Tag Archive | mandala

Giving Thanks

I spent a lot of time thinking about the earthweal challenge this week, to write a poem of thanks. It all came down to the same thing: I’m thankful for life, to be alive. But I couldn’t think of another better way to say it.

always unexpected—this
grace, this balancing—darkness
shining into light

Happy Thanksgiving to those celebrating, and those who are not. May we remember and honor all life with care and gratitude.

a fragment of a dream, caught in the morning light

and I am reminded again of who I am,
what I see when I look up at the night sky,
the scent of the earth in spring–

I feel the summer lingering,
long days of sun and sand
and the salty taste I carry
through days that follow me in rhythm
with the waves–

I see the sharpness of blue sky
behind black branches,
a playground of white snow
that culminates in hot chocolate,
logs burning,
the inside warming the outer—

I have been uprooted and transplanted
so many times that nowhere is home–
everything is temporary–
I’m always expecting to move on–

but I remember looking up
through the shade of oak trees,
the roses in my mother’s garden,
lilacs filled with butterflies—

the rust and gold of autumn
singing beneath my feet

For the earthweal challenge, a song of earth-praise from 2019. How far away that seems now. But I am still thinking of my mother.

Poem up at Pure Haiku

Part of the ARTURINA theme.

You can read it here.

My thanks, as always, to Freya Pickard for supporting my poetry.

October 2020 (Harvest Moon)

autumn dance
condensed into light–
I become
gold tinged with tides,
rising and falling

I did a similar grid with circles a few years ago, but I’ve always wanted to give it another try.  As with the last one, I first painted a landscape (wishing I had my gouache, but done with watercolor), then cut it up, rearranged it, and added collage dots from my collage box.  Here’s the original landscape:

David Hockney-ish I think.  Not my usual style, and perhaps a bit brighter than I intended.  But I like the colors.

I’ve done a tanka for Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday form challenge, which also works for Frank Tassone’s challenge of harvest moon. The paint oracle is totally responsible for turning my moon painting into a tree.

My new view of the full moon.  I have to catch it when it passes between the buildings.

Happy October!

Saturday Morning September 19, 2020

I did this painting for a prompt (which I later altered and will post at some point), but it works for this message from the Oracle today.

death aches us
in black chants

she whispers:
do not ask me
to stop time

watch the sky–
her ship is a light
singing through the moon

in the language of
a shining wind

May our actions and words continue and honor the legacy of Ruth Bader Ginsburg.

castle in the sky

castle s

our bridges reflect themselves,
shimmering as we cross
between the solid and what
we cannot control–
the light tells us stories

about what we think we see,
about what lies beneath
the surface of where and who
we think we are–
more, there is always more

that stays unfocused,
that contains what can’t be
seen it its entirety,
that reconfigures itself
with wind, or clouds,

or tides rising from the unseen–
they say humans prefer the mirrored
image to the camera’s eye

the uncapturable moment
of possibility

For Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.

castle close up a

 

butterfly

butterfly s

sun casts its
eye on winged shadows,
dancing in
to the day–
tossed by light waves that play with
dappled melodies

butterfly close up s

I’ve been wanting to do another butterfly painting, and the dVerse prompt from Laura, flights of fancy, provided the perfect excuse.

more birds

after adrian s

The morning wakes without rain,
a shimmer of green
appearing from the silhouettes
of the trees scattered between
buildings.  Silence floats
off the glossy reflections
of the windows
holding the rising sun.

I look for Crow flashing
black feathers as he calls
from somewhere I can’t see.
His voice bounces off
the brick and I imagine
he raises his sharp beak,
laughing as he follows
my eyes searching  for the sound.

I have not asked him to speak–
he does not wait for invitations—
I do not for an instant believe
he is without purpose here
on this clear morning calling me
as usual to attention.  Do you
pretend you know me?

he asks, and what can I reply?

How can you ever pretend
to know another when
you cannot even see who
this person is that you carry
with you all the time?
Who is this being that you call
yourself?  What
is their true name?

Another piece of art inspired by Nina–her joyful birds, above.  For the poem, I used a prompt posted awhile ago by Miz Quickly, in which you take lines from a poem and write them every few lines on a piece of paper and fill in the spaces between with your own words.

after adrian close up s

As Jane told me recently, it’s hard to find a poem of mine that doesn’t talk about birds.  I used lines from an Adrian C. Louis poem “Magpie in Margaritaville”, which I found in the wonderful Tupelo Press book “Native Voices”.  I couldn’t find a link to the poem online, but you can read about the poet, a member of the Paiute Tribe, here.

Also linking to earthweal, open link weekend.

wings

wings wet s

wings magnetic s

Inspired by Nina’s butterfly rock, above, a collaboration with the Oracle.

wings wet close up s

spirit wanderer
life must shine beneath
this summer moon

breathe bright breezes
through flowering light

walk on air

let the nightsong
follow you home

almost full moon july 2020 s

Last night the rain kept me from seeing the moon, but I did capture it the night before.

 

curvilinear

curvilinear close up s

curvilinear magnetic

curvilinear s

The Oracle was simple and direct today.  Humans aren’t in the picture at all.

brown
earth seeds
listen to winter

roots
grow between
rain and sun

ancient
light tendrils
green through birdsong

full
into bee
deep summer air

Nina and I used to collaborate with the Oracle on a semi-regular basis.  I’m hoping we will do so again soon.