Tag Archive | monoprint

summer in the city 2020

summer city 2s

dense with heat
drivers changing shifts
bus idles

basketball
gold headphones playing
by himself

skateboard clacks
over empty courts
echoed moves

line of carts
winds around corner
still waiting

masked hunger
distances between
uncovered

heavy clouds
greyness falling now
lightning flash

summer city 2 close up 2s

For Frank Tassone at dVerse, a haiku sequence reflecting what I saw out my window this morning.

summer city 1b s

My monoprints were inspired by de Kooning, but somehow ended up looking more like Pollock.

summer city 2 close up s

and its shadow

and its shadow s

Opening my eyes
in the morning this day
into grey light
black branches suspended
between my window and the sky–

the calendar says spring
as I pull the comforter closer
and my thoughts wander
into the kitchen.

My body soon follows
the promise of coffee
warming bare feet
cold floor
distracted mind–

Looking out now–
is that a robin?
No, a sparrow, still–
but the blue jay tells me
he’s somewhere close by.

When will the world reverse
itself, green, full once again
of uncontained expectation?

I sip my coffee,
the aroma comfortable,
friendly.
Its bitter taste
sharpens my mind.

There’s a black hole
covering the front page
of the news.

Oh yes.

No surprise there.

and its shadow close up s

NaPoWriMo wanted a poem about a season and our senses and a question.  This came from notes I wrote the morning early in April that I picked up the newspaper outside to see a photo of a black hole taking up the entire top half of the page.

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a fragment of a dream, caught in the morning light

fragment close up s

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 garden,
lilacs filled with butterflies—

the rust and gold of autumn
singing beneath my feet

a fragment s

NaPoWriMo asked us today to talk about our origins.

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Take These Broken Wings

there's a crow flying #2

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

Among twenty snowy mountains,
The only moving thing
Was the eye of the blackbird.
–Wallace Stevens, “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird”

apolcalyptic crows wht s

That which hath wings shall tell
(blackbird whirling in the autumn winds)
The birth of the sky, the void in the flow

Three minds like a tree in parallel
(rising in blueness, the mystery twinned)
That which hath wings shall tell

Blackbirds are involved in what I know
(how to release and how to begin)
The birth of the sky, the void in the flow

A man and a woman are one distilled
(diving divining reflected and twinned)
That which hath wings shall tell

The river is moving in flying shadow
(the question unseen that I can’t comprehend)
The birth of the sky, the void in the flow

Imagine these golden birds aglow
(the crow and the tree and the origin’s end)
That which hath wings shall tell
The birth of the sky, the void in the flow

There's a crow flying # if I flew

For the NaPoWriMo prompt, a villanelle with lines taken from an outside text.  I’ve used both of these poetic sources before; you can see examples here and here.  To the words of Stevens and the Bible, I added text from one of my many crow poems, and art selected from my many pieces inspired by crows.

And since dVerse is conveniently featuring the villanelle form this month, I’ve linked to the collection of villanelle poems.

spiral crows 2s

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inquisition

inquisition s

Where do I hide?  I build this tree,
the branches tangled over me,
I ask myself:  how will I know
what voids this curse?  what sets me free?

I sit and sit. The hours grow.
The birds have wings—they come and go.
My rhythm cannot hold their song.
How can I breathe?  What cries the crow?

My body emptying skin to bone,
my mind hardening into stone,
falling like silence to the ground–
How do I bide?  I lie alone.

The sea and sky cannot be found.
Memories circle round and round,
searching for possibility–
How am I held?  Where am I bound?

inquisition close up s

Frank at dVerse has asked us to consider blame and forgiveness.  And a final rubaiyat for the month of February, with short lines this time.

 The hardest person to forgive is often yourself.

Ringling

carnival s

Layering, I spin
turmoil—sparkled spheres reveal
the unplanned design

A fierce dance, a brazen leap–
vortexed and saturated

For Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday, using synonyms for vigor and energy, and for Sarah at dVerse, who asked us to think about the circus.

carnival close up s

My life has been too chaotic to do collage, so I’ve been doing watercolor circles, some with stitching, some with monoprint on top.  This one has monoprint.  Although I am slowly learning how to exert some control over the results, there are always surprises.  Like a circus.

In Middle English the word ringling means “the sound made by something ringling; ringing, jingling, tinkling”.  I also like the association it evokes with rings, and circles in general.

 

Draw-a-Bird Day: Unclaimed

feather without a wing s

unclaimed magnetic s

feather without close up 1s

as the stars devour
their darkest dance,
I grow ever smaller–
a feather without wings,
orbiting on cloud sails,
lingering as a hole
in the breath of ghosts

feather without close up 2s

Crows.  The Oracle knows.

 

 

 

besieged

distant shores mandala s

gathering like fire,
 these memories leave me swept
on abandoned shores–

I disintegrate in words
 trying to unspell the past

ds close up 2s

For Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday, with synonyms for congregate and passion.

ds dots s

Memory is indeed a tricky thing.

 

 

Interrupted by Form

bone circle s

How do we
return the gift of
death?  How do
we unfold
the wrapping, respond to bone
disrobed and fragile?

How do we
sweep the sky, catch soul
patterns made
of flying
light?  How do we count the years
back into remains?

Inspired by Sue Vincent’s photo prompt above.

bone circle close up s

 

No Crows

no crows s

What message
this black performance?
retrograde
running through
the clash of silence unbound,
stark with intention.

Misplaced, those
promises—passwords
forgotten,
erased and
unfigured—transparent streaks
against darking skies.

no crows close up s

Jane Dougherty’s raven poem reminded me to visit the Secret Keeper’s words this week, and also reminded me of the various crows demanding my attention as I go about my life.  Sounds of silence (for dVerse).

Art inspired by Joan, Joni, and Vincent.