the answer to all of your questions

the answer s

it is not
forever not
everlasting neither
early nor late–
it is not never
not now

it’s located where
it can’t be seen
but it is not lost–
just somewhere
that is nowhere
or perhaps elsewhere

it’s a series of endless
clues in a game
without an end–
a spiral upended
down into
bottomless time

whereupon
it returns
from nevermore
to anywhere–
ending up as
it began–wherever

A poem using the repetitive technique of polyptoton, the challenge from Frank at dVerse, for Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.

the answer close up s

I tend to use a lot of repetition, but not exactly in this way.  An interesting exercise.

 

Who sings in the deepest water in the abandoned lagoon?

the deepest water s

I climb my thoughts of you
into skies that are forever
into air that leaves me gasping

Into a dizzy unconsciousness
that transforms itself endlessly
into not me but someone else

Who has grown wings, who floats
on waves that go through me
and drown me and carry me
everywhere all at once—

Who are you? What is this song
that vibrates through my being
and paints all of my surfaces
with continuous magical surprise?

the deepest water close up 1s

Laura at dVerse is highlighting the questions of poet Pablo Neruda, asking us to take one of the selected lines from his work “The Book of Questions” and make it our own.  My poem (which was inspired partly also by Neruda’s love sonnets) is a reworking of one rejected by The Ekphrastic Review for a piece of artwork by Barbara Danin (which you can see here, or by looking at the poems Jane Dougherty posted for Danin’s painting here).

the deepest water close up 3s

The collage is a combination of Danin and Neruda, one of my favorite poets.

summoning

summoning s

songs rising, the path becomes
a spiral intersecting
the surface of forgotten
dreams, the edge of the held breath
which abides in all places,
a luminescence engraved
on the far side of the light

A sevens poem (via Jane Dougherty) for Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.  Once again, even as I am constrained by what images I find in my collage box, they manage to take me somewhere I would not have found on my own.

summoning close up s

Also linked to OLN on dVerse, hosted by Lillian.

 

indigenous

indigenous comp

I am nowhere indigenous.  Born in the midwestern United States, I have moved through many other regions.  My genetics are blended and confused, my blood relations scattered.  Even within the city I have called home for 45 years I belong to no single neighborhood.  No land or culture claims me as their own.

accumulating
roots of tangled earth and air
unfixed, wandering—

I occupy each season
refilled, resampled, revived

indigenous close up s

For Frank’s haibun prompt at dVerse, considering our relationship to the word indigenous, as we celebrate both Columbus Day and the native peoples who inhabited this land long before Columbus discovered it.

!!!

trump compt

Pop goes the weasel
goes the world out
the world reeking of
weasel out of it

I missed the window for the dVerse Pop Art prompt from Victoria last week, but I had an idea for it and I wanted to follow through.  I also wanted to try a Lewis Carroll Square Poem, which I saw on Paul’s Poetry Playground recently.  My attempt is far from perfect, but it’s a start, and the fact that it doesn’t completely make sense seems appropriate.

I don’t agree with the designation for the most of the artists Victoria found that were listed as pop artists (Kurt Schwitters?  Jasper Johns? Rauschenberg? has the person who made that list looked at their art?) but Andy Warhol certainly falls into that category.  My digital art, above, is inspired by his work.  I used to dismiss him, but his art is wider and deeper than just the soup cans or iconic repeated images.  And all his imitators prove that it’s harder to do than it looks.

He did not have Photoshop either.

 

 

self portrait

self portrait comp

Once again
I study the lines
on this face,
reflecting–
depending on the angle
both parents appear.

At different
ages both of my
daughters looked
like I did
in those black and white photos
I inherited.

How do we
become who we are?
cells that form
shapes of hands,
a certain transcribed motion–
time in a mirror.

Ammol at dVerse has asked us to write a portrait poem.  In the past I’ve done a series of self-portraits in the style of other artists (with poetic accompaniment), but in this case I just took 3 recent drawings in my own style, an occasional morning exercise.

hand s

I also like to draw my hands.

 

severed

torso 2s

to set in stone–
the whiteness of marble
polished, glowing,
rendered with light

an image meant to be immortal

plundered and abused
by the movements
of men and time—

faceless and unlimbed now

the imperfection of decay–
reassembling beginnings
over shadows
of the end

Merril is the host for the dVerse quadrille, using the word “set”.  I drew this Greek sculpture torso a while ago, and added some watercolor on top of the drawing.  What remains of the original figure has its own beauty.