina

Another self portrait: from a photo of me at around age five (?). I had cut a chunk out of my bangs. I still chop off my hair sometimes when it gets too long and then have to get an emergency appointment with a professional.

I added a few things in the background that were iconic to me. The zither had sheets of music that you put under the strings and plucked the corresponding strings. The little jukebox (all busted up now) played a song when you put a penny in. The white horse was a piece I got at some junk shop; I remember my mother being amused that I spent my babysitting money on a little object like that. I had a happy childhood.

Here’s the zither and the little jukebox. The white horse is lost to history.

Emily (deep in thought)

My daughter painted in watercolor, no pencil sketching first. Although this is simplistic I think it caught her mood. She didn’t hate it which is something. So glad it is Friday. I hope everyone has a good weekend. Weather is looking promising here in NJ.

Self Portrait/2/1/18

It’s been a while, friends, and I’ve missed WordPress. Luckily for me Kerfe pushes me mercilessly and I promised I would post today. “Painting is good for the soul”, Kerfe says, and you know what? She’s right.

The last few months have been stressful as my husband closed his private medical practice and joined a group. They hired me also. We have been putting a lot of energy into this endeavor and I haven’t picked up a paintbrush.

In thinking about content I realize that I really like to paint people, either from old photos or from photos taken of faces I like. I’m going to concentrate on that for a bit. Not sure if I’ll post ever day but will try for a few times a week. This venue is wonderful for artists and we have made many friends here. Thank you for your patience!

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.

Wolf Dream

blue wolf moon s

My dream is singing
my dream is death rising

My dream calls spirits
my dream frees ghosts that are me

My dream is all eyes
my dream is everywhere here

Trust the keeper
trust the howling caught inside
trust the chaos and the night

blue moon comp

I know some cultures have 13 names for the moon year, but I’m going with this being the Blue Wolf Moon.  Hopefully, a harbinger of better times for all–

WolfMoon

wolfmoon howl s

WolfMoon–
shapeshifting, orbed–
hunting, calling, longing,
gathering beginnings and ends–
howling.

I haven’t tried a cinquain for Colleen’s Poetry Challenge yet, but it seemed to fit the beautiful full moon of the New Year.  I often find strict rules help in focusing my thoughts, and that was definitely the case here.

And no, you haven’t seen the last of that moon in my art and words…