Tag Archive | flowers

Church Doors and more

vesper bells—echos
bowed over the door–
luminous

murmured, luminous–
whispered echos
permeate the door

the bethel door
cast in echos–
sacred, luminous

behind the echos the door waits, bathed in light—luminous

Holy Trinity Church has wonderful doors–above is a close up of one of the three main entrances. But the rectory doors are also beautiful–and the gate to the parish center, and the side door too.

One of the homeless men waiting for the parish center to open particularly wanted me to photo the statue inside. So I did.

My poem is a tritina, a form I haven’t attempted in a long time, for Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday, where Willow Willers provided the synonym words, twilight and hue.

In other (excellent!) news, Nina drove into the city for a visit and lunch–we haven’t seen each other since January 2020. She brought me a wonderful pot of succulents, which I put by the window in my workspace. What a treat, on all counts. She promises to post something soon.

And here are some of the flowers now blooming in Riverside Park. It’s still quite warm, and they seem to like it.

You can join in Thursday doors here.

Thursday Doors: House on West End Avenue

I’ve always liked this house on West End Ave. The entrance is on the side.

I couldn’t get a straight on angle to photo the door. It has nice details on the top and in the surrounding arch.

And here’s some flowers I saw while walking along Columbus Avenue.

You can see more doors and join in here.

Another Visit (Thursday Doors)

I went back to the turret house I photographed a few weeks ago to try to get a better photo of both the building and the entrance door. Above is the door.

And here’s a view of the entire house, taken from the park across the street on Riverside Drive.

This was my original photo.

I’m also posting some (to me) magical flowers I keep seeing on my walks in Riverside Park. I tried to figure out what they were online with no luck. Does anyone know?

I know exactly where they are–at 106 Street–because there is the statue of Franz Sigel across the street at the top of the steps. My longest residence anywhere in my life was up those steps, down 106 Street one block, and in the middle of the block to the left on West End Avenue. But I’ve never seen these flowers before.

I hope they continue to plant them every year!

It’s Thursday, so I’m linking to Thursday Doors.

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

May 2019

may close up s

Maia, Good Goddess:
garland the earth with bouquets–
unfold us shining

A circle grid for the new month.  The flowers have arrived!

may wood s

Also linking to dVerse Open Link Night.

 

We are doing nothing,

We are doing nothing s

and yet we
shout, we run through skies
like fire.  Where
do we live?
Our voices surround the trees,
our dances timeless.

We are deep,
endless, uncontained,
always and
everywhere.
We entwine with movements, with
stillness, with the air,

like leaves
that grow green and then
release themselves,
singing in
the wind.  We fall apart and
return completed.

We have no
surfaces, no years
to count or
give away.
We laugh like creatures with wings
scattering clear light.

Our form is
unmeasured.  We speak
in no know
tongue.  Alive,
we need no reason.  No one
can tell you our names.

we are close up 2s

NaPoWriMo has asked us to spread joy today.

napo2019button2

 

April 2019

april 19 grid s

morning wakes
me at first light as
my mother
used to do,
but not with words—birdchoir sings
through me:  “rise and shine!”

april grid close up 3s

My mother did not believe in sleeping in…when she decided it was time to get up, even on non-school days, she would waltz in, open the blinds, and announce, “Rise and Shine!”  One of the delights of spring for me is that my alarm is the light and the birds (I never close my blinds)–but I always hear my mother’s voice joining the chorus.

april grid close up 2s

I worked on my monthly grid all week, waiting for the NaPoWriMo prompt to do the accompanying poem.  This is not really a recipe, but I think it’s close enough.  The grid was inspired by numerous photos of tulip festivals from all over the world…rows and rows of beautiful color.  April!

full earth

may 18 flower grid s

full earth magnetic

I consulted the Magnetic Oracle for a haiku to go with my May grid.

may 18 flower grid close up 1s

moon blossoms between
rain root and seed song—bird boughs
blanket the wild wind

may 18 flower grid close up 2s

 

 

Postcard for Nina

jm 3b blk s

postcard magneticjm 3b close up 2s

Dear Friend,

I got lost in another dream. I was on the edge, searching for a map.  I fell onto the blue river of time.  The flowers growing together inside the stars cast me home with song, just like you do.

Love, Me

jm 3b close up 1s

I started with “dear friend”, and the Oracle sent me a lovely message for Nina.  This blog, and my art and writing, would not be here without her encouragement and support.  Thank you my friend!

logo-napowrimoFor NaPoWriMo Day 28.  Almost there…

Collage inspired by Joan Mitchell’s painting “Ici”.

 

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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