Woman and Ghost

woman and ghost s

I have lost the barrier
between me and the world–
tangled in the web it weaves
to keep itself from falling apart

It holds my pieces tight
and yet the space between them
opens and shifts–
I have lost the barrier

What orbit holds my destiny?
edges come and go simultaneously
as the gaps grow wider
between me and the world

Bridges retreat and paths lead
farther away from any idea
of location—fragmented, off-center,
tangled in the web it weaves

Slowly threads expand on tides
of iridescence seen only in certain lights,
raveling random and untraceable connections
to keep itself from falling apart

woman and ghost close up s

An ekphrastic response to “Woman and Ghost”, which was gifted to me by the wonderful Claudia McGill, who has also gifted me with inspiration, support, and friendship.

You can follow her on her blogs:
https://claudiamcgill.wordpress.com/
https://claudiamcgillart.wordpress.com/
https://claudiamcgilladvice.wordpress.com/

For the NaPoWriMo day 20 prompt: “write a poem about a handmade or homemade gift that you have received”.

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The poetic form I used is cascade.

when hands pause, listening

lemon tree close up s

following
the branchings, my brush
tells stories
of reaching
for sun, gathering roots to
awaken new growth

lemon tree black s

NaPoWriMo day 18 asks for “an ode to life’s small pleasures”.  For me, drawing, whether with pencil or brush, always provides comfort.

I drew here from one of my lemon trees, grown from seeds planted by my daughter long ago, after the cherry pits (inspired by the Vera Williams book) didn’t sprout.  A monoprint, I first drew with paint on wax paper, then pressed grey paper lightly over the image and pulled it off.  It’s always a slightly different reflection of the original lines, a little surprise.

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Red 1797

red 1797

When I worked as a textile designer in the 70s and 80s I spent a lot of time matching Pantone color paper to customer colors and hand cutting and pasting stripe designs.  So when I saw a box set of 100 Pantone postcards nostalgia made me buy it.  I’ve done my poem for today on red 1797, above.  I’m sure these postcards, and every other kind of commercial design now being done, is computer-generated.  So much more accurate!  And quick!

But I still like to work with my hands.

The poem itself has nothing to do with technology (the NaPoWriMo day 17 prompt is to “write a poem that features forgotten technology”), but I turned it into a haiku chain of sorts for International Haiku Poetry Day.

consider
the matter
of etcetera–where

does
it go?
where does it

end?
what follows
can’t be predicted…

And a little red retro music too.

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come away

safe passages s

the sounds are shifting
becoming
words that grow
wings but also
roots trees full
of birds

silent
except for chords
that travel wavelike
from synapse to synapse
intensifying
thought into song

is this what makes us
everything
is this the net
that shivers our bones
pulses our fingers
like strings

chanting
vibrations calling
to the empty spaces
that swallow us
and make us
whole

safe passages close up s

I was inspired today by Shuku’s post yesterday at The Great Unknown with its wild magical sounds.  Off prompt for NaPoWriMo Day 16.

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Also linking to dVerse OLN hosted by Lillian.

Blues and Greys

blues and greys s

I been traveling with the days from blue to grey,
my self merging with the days from blue to grey–
seems like colors all got lost, can’t find their way

Every day the subway rumbles past outside,
going uptown downtown rambles past outside–
filled with weary riders, got no place to hide

In the dawn sometimes I hear the robins sing,
waking up I listen, hear those robins sing—
between blues and greys they’re telling me it’s spring

I keep worrying each day from blue to grey,
breathing in and out the days from blue to grey–
like the colors, feeling lost, can’t find my way

blues and greys close up s

The NaPoWriMo prompt for Day 15 is to “write a poem inspired by your favorite kind of music”.  I like all kinds of music, but I think nearly all popular music today has its roots in the blues.

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Art inspired by Matisse.

unexpectations

unexpectations front s

all is dis
order, from concept
to whim—in
side random
patterns I hide the stitches,
untamed by surprise

unexpectations back s

For the dVerse theme of order, hosted by Laura, and Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday, where the words are idea and fancy.  I used shadorma, a form I often turn to when I’m not feeling focused.

unexpectations close up s

The art is a work in progress, which illustrates well the way I operate in general.  I liked the scraps of handmade paper I had accumulated, and spent a long time arranging and rearranging them.  I wanted to do some stitching, because I find it soothing, so I just started making running stitch circles.  I have no idea where or when it will finally end.  But when I’m feeling anxious, it’s a good place to go.

Another Thirteen Days

apolcalyptic crow 2s

1
Crow sits
in the back
of my mind,

2
insistent call
searching
for the source.

3
Crow exists as a continuation–
night overlapping with day.

printed geese 2s

4
Dark shapes,
constant motion.
Behind my eyes,
constant motion.

5
I do not know which to prefer,
black branches
or the hint of green,
the waiting
or the surprise.

6
Wings cross the sky
of my isolation,
weaving through wind
rattling the glass,
suspended
between my longing
and the possibility of flight.

There's a crow flying # if I flew

7
Am I rising or setting?
Can light return
me to my rhythms,
or will only darkness come
to fulfill my desires?

8
I send messages
by breathing,
by listening
through the silences
of birds.

9
I mark the edges
with the songs
of memory.

crow #1s

10
The sky reflects
on the questions
that weave my solitude
with songs.

11
I walk the landscapes
of the unseen,
holding the fear
of endings
in the shadows
of glittering eyes.

spiral crows 2s

12
The sun rises above the roof.
Crow calls me to attention.

13
The days remain
undivided,
uncalendared.
Like the blackbird,
unknown.

13 blackbirds s

The NaPoWriMo Day 14 prompt asks for a poem that “deals with the poems, poets, and other people who inspired you to write poems” .  I return often to Wallace Stevens’ poem “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird”.  Every time it opens new doors.  And Joni…

I have done numerous poems and works of art involving crows, and a selection of the art appears amidst the stanzas above.

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this is the place s

(all the things) I never meant

all the things s

Sorry is
a reflex, a word in
cluding all
regrets for
ever, past and future, large,
tiny, unnoticed–

What was done,
what should have been done–
can we know
what will sprout
from mistakenly planted
words, expectations?

Should I take
back those seeds, wish them
gone, destroy
what was born
when unknowing became theft?
Who will unsing those

Songs?

all the things close up s

The NaPoWriMo prompt for today is “to write a non-apology for the things you’ve stolen”.  I’m very quick to say sorry, but there are always layers of meaning underneath.

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