Tag Archive | shadorma

misdirections

misdirections s

here or there
and then what?  so far
so up–then
down, between
lost and left behind–climbing
the chutes, the ladders,

the maybes
and the knotted, the
ready and
the not yet,
the pointless and the lines drawn
in the sand…which way?

misdirections close up s

A nonsense quadrille for dVerse using the word “up”.

skeleton

skeleton s

This house is
painted with blackness
until it
deconstructs
form, kills all architecture–
it lives deep below

what cannot
be seen what hides be-
neath skin what
holds nothing–
this house is not afraid–
it contains no heart

When it breathes
in, it drains out—it
knows all of
those sorrows
without names—it stands until
it falls down inside

what follows
you around—what can’t
be placed in
any land-
scape—what remains unmoved where
you least expect it

For Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.

skeleton close up s

 

 

Shaded

shaded s

I’m standing
not in the way but
out—myself
here somewhere
yet not quite ready for this
trough that releases

emptying,
revacating the
premises–
I borrowed time
from all those appointments with
destiny, unkept

Reopen
the scar, make room for
new bloodveins,
roots, branches,
a forest to surround, sing
alive alive-O

Imagine
what strange things fortune
could reveal
in its own
time, centered in a place where
the lines intersect

For Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above, and NaPoWriMo Day 29(!) a meditation on one of my many states of being.

shaded close up s

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Poem up at Ekphrastic Review

under the black sun s

My poem “Under the Black Sun” is included in the responses to Jenn Zed’s work, “Louisiana Zombie Afternoon” at the Ekphrastic Review.  My thanks to guest editor Jordan Trethewey and Review editor Lorette C. Luzajic for selecting my poem and supporting the call and response of poetry and art.  You can read all the poetry and see the original artwork here.

Circuits

circuits s

Begin with
the labyrinth.  The
center holds
the light.  The
center lies outside, beyond
opening.  Beyond

thought. Beyond
the perimeter.
It blends and
compasses,
hugging the coastline of sight.
It is letting go,

dispersing
rearrangements, caught
and summoned
by the songs
of trees—focusing the verge
into alignment.

For Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above, and off-prompt for NaPoWriMo Day 19.

circuits triangle s

Elemental

elemental s

And if the
sea did not return
in waves, where
would it go?
into the air as clouds, to
the earth as rivers?

Would it hide
in secret below
ground, or would
it seek out
fire, a meeting destined for
disintegration?

Where is the
final resting place
for this flux
that travels
through us, anchors us to our
deep ancestral wells?

The night sky
moves on the echo
of oceans
shimmering,
a half-remembered dream.  What
can contain the moon?

elemental close up s

Instead of the NaPoWriMo prompt for today, I’ve used Linda Lee Lyberg’s dVerse prompt of water.

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on the possibility of seeing a painted bunting (draw a bird day)

painted bunting s

caught like a
shadow just beyond
the watching
eye, barely
imprinted on the synapse
of remembering

it flies on
the winds of held breath–
covering the
air with blurs
of moving feathers, colors
surrounded by song

My NaPoWriMo poem today has nothing to do with the prompt, and everything to do with it being the 8th of April, which is National Draw-a-Bird-Day.  I have never actually seen a painted bunting, but I have painted this bird before, in 2015, when one was spotted in Brooklyn.  This version was done with a new set of watercolor pencils I received for my birthday earlier this year.

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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.

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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!

Topology

infectious universe 1s

It was a
wish, a tiny dream,
a maybe,
an if—I
spoke of it, asked for it, looked
for the opening–

I even
prayed (although not
to that god
painted on
the ceilings of cathedrals)–
but gradually,

or perhaps
suddenly–(how our
memories
deceive us)–
it became unspoken, blurred,
a footnote in time,

filed away–
I would come across
it every
once in a
while and wonder, just for a
moment, where I would

be, and what
would be missing in
the map of
me, if fate
had drawn it differently—if
that portal had verged

The subject for dVerse Poetics, hosted by Anmol, is geography.

infectious universe 1 close up s

I originally posted this watercolor last August, when I had just begun the embroidery.  I like the extra dimension added by the stitching.  It’s a slow process, accumulating like the maps of our lives.

infectious universe 1b close up s