landscape

among the purple heather

among the purple s

solitude
unwinding beneath
meandering
skies, layers
circling back on themselves, cross
currented by wind–

trees sweep leaves
into shapes–shivered,
spilled over
edges, cast
shadowed with spirits holding
earth connecting air

scattering
blossomed voices—bells
calling words
into breath,
into dances that whisper
sanctuary—“come”

For Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.

I recently came across a video that talked about asemic writing, and using it as a prompt for extracting poetry from your unintellible scribbles. I decided to use Sue’s photo as a guide for my asemic composition, first using fine point markers in colors that echoed the landscape.  I then freewrote what I thought my marks were trying to say.

among the purple ansemic s

After that I took watercolor pencils, dipped them in water, and wrote asemically again over the markers, blurring both.  I looked at what I had written in my initial response, extracted some of the ideas, and formed them into a shadorma chain to go with the final composition.

among the purple close up s

 

When I saw Sue’s photo, the first thing I thought of was the traditional Scottish song “Wild Mountain Thyme”.  Joan Baez did a famous version, but I think the one I remember most from my youth is by the Byrds.  It’s been covered and reinterpreted by artists as varied as Van Morrison, the Clancy Brothers, and Ed Sheeran.  I listened to a lot of them, but I really like this one by Kate Rusby.

among the purple ansemic close up s

latitudes

latitudes a

an infused
world, changing with sky
light weather–
we construct
alternates to confusion,
editing ourselves,

trying to
change the stories, shape
how we fit–
our doors swing
only in and out—not through,
not passing between—

our edges
are meant to divide–
what do we
really see?
surrounded by leeways–who
can control the wind?

A shadorma chain for Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.

latitudes close up a

precipice

precipice s

pretend to be a bird winging
into the breeze, an echo from
everywhere, the world just begun–
pretend to be the dawn singing

disappearing the mist—bringing
clarity, light—pretend to be
swimming the rhythm of the sea–
be moon tides chanting on the air
the stillness of the stone, aware
that life remains—a mystery

I promised Jane Dougherty I would try the decima form, and here’s my first attempt, for Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.

precipice close up 1s

When I read Merril Smith’s Monday Morning Musings, yesterday, I was struck by the parallels between her words and mine.  When life is too heavy, we look to the sky.

precipice close up 2s

interchange

interchange s

interchange magnetic

Some thoughts from the Oracle about Sue Vincent’s photo prompt above.  The photo looked familiar so I searched through my archives and found my previous response.  The painting I did was quite different, but the words seem eerily applicable to my present relationship to the world–“this false night, this held breath”.  Am I who I was before?

Incompletion s

am I who I was
before
the ocean remembered me?–
only a fool’s voice
sailing blue—

I listen for the words
of cloud magic
to open this asking path
into the dancing skies of always

interchange close up s

in the country of the blind

country of the blind s

how is survival?
is it away beyond?–
a lost sense of arrival,
neither here nor gone–

is it away beyond,
tethered unto itself?–
neither here nor gone,
undefined, unfelt,

tethered unto itself,
like stars fading at dawn–
undefined, unfelt,
a whispered shadow song

like stars fading at dawn–
a journey, a myth,
a whispered shadow song
of silence and death–

A journey, a myth,
a lost sense of arrival
in silence and death–
how is survival?

800px-Joseph_Mallord_William_Turner_-_Norham_Castle,_Sunrise_-_WGA23182

A pantoum for NaPoWriMo, where we consider rhymes, and Jane Dougherty’s Pictures and Poetry Challenge where she posted the Turner painting, above, and some words from the Francis Ledwidge poem The Dead Kings as inspiration.

country of the blind close up s

My painting was inspired by the Turner painting, and Ron Sexsmith provides the musical coda.

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weather report

window comp s

After not venturing outside at all for weeks, I finally worked up the courage to take the elevator down to the basement and exit the back door, crossing the street to the park.  My apartment windows face Broadway and the view this weekend was especially chilly and grey.

I figured the bitter wind and drizzle, plus the early hour, would keep the walkway fairly empty, and I was right.  A few joggers, some dog walkers, a man with a shopping cart.

I could hear robins, and then two appeared on the path right in front of me.  I was in a different time and space.  The world had been returned to me in color, at least for half an hour on a Sunday morning.

outside it’s spring–
inside winter remains
trapped, unending

spring comp sFor Frank Tassone’s #Haikai Challenge #132, Coronavirus.

as morning returns

as light returns 1s

as morning returns magnetic

I consulted the Oracle while considering Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.  This morning I was up as the sun was rising and even though there are no trees nearby I could hear the birds waking the day as they do every spring.  It was a welcome sound.

as light returns bkg a

I did a lot of fiddling myself with the art–first I painted a soft background, and then I did some more intense stripes on a separate piece of paper.  I cut those up and tried a number of arrangements.  It wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I started, but satisfying nonetheless.

as light returns 3s

as light returns 2s

as morning returns

light fiddles with sky
mist, the thousand green forest
languages, blue wind

whispers of pink moon gardens–
dream shadows swimming through time

as light returns 4s

as our footsteps answer in a timeless dance

as our footsteps angled s

we journey, a field of voices
emanating from the golden
earth, the sky pulling, lifting

the sounds into light, lifting
the wings of birds into voices
calling within a chorus of golden

majesty, the songs writ golden
on the beckoning horizon, lifting
the weight of history with voices

echoing voices—golden, hearts lifting

A tritina, for Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above, and Jane Dougherty’s new weekly challenge.  Jane featured a work from poet Francis Ledwidge, asking us to choose 3 words from his poem for Thomas McDonagh as the 3 words featured in a tritina.  I chose voices, golden, and lifting.

as our footsteps s

I used metallic paint in my watercolor, but the light was not right to reflect it when I photographed it from above.  I think the angled shot works well with the words as well as holding on better to the light.

I’m so happy to see Jane’s challenge has been revived–my discovery of it was a real stimulus for seriously writing poetry and using my art in conjunction with it, not to mention connecting me with many WordPress friends.  And she always finds interesting art and words!  I was trying to find the first one of her challenges I did, and I think it may be this one, which was part of a back-and-forth of art between my co-blogger on MethodTwoMadness, Nina, and me.  Nina works in a medical office so is on the front lines so to speak.  I miss her art, but applaud her, and all those working to keep us going in these uncertain times, for their important work.

as our footsteps close up s

I did not consult the Oracle yet today, but she was definitely looking over my shoulder for this one…