around repeatedly

around repeatedly s

Wherein lies the origin of mystery?
Does any story have an ending
and can any name the place
where all stories begin?

All stories are branches
of The One Story, a circle
retreating and returning
reversing and rewinding
retracing and redirecting
repeating and renewing.
Each sentence orbits and spirals
inside and out again.

Where is the place between
before and after?  Is there
even a way to find
the location of no before?

around close up s

I spiraled off a bit myself from the dVerse prompt from Merril, revolution.  Blame it on the heat.

 

Summer Meadow

summer meadow close up s

visions of windsong–
waves play currents of magic
painting textured light

Inspired by the photos of Phil Gomm, I tried to recreate one of his beautiful fields.  I will need to explore this further, and of course, as always, I think it needs some stitching.  (I’ll add that in my spare time…)

summer meadow s

For Trank Tassone’s #haikai challenge #148 summer meadow.

It’s so unbearably hot here, it’s hard to find much motivation.  Con Ed keeps calling to warn me the power might go off due to everyone overloading the grid by using their air conditioners.  (I have open windows and 3 fans.)  They are promising us a break on Friday.

borderlands

borderlands 1s

time
distills
into the
slow motion of
half-forgotten hours–
astral sunsets emerge
inside the dense dazzled air–
waiting to join the fading light
that veils the edge between earth and sky

A nonet for Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above, and Colleen’s #tanka Tuesday, with synonyms for blessed and hex, provided by Anita Dawes.

borderlands 2s

I did two  rorschach paintings which turned out slightly different.

wings 2s

But somehow I always end up with wings.

wings 1s

 

reversal

reversal 3s

to recur,
move further away–
becoming
mote covered
constellated skies, stories
embroidered in blue

darkness fades
into emergence–
the tides of
return shaped
by manifestations of
ghost ships left unsailed

indigo
currents bridged between
symbol and
spirit—each
helix twisted round itself–
doubled, multiplied

reversal 2s

For dVerse, a blue quadrille, hosted by Kim.  The art is composed of two different painting experiments that accidentally fell on top of each other–I photographed them in a bunch of different ways, and added the blue with Photoshop.

reversal 1s

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

on the sands of time

on the sands s

on the sands of time

A found poem from Longfellow’s “A Psalm of Life”, the theme suggested by Pat R. for Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday.  I’ve constructed a shadorma with the help of the Collage Oracle.

“…Lives of great men all remind us
   We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
   Footprints on the sands of time…”

on the sands close up s

be not like
time—fleeting, mournful,
pursuing
fate—within
each bivouac is a dream–
heart sailing the soul

not crows,

not crows s

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

For Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above, and also posted to earthweal open link weekend.

not crows close up s