Sunday, February 27, 2011

Sunday February 27, 2011 I Saw Sunday/Poets United

I saw Sunday Week #22
Yesterday, the sunrise was incredible
Today, though lovely, it seemed ordinary
Does it always seem this way


In response to Sherry Blue Sky's piece today about the "middle."

That Space In-between
Is it possible to describe
That place in-between
Often thought to be in the middle
One might feel squeezed
Like the closing of elevator doors
Swoosh... the breath is
Pressed from your lungs

Or is it more like a valley
Between two mountains
Spread out
Wide open
You can see forever
Or until the mountains
On either side
Bar you go further

Could it be like an island
Surrounded by water
Big enough
Plenty of room
But wet, watery boundaries

I was born the middle child
Mind of my own
Plenty of space
Lots of room to grow
But there were boundaries

I can tell no more
Something in between
Something unseen
Could hide in plain view
Standing in front of you

Saturday, February 26, 2011

Saturday February 26, 2011/Writer's Island/ A Small Stone/The Poetry Bus

Writer's Island Prompt #9 for 2011 Improvise

Soul Journey
As an artist
To improvise
Is what I do

Can I say how it is done
Probably not
Starts with an idea
We have don't know
How to do it
We don't even know
What we want
But we try
We try to discover
It is trial and error
It is "what if"

We seek patterns
Related to every
Kind of creativity
We look for clues on how
To be self creating

All art is improvisation
Some we present
Whole and at once
Some we present
Rrevised and restructured
We seek our own way

It begins with an idea
And we stumble
Through the journey
The finished piece you
See or hear
Is but a relic or trace of the
Journey that has
Come and gone

All art is performance
Even when you are the
Only one in the studio
For all is revealed in
The finished product
It is a record of the
Process of improvisation

The process comes
From the deepest
Part of ourselves
It is a spiritual path
It is about us
About the deep self
It is a soul journey


Looking east and south, towards Truches Peak, New Mexico, land of enchantment.

A Small Stone
Winter morning colors
Ignite the heart
Van Gogh

Photos do not do justice
Awash in glorious pinks
Not to be missed
There are no words
To "tell" this magic
You will have to
Wake early, too

It is free
You can not spend it
You do not have
To work for it
Just open your eyes
Look and you will see
A treasure that
Fills the heart

Poetry Bus Prompt: the above photo

The Old Photo
It was the photo I had been looking for
Mother's birthday 1914
The family was all coming to the party
It had been some time
Since we had all gotten together

But no....that could not be
All four of the children
Had been washed away in the
1900 Galveston storm

Mother took to her bed,
Never got up,
Never went out
Grieved those kids
All the rest of her life.

Friday, February 25, 2011

Friday February 25, 2011/A Small Stone/ Poets United

wo-man (stellar-symmetry)

timeless tapestries
skirting separate same
stellar -super- strung
moves with belly
blessed the sun rises
face to meet face
mirroring all colors of my tapestry
twirling spinning flawless symmetry
delight ( ing ) cosmos
celestial gods

copyrighted 2011

Barbara MacKenzie signed...bkm, has posted the most wonderful poem in response to Awakening Beneath the Yoke. Thank you so much!

Image from the internet.

Stones are often
About the size
Of a lemon
And fit perfectly
In the palm of
Your hand.

Poets United Prompt #Lemons

The Color of Lemons
As a child
My favorite color
Was purple
Skin of a juicy plum

And now, it is yellow
Like the sun
Radiating warmth
A favorite of Van Gogh

Two colors opposite
On the color wheel

Mixed together evenly
A lovely grey
The under side of a dove's wing
Mix yellow with a little more purple
The low sound of a tug-boat's
Horn on a foggy night

Mix purple with a little more yellow
Early morning in winter
Or autumn's late afternoon
Following the sounds
Of migrants headed south

Yellow is the only color
That is always warm
Like the body offering
Warmth under the shirt
All other colors
Like ourselves
Depend for warmth or cold
Where they are placed
Next to another

Van Gogh creates an area of yellow
Then an area of blue-purple
And black plus blue
Blobs of paint= black birds
Fly across a magic yellow sky
Above sea of grain
We see his paint
We stop
An imprint is made
Upon our brain
Never to be forgotten

This theory of color sounds so easy
But the study of color
And it's use
Is a lifetime journey
An exploration
As exciting as an uncharted continent
As you explore the use of color
You will meet yourself
A self you did not know
For artists are those who do not know
If he "knows"
He will no longer make discoveries
When he surprises himself
He will also surprise his viewer

And that is art
Which is not to meet a
Familiar friend
But it is to meet the
Friendly or not

It is to find the yellow
The exact yellow
The color of lemons
Lemons in sunlight
Lemons in shadow
All the many
Colors of yellow
All the yellow colors
Of Lemons

Thursday, February 24, 2011

Thursday February 24, 2011/We Write Poems/A Small Stone/Three Word Wednesday/ Theme Thursday

We Write Poems: Prompt #43 Guardian Angel

Guardian Angel
I pride myself as a person
With both feet upon the ground
Grounded in thought and deed
But I am an artist by profession
And I know for sure
Sometimes when I create
"I" have nothing to do with it
Especially if it works
Then it is called the muse,
Or Angel...or
Guardian Angel

For me the muse is "she"
You never know when she will appear
To give advice or guidance
Or to save your life,
It is important to be at your post
To be ready,
If she comes by
And you are engaged
She will not disturb

You will know her
She speaks with a small quiet voice
She will encourage
She will support
She watches over you
She enters the room quietly
She may be there for
Sometime before she
Makes her presence known
You may not see her
But you will know her

The lesson here is
Do not waste your time
Be ready each day
She will come again
And you will be there
To greet her
To receive her gifts
She is your guardian angel

We Write Poems Prompt: A safe place
A Small Stone

A point of safety
An illusion
Without existence
But we see it
Clearly in our
Own minds

Three Word Wednesday Prompt: Juicy, Stress, and Figure

To speak of that place
Is juicy conversation
We can conjure
Spooky ghost stories
Spine-tingling tales
There is no stress
To talk about it
But I figure
If I had to go alone
I might be over come
Theme Thursday Prompt: Point

A Point of Safety
Of lighthouses
I have known only one
On Aransas Bay
We would see it
When we went out
To fish in the surf

It was good to see it
A point safety
It was like returning home
You turn onto the road
Where you live
See your own house
There it stands
Exactly as you left it
All is well

It is said
We like to "get lost"
Because we like to
Find our way "home"
Exactly as you left it
All is well

It is to come up
Out of the canyon
To get that first glimpse
Of the little village
In the valley
Where you live
Where people have
Lived for all times
Returning home
Point of safety
There it stands
Exactly as you left it

Your Mother"s face
Sift through your past
Like so many
Black and white photos
All is there in memory
Nothing is lost
Exactly as you left it
All is well

Return to the
Arms of your lover
It is as if you
Have never been away
A point of safety,
A touchstone
A mountain
You have found
Your way home
Exactly as you left it
All is well

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Wednesday February 23, 2011 A Small Stone

A Small Stone
Each day is like
A Beginning
Or an ending
Some days
More one than


Poetic Asides Prompt: Title of a Song --Firsherman's Song/ from Spanish Guitar Music CD

Fisherman's Song/(Artist's Song)

He casts his line
.........She splashes water

The light glistens off the water
.........The light glistens off the water

Rings radiate
..........Color stains the area

His lure sinks below the surface
..........Her color becomes the surface

He becomes one with the fish
..........She becomes one with her work

The fisherman/The artist
Each seeks his heart's desire

The fisherman catches his limit
..........Or not
She creates a surface to perfection
..........Or not
The fisherman feeds his family
..........The artist feeds her soul

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Tuesday February 22, 2011/A Small Stone/ Magpie Tales #54

A Small Stone
The morning creeps quietly
And yet there are strong contrasts
The sky pale, from
Orange to blue
The earth still black
Attached to the night
Symbol of darkness
A time when bad happens
Nightmares and fear


Puzzle of Time

The puzzle pieces
Are scattered
Across the table
Like the moments of a life.

One fits into another
And yet,at first glance
So many
Seem the same

Perhaps it takes
More than a glimpse
To determine
The difference
One from another

Over time
Even important moments
Seem the same
Do we know the difference
What to look for
How can we say

Did that happen last Christmas
Or was it the Christmas before

I think I am talking about the
Moments of time
But is it important
After all, to recognize
Each moment

Instead perhaps time
Is more like a tapestry
No longer its individual parts
Or puzzle pieces
But instead something complete
And whole

Monday, February 21, 2011

Monday February 21, 2011/ Podcast Becky Papp - Signed... bkm/ Statement The Red Shoe Artists Book Project A Small Stone/

This is a link to Becky Papp, podcast. She is interviewing (signed...bkm,) Barbara MacKenzie. I think you will like this, and Barbara talks about the Red Shoe artists book project. She also reads some of her poetry, which is so beautiful!


A Small Stone

The dark night is
Sometimes an endless road
Pain fills my right leg like sand
Filling the lower half of an hourglass
At last I am forced to move
Alas turning and tossing


This is the latest painting for the Red Shoe artists book project.

The Red Shoes
Statement 2011

I stand in the ring
In the dead city
And tie on the red shoes
They are not mine,

They are not mine,
They are my mother's
Her mother's before,
Handed down like an heirloom
But hidden like shameful letters.
--Anne Sexton

The red shoes are a symbol of creativity for women and our legacy. It is this legacy that the Red Shoes artists book project addresses. And it is this legacy that contemporary women do not know or have forgotten.

Women today are able to grasp the pen, hold the brush, sing and dance because of the women who went before, who struggled in isolation, which felt like illness -- alienation, that felt like madness -- obscurity, that felt like paralysis to overcome the anxiety of authorship that was endemic to their literary and creative subculture.

I have asked sixteen artists to join me in The Red Shoe project. The writings of these women are diverse in language, style, approach and form. They each seem to be remaking, renewing, renaming, re-experiencing and recasting old ideas about the Red Shoes.

"Women are writing wonderfully exciting, approachable, rich, funny and moving poetry (and prose) that can speak to a wider readership that it usually gets. Women are writing much of the best poetry being written, but remain poorly represented in anthologies, textbooks, reading series, prize lists, awards and every other institution controlled by white men who like the way things are presently run just fine. Women are still mostly read by women." --Marge Percy, Early Ripening

The artists were chosen for this project simply because I love their work. There are many others that could have been included; perhaps this is just the beginning.

I conceived the idea of a Red Shoe artists book project, while reading the Madwoman in the attic, by Sandra M. Gilbert and Susan Gubar. They explain that the women of the nineteenth- century had what was called "anxiety of authorship," --a fear that she could not create, that because she could never become a "precursor" the act of creating would isolate or destroy hr. The symbol of the red shoes is often used in fairly tales as the symbol for the creativity of women, i.e. Snow White, The Wizard of Oz, Cinderella, and others.

Feet bound securely
Toes tucked under
Fire licks tenderly
Red Shoes insist
They are made for dancing
Glass shoes will cut
Red all over
But without fear
Many women
Slip on the red shoes
And they dance

I have written other posts about artists book projects. If you go to the sidebar and put into the search bar "artists book projects."

Sunday, February 20, 2011

Sunday February 20, 2011/ I Saw Sunday/A Small Stone/Sunday Scribblings

A Small Stone

Evening sunset
Storm clouds move in
The earlier clouds
Brilliant above the mountain
Thirst quenching rain

Sunday Scribblings Prompt #255 Food

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Image from the internet.

A blessing and a curse
As a people we love food
You can see it
We eat, too much

We worry....
Food may not
Be wholesome
How is one to feed
His family

Food is becoming
Very expensive
Takes a larger
Bite out of the

We have forgotten
How to grow
Our own food
How is one to feed
His family

Food tastes good
Is no indication
Of the quality
A fast food joint
On every corner

I saw on TV
Americans have a
High tolerance
For sugar and salt
Processors are
Changing to less
Sugar and salt

We need food
To feed ourselves
Our brains
But not all food is
Good for you
How is one to
Feed his family

Saturday, February 19, 2011

Saturday February 19, 2011/Poetry Bus/ A Small Stone/ Writers Island/Carry on Tuesday

Caught in Amber
In this moment
I am caught in Amber
My ears can hear nothing
The breath I take
Fills my lungs with nothing
I've worked all day
I've accomplished nothing

Beautiful insect
Caught in Amber
Held to the light
Wings glisten
As in the beginning
Times goes forward
And backward in
The same moment
A moment that
Lasts for all times
Caught in Amber


A Small Stone

White pages open
Like wings in flight
Thumb through
Each page a revelation
About a tiny red shoe
Carry on Tuesday Prompt: parting is such sweet sorrow
Writer's Island Prompt: #8 Foretell

Foretells the parting
Always with sorrow
The sweet unknown
And yet...
Your voice
Speaks of a tearing
Longed for --

Over time imagined
A hole or a flaw
Made by tearing
Beyond mending
Its tiny beginning so
Many years ago

Tears and ruptures
Wounds continue daily
The torn relationship
Beyond mending
Speaks of a parting
Longed for --

Reasons of compassion
Hinder the completion
The clock ticks
In the hall
Your sweet voice hums,
"Sweet sorrow
Is a parting
Longed for --"
Your eyes sparkle

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Wednesday, February 16, 2011 One Stop Poetry/A Small Stone/Three Word Wednesday/Carry On Tuesday/ Big Tent Poetry/Poets Asides

Three Word Wednesday Prompt: Blink, Kind, Occasion

New Mexico my chosen home
Villages so small
You miss them
One of a KIND
They celebrate special OCCASIONS

A Small Stone
I see where the pavement
Meets the dirt road
The deep blue mountain
Meets the gray blue sky
And I meet myself
In a place in between

A Wish Tree/image from the internet.

Carry on Tuesday Prompt: One Wish by Cortney Kuchta, The first line: If I could have just one wish.

I always stay away
From wishes
After all,
When we make wishes
...Even just one
We tell the universe
We want it our way
As if we know best

A wish is just a tiny thing
A twinge in the heart
As if to say
I'll be happy if you
Just do it my way

When truth be told
It will all work out
...As it should
...For the best
Who can say

I like the mystery of it all
I give up my sense of control
Let's just see how things turn out
Keep wishes in wells
And in pickets full
Send best wishes for all
Keep this day a wish fulfilled

One Stop Poetry

Big Tent Poetry Prompt What's in a name Game

New Mexico and It's Names
Names of places
Names of towns
Names can be very intriguing
Names unheard
Names unknown
One begins to wonder
What does that mean
Where did it come from

New Mexico is filled with
Names unfamilar
La Balada, La Careda
La Ceja, La Chuachia
Toadlena, Bisti-De-Na-Zin
Chaco, Placitas, Tierra Amerillo

Names that fill the mouth
Names that roll off your tongue
And seem to hang
In the air before you
Like the sound of
Church bells heard in
The distance
Names to stumble over
Portales, Terra Amerilla

If you have been to this land
You know of its beauty
You see all it's colors
Burnt Sienna, Cerelean blue,
Dusty greens, purples, rose
Blood reds, and yellows
Mora, Onova, San Jose
Small sleepy villages,
Minding the old ways

Dulce, Chama, Los Pinos
Letting the world go by
The center of all things
Taos,San Francisco,Carrizozo
Albuquerque, Bernatillo
Homes made of mud
Dogs sleeping in the sun
Pueblo dogs with names
Of their own aren't seen at
Westerminster Dog Show

Tularosa, Gila, Aragon
Many of the names
Come from Spanish
Or Native words
Ancient, old
Animas, Pinos Altos,
Las Palomas, Cuchillo
Laguna, San Fidel

A place of beauty
And it's names
Names said low
In the canyons
Bounce back to the heart
Whispered in the wind
Drawn in the sand
Baked by the sun
Spoken magic

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Tuesday February 15, 2011 Magpie #53

Container of Salt
Formal designs cut in glass
Used for all times
Precious commodity
Salt trains
Camel's burden
Cross hot desert sands

Used for all times
Makes the blood
Pressure rise
Just a little
Then some more
Before you know it
It's a lot
And the numbers
Are off the charts

I like it sprinkled on
Cool red watermelon
In the hot sultry summer
Just a little on my fries
Crusted on Margarita glass
A Salty Dog
Salt is good on
Precious commodity


Not so good in water
Only less than one
Percent of the earth's
Water is drinkable
To be exact
(.037 percent)

We know no moderation
Our resources run dry
When a man is thirsty
Cross hot desert sands
Saltwater won't do.

Monday, February 14, 2011

Monday February 14, 2010 Valentines Day

Another day of working on the Red Shoe Book Project. The little pair of shoes in the painting above seem to go with the words written by Ase Lilleskare Faugstad, a wonderful Norwegian artist, "The first "best" shoes I wore." I love the thought that this little girl slipped her feet into the red shoes early. And she loved those shoes and she kept those red shoes.

I wanted to speak about the method I have chosen to paint the paintings of the Red Shoes. I have chosen watercolor, first because it is a tradition that is often used by women, or thought of as painting for women. And it wasn't until male artists began using watercolor that is was considered a "real" medium. Still today, the use of watercolor is looked down upon, when everyone knows it is a very difficult medium, and takes many years to accomplish. There are many ways to execute watercolor, but I have chosen to draw. And the drawing is not "right", but rather expressive, and to wet the paper and allow the watercolor to do the work, leaving lots of white paper, and even this requires much care, not to splash watercolor where you don't want it(This isn't easy for me, I get so into what I'm doing, I forget about the splashes and drips.).

Friday, February 11, 2011

Friday February 11, 2011 A Small Stone

At the window
The sky is empty
Except for that NM blue
All is quiet on the mesa
Inside and out

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Thursday February 10, 2011/ A Small Stone/Theme Thursday/Poets United

Vincent Van Gogh

A Small Stone
Vincent Van Gogh
World's greatest colorist
New film at the video store
Could see in his work
Deep into his heart

Van Gogh:brush with genius, 2010 Image Entertainment, Inc.

We Write Poems A Valentine Message

A Valentine Message
Be my Valentine won't you please
Monday first day of the week
February 14th Valentines day
Just a little note to say
I love you
And to think you
For all you do

You're always there when I need you
You never let me down
All is visible to me
And I know your heart
Together we make up
What is "me"

"Home" to me, warm and safe
You tend the fire
You take my hand when it is dark
You guide me if I lose my way

I live in gratitude to myself
I am not alone
I hear your soft voice
My heart belongs to you
You are my own Valentine


Image from the internet. Prompt: Spiral Prompt# 35: Shadow

The Spiral and Its Shadow
Embrace your soul
And cast your shadow
Follow the spiral
Birth begins, new life
The cycle ends with death
No shadow cast
Life's full circle is complete

There are many spirals
Pecked in stone
Across the southwest
In Chaco Canyon there is
A famous spiral
That is hidden

The Sun Dagger
(gone now)
A dagger of light
Would enter the spiral
And cross through the center
On the summer Solstice
The longest day of the year

The spiral is ancient, old
Round and round it goes
No less important today
The idea of the
Spiral and it's shadow
Travel through the underground
Emerging into sunshine
Where all shadows will be found

Van Gosh painted movement
Into his paintings
And if you look you will see
The spiral and it's shadow, too
Created by his brushstrokes
Paint upon canvas

Dip your paint loaded
Brush into water
The spiral and its shadow
Float to the surface
Perhaps it's created by the
Movement of the earth.
Past, future and this moment
Are one in the spiral
And its shadow

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Wednesday February 9, 2011 A Small Stone/Three Word Wednesday

A Small Stone
Art created with technique only
Lacks soul, heart or feeling
Final outcome
Is exercise only

Three Word Wednesday Prompt: Dare, essence, practical

Today I dare not spend my morning writing
My schedule is full
I have much to do
Five days away from the studio
I really need to catch-up

I am finishing my little book
Message in a Bottle
Message to the sea
It probably isn't the most
Efficient way to communicate
But it is the essence that we
Seek to express

Slip the message into the bottle
Push the cork tight
Soul calls to soul
When messages are launched
Upon one of the seven
Oceans of the Universe
We can not say it is
The most practical method
Of sending a message
To a person

But when messages are
Sent in this way
We have but to listen
To hear the waves
Return to shore
Voices rise to answer

You don't have to wait long
Pick up a pearly pink shell
Place it to your ear
Like a cell phone
The answer you seek is in
The shell-song you hear

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Tuesday February 8, 2011 A Small Stone/ Magpie Tales

A Small Stone

First day to have gas
After five without
Things we take for granted
Gratitude fills me


Magpie #52

The Lonely Little House
Green the color of the forest
Trimmed in yellow
Like the sun
Not much wider than
The span of my own two hands
Holds a heart that beats within
But the winds blow cold
Around this little house

Just a tiny little house
A dream fulfilled,
The little old man
Who lived there once
Remembered by all
Who knew him
The Great-Grandson
Of the man who made the little
Green house upon the lane

Two people in the house
Were crowded
When they stood
Just one window
To look out
It was a house
For just one man
The house was lonely on the lane
The man inside was just the same

Monday, February 7, 2011

Monday February 7, 2011 A Small Stone/ Big Tent Poetry/Poetry Potluck

A Small Stone

I have found I am not qualified
For Arctic exploration
So along with downhill skiing
These are two things I won't be doing
The gas has been turned on again
We'll probably be warm by tomorrow


Big Tent Poetry prompt: The Blues

It seems when the temperature
Drops for too long
Here comes the blues,
No matter how much
I resolve to not let it bother me
Fingers get numb
I can think of nothing else
Without warmth
I would have to seek
Warmer climes
Head south
Leave these beautiful
Mountains behind.

It has only been five days
Without gas
Unable to heat or cook
Feed the fireplace
Precious wood
We have survived
But it isn't the way
We would like it

I try not to complain
Remember there are others
Who live this way all the time
Some out of choice
Others without
When your routine is

It is hard
Not to get down
Sing the blues
Investigate every hue
Shade and tint
Rub your hands together
Try to create heat
Get the blood out to the tips

The lights are still on
The toilets flush
There is much to be grateful for
But blue is a must
It doesn't take long
For fingers to freeze

On TV I've seen people
In Arctic expeditions
One wonders how they could do it
The hardships are unbearable
They must have been
Made of stronger stock
Arctic expeditions
Aren't for me

Image from the internet.

Poetry Potluck prompt: Aims, Goals and Ambition

Blocks are stacked
Into configuration
Carefully balanced
One on top of another

Easily toppled
Down they come
To be stacked again
All that can be imagined
Once stacked
It must be evaluated

The question asked
Is there a good foundation
Are goals too top heavy
Queen, movie star, Rock singer
Or ambitions reasonable
Have preparations be done

A child understands
What is needed
To create a good
Stack of blocks
We can, too

Saturday, February 5, 2011

Saturday February 5, 2011 A Small Stone/Poets United

A Small Stone
Raven sits high in Winter's bare tree
Surveys all through
Clear Mountain Air
Bird's eye view

Another Small Stone
Flames lick, promise warmth
Within rounded kiva,
Warms the cave
Fire is the heart of home
Makes us sing gratitude

More About the Red Shoes
The skins that wrap the feet
In bondage, tied secure
Have a rhythm all their own
Like the bird who has his song
Sings from his heart
Makes up his own words
Words so sweet
They could break your heart

Those shoes
Shaped like hearts
That hold the feet
Red they are
Shiny bright
Will find their way
On the darkest night.
She dances as though
In a dream

They'll call to you
They know your name,
There is no mistake
The song they sing
Like the Pied Piper's
Irresistible tune
It's not the children
But the women of the town
Slip into the red, red shoes
She's out of control
She won't listen to you

Red Shoes hang across
The telephone wires
Thrown there
To make her stop
Otherwise it's slip, dash, hop
She dances as though she's in a dream
She's out of control
She won't listen to you

I't s all she wants
She cuts and pastes
Sings her song
Writes her words
Paints her color
She's out of control
She won't listen to you.

State of Emergency
They say
The relighting won't happen
In Taos today
They will start in
Red River and Questa
We can survive

I go to Santa Fe today
Someone will have to stay
To keep feeding the fire
So the pipes won't break
that would be real damage
It's a little inconvenient
But there are some
Without heat or running water
All the time

Thursday, February 3, 2011

Thursday February 3, 2011 A Small Stone, Theme Thursday

Image from the internet.

A Small Stone #3

The screen glows
Tiny figures
Run this way
And that
Fire bombs right
Fire Bombs left
Americans told to
Get Out
Revolution in progress
Cairo, Egypt

Theme Thursday February 3, 2011 Prompt: Paint

Paint the medium
That carries the meaning
The power and joy of
Color found in paint,

To "see" paint is a delight
To "smell" paint is a signal
Roll up your sleeves
Often in a museum
Someone is looking
We "feel" it with our eyes
In the hand of the artist
We can even "hear" paint.

Paint belongs to me
I claim it
It sustains me
At the art supply
I run my hand over the tubes
At the hardware store
I read labels
I dream

The stories I tell are with paint
My language is made with paint
I sing paint
I sweat paint
Paint runs through my veins
Cut me
Paint runs from my body
In lovely colors

I am in love with paint
I color my world with paint
There is nothing else
Remove the paint
I shrivel and I die
It is all that is of value
This is not a lesson learned
I knew all this
As a small child
I was born of paint

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Wednesday February 2, 2011 Poetic Assides/ A Small Stone/Three Word Wednesday

A Small Stone #2

Far away
People protest
High cost of food
It has risen 70%

Well done
Wall Street

Three Word Wednesday Prompt: Abrasive, Handful, Loss

Wonders of Nature
Gather by handfuls
Sand, seashells,
Mountains, rivers
Deer, beaver
Eagles, hawks
All of the wonders of Nature

It is us who are abrasive
Our way of "life"
(Perhaps I mean death)
The wonders of Nature
Will be our loss

Image from internet.,guid,FEEE04CA-5C62-40B0-AF7E-3DD23F8319EF.aspx#3e419a28-e1a1-4f62-8724-8f8c1a2eeedc

Poetic Assides #121 A belief poem.

To Think or To Believe
Belief is passive
End of conversation
Closed mind

Think is active
Invites conversation
Open mind

I believe in thinking

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Tuesday February 1, 2011 Big Tent Poetry/ Small Stone/ Magpie February #1

Small Stone February #1
White, cold
Changes everything
During the night.

Big Tent Poetry

To ☛ float or not to sink
We teach our children to swim
For fear they will all sink like rocks
Lived all your life in water
Knew it better than anyone

Your gentle touch lost to sea
No longer you will ☛ handle me
Nor use the sand paper
To ☛grind to your pleasing
I was ☛resistant
I stayed ☛remote
For fear I would lose myself

I crawled into the ☛ cabinet
Into the ☛darkened space
Positioned alongside
The salt and pepper
You said
For my own good,
Locked away
Put on a shelf
Lived all my life near water

I gave up the daily ☛grind
Remained totally myself
I ☛rotate the handle
Unwilling to complete
Your collection
You took the ☛blade to my person
I screamed into the ☛darkening night.
I knew better than anyone

I asked all that was holy,
Denied you my life
Stayed ☛alert,
Looked for another ☛angle
Slipped away into the ☛darkening night
Made a new life
So I could ☛function
Without drowning
I knew this better than anyone

Magpie #51
I placed the pavers
To create a path
From front door to drive
So you could find
Your way back

Old, worn
You might swear
They had been there forever
Chipped and cracked
Like you and me

We took a step back
Then walked the foot path
Promised forever
Did not realize
You were leaving
You had already packed

What we had together
Was old, worn out
Chipped and cracked
Set on the curb
Could only be seen
When you looked back

Old, worn out
And useless
Now a memory
Unlike the pathway
I created
From front door to drive
Old and worn
Chipped and cracked

My friend Jim Clark has started a new blog, I think you will like it.

Taking time off.....

I am taking some time off from posting on my blog.  I am studying, practicing, have so much to learn....