condensed into light–
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.
crisp clear sky–
leaves echo the wind
as time stops–
condensed into stars
blue light from the depths–
darkness emptying itself
time stops once again–
leaves echo songs of the wind
My older daughter and I met at the farmer’s market last weekend, and sat on the Columbia campus afterwards drinking coffee and tea. As we watched a monarch butterfly wandering above our heads, we remarked at the deep clear blueness of the sky. It reminded us both of a September morning nineteen years ago.
we decoy ducks–turn
them into sitting targets
for the play of guns,
cartoon them with characters
that ignore their balanced grace
I did a lot of drawings and paintings of ducks and found them to be a challenge. Often they ended up looking more like decoys than something alive. I was interested to discover that the expression “sitting duck” came from how easy ducks are for hunters to shoot and kill–less sport than slaughter.
I also did not know that they spend 2 weeks in late summer or early fall molting, replacing all of their feathers. During that time they can’t fly.
Mallards are good parents, and prefer shallow freshwater wetlands to raise their families. They are one of the most recognizable and abundant duck species in the world, and ancestor to most strains of domesticated ducks.
For Colleen’s #tanka Tuesday, poet’s choice. I’ve written a tanka.
masked harlequin, air
of parallel flight–
what secrets hold the patterns
of your synchronicity?
I chose the cedar waxwing for my bird this month because of its beautiful and varied coloration. I wanted to do some drawing with my neocolors, blending difference shades to create multicolored effects.
I drew the bird paired, because waxwings are social birds, and often exhibit food-sharing behavior, as well as other complex rituals including the synchronized flight of large flocks. They are native to North and Central America, and migrate in unpredictable patterns that follow berries and other sweet fruit, their main dietary source. They like sugar so much they can get drunk from gorging on plentiful supplies of fruit. They also eat insects.
Although the information I read said they are not often seen alone, I did come across a single waxwing on a tree by the path where I was walking near my brother’s house in North Carolina a few years ago. They are distinctive and beautiful birds.
I also wanted to note that I have 3 pieces of art in The Raw Art Review Summer 2019. You can see it here; the reblog would not work.
Once again, Draw a Bird Day, the 8th of each month, is serving as a placeholder here at MeMadTwo while Nina takes an extended break. I’m hoping she’ll be back in 2020. In the meantime, you can find me (Kerfe) at https://kblog.blog/.
you woke me not with
singing, but with squawks—crowlike,
insistent and loud—
a flash of blue amid oak leaves,
glittering with morning sun
I read online that bands of blue jays making a racket are often harassing a predator–must have been a hawk about the other morning.
I will continue to do draw-a-bird day here, but I’ve been posting at kblog while Nina is taking an extended break. Once she returns, I’ll be back at MeMadTwo regularly again. In the meantime, visit me at my other site!
What dark fire is this
melting the air with fresh blood?
endless broken days,
ghost voices lingering in
an eternity of tears
As with the Magnetic Poetry Oracle, you can have your own ideas, but in the end you need to follow where the word box leads.
Close your eyes and count–
out the window and
between the lines to beyond…
dream what’s inside…come to life
What counts as riches?
money garnered from the labors
of others? A wall?
The breath of wings, air, trees, this
rhythmic ebb and flow, these tides
I couldn’t really get a feel for the Year of the Pig, except that it comes with the idea of wealth, which can be negative (greed) or positive (hard work). But I think we perhaps need to begin with a different idea of wealth.
hindered by clouds, I
struggle to translate signals
revealed by dark sails—
the sea paired with hidden winds
disturbing the horizon
The sands of time flow
out of the hourglass, and years
fall backwards, crossing
through endings to ways that lead
Neither time nor life
can be saved and spent later–
it is always now
or yesterday retreating,
a hazy remembering,
the details broken
into shreds of brittle bones,
skull lurking beneath
a façade as fragile as
a wine glass, spilling with blood—
All those shiny words
lining flower-strewn pathways–
unvoiced, fallow, mute.
For Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.