Crow calls to me from above– “Crowman are you stalking me?” There he is—on that roof. Call to attention– the question harsh, always interrupting the pause between the lines. “Do you want me to look up?” He extends the invitation again and again. “I’m telling stories,” shape-shifting in the interlude– “remaking the recent past.” how […]
she said, but count them, count them and remember what has not yet been dreamed—what follows each silhouette– a breath that removes what is not required, keeps what fills need and refills it whenever it becomes empty— spellcast in air, each wing gathers force, compressed like secrets– talismans numbered and tossed waiting for the wind […]
a world built of stories to dream upon– paths to follow like rivers to the sea– ancient horizons that stretch on and on bordered by waves that mirror wings—a bird reciprocating every single breath released to the wind—a sounding, a word, a sky that keeps its time adrift, at bay– speaking in unknown tongues, beyond […]
are your wings broken or are they merely hidden, a secret composed of rags, following the wind unfurling as the crow flies? For Frank Tassone’s #haikai challenge #109, scarecrow. Also inspired by Van Gogh.
I had just finished this monostich postcard when I saw Ingrid’s prompt at dVerse for a poem about a member of the Corvid family. I’ve written drawn painted and collaged many times about crow–not just here, but on memadtwo as well. My word collage postcards are not always monostich, but many of them are. That’s […]
My message from the Oracle. The almost-full moon woke me again last night. And at dawn–robin, blue jay, mockingbird, cardinal, mourning dove, crow–they are still here. birds grow quietasthe spirit wandersbetween whyand the ancient moonthat wakes meshining through this seasonof night I ask dawn for songlistenas dark becomes light Another one of my Redon-inspired collages, […]
constructing omensout of wishes on the wind–a crow’s silhouette A small poem for the NaPoWriMo prompt of a very small thing.
When did you start to followme? I don’t rememberthe tables turning—but thenmy recollections were neververy reliable. Even the tangible accumulationsof the collected years that nowemerge from their wrappingsof old news surprise me–(the news itself does not surpriseme—yellowed headlines that fitas well into today as yesterday) How and when did the journeybecome so heavy with the […]
My mother loved to wear loud colors, especially red. Her laugh could be heard above the din of any crowded room. Not me. I dress mostly in black, try to fade unnoticed into the background of other peoples’ lives. I avoid parties. But my eyes crave color, my hands long to manipulate texture and shape, […]