I don't even know what I have in that basket of poetry magazines. This is from the Florida State Poet's Association Anthology Five(1987)
Passover
Breaking bread
dried wine bottoms a glass
leftovers
among the ruins
of yesterday's gathering
the candle wax
already
fallen
where it may
This is a good one. We celebrated Seder with our former roommate Susan who is Jewish, now a completed Jew. She lived with us on and off. It was my impression of the celebration. I just wanted to comment that it was passed, something old, maybe beautiful, but discarded. Susan wasn't practicing her faith, me neither. We invited our friends, I think there were eight of us. Rob and Cindy came. Rob is Susan's brother. Chris came. He became a believer a little I before did, Susan a few years later.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Saturday Morning Find
Cloud hidden moon
reappears
in the iris' rustle
I found this in the print out of The International Haiku Contest- commemorating 40 years anniversary of the Modern Haiku Association (Gendai Haiku Kyokia), Tokyo, Japan
This haiku was rejected by the editor I mentioned last time. So who knows what is good or bad haiku.
I also use it in the watercolor haiku moon which was exhibited at the Brevard County (Melbourne Florida) Art Museum's Annual juried show. A big deal for me.
Friday, July 11, 2008
haiku, hands, art... Oh My!
From wind chimes issue 25.
Hal Roth was the editor of wind chimes and became a friend who encouraged me to write. He self published the magazine and sold subscriptions in the little world of American haiku poets that existed in the 1980's mostly consisting of artists, poets and college professors. Some of the presses where associated with universities on that the editors taught most likely literature. My mentor was well respected in this little world and opened doors for me. What I learned was persistence, how to handle rejection, the rewrite and just observing life or allowing life to observe you and catching the moment.
Hidden in a box
autumn leaves
mother pressed
in wax paper
and my longing for home
fog
the road I know
by heart
snowbound
fingerprints
on white walls
I also found a copy of a very nice review of my little book. There were two. One from an editor that was always so hard on me. I was completely surprised. (He was a literature prof., I think)
I was trying to think about the poem I posted yesterday, Recovery, what was on my mind when I wrote it. The hand were me. Although I wrote as if they were another, it was like observing my self... three phases. The bleeding and cut hand was me as I entered recovery. It is a picture of my broken relationships. The second hand being made smooth by the sand is me having my rough edges worn away. I was a rough person when I drank. The third image was when life and warmth began to replace the old and all through the poem images of being in this process on my own and often feeling like I spoke but no one heard. The hand as an image of my being works because of my identity was an artist. I am because I do. I went to the art gallery at Collin College tonight and one of the ladies use the image of hands with the ides of being. I said, "yes" There ya go.
Hal Roth was the editor of wind chimes and became a friend who encouraged me to write. He self published the magazine and sold subscriptions in the little world of American haiku poets that existed in the 1980's mostly consisting of artists, poets and college professors. Some of the presses where associated with universities on that the editors taught most likely literature. My mentor was well respected in this little world and opened doors for me. What I learned was persistence, how to handle rejection, the rewrite and just observing life or allowing life to observe you and catching the moment.
Hidden in a box
autumn leaves
mother pressed
in wax paper
and my longing for home
fog
the road I know
by heart
snowbound
fingerprints
on white walls
I also found a copy of a very nice review of my little book. There were two. One from an editor that was always so hard on me. I was completely surprised. (He was a literature prof., I think)
I was trying to think about the poem I posted yesterday, Recovery, what was on my mind when I wrote it. The hand were me. Although I wrote as if they were another, it was like observing my self... three phases. The bleeding and cut hand was me as I entered recovery. It is a picture of my broken relationships. The second hand being made smooth by the sand is me having my rough edges worn away. I was a rough person when I drank. The third image was when life and warmth began to replace the old and all through the poem images of being in this process on my own and often feeling like I spoke but no one heard. The hand as an image of my being works because of my identity was an artist. I am because I do. I went to the art gallery at Collin College tonight and one of the ladies use the image of hands with the ides of being. I said, "yes" There ya go.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
People in general do not understand haiku
it isn't 17 syllables nor a nature poem
my darkness deepens
moon
crescent sets
wind chimes issue 22
Indian summer
dandelion seeds
whiten the spider web
water strider
skims across
my reflection
Recovery (short poem)
a wall
of voices broken
glass that night you slashed
your hand
and went to bed,
bleeding,
pieces-- not to be remembered.
full moon
cool and crisp,
my voice veiled in it's transparency.
the smoothness
of your hands
pressed and pounded,
my heart
in the breaking waves.
and hands so
warm-- I was crying.
thoughts shattered
and rearranged into smiles.
I know again my own fragilty.
rain
in an open window
I stop and breath
the silence.
Sky Lark Special American Women's Edition Number 52 (1984)
(India's leading English quarterly devoted exclusivley to modern poetry.)
my darkness deepens
moon
crescent sets
wind chimes issue 22
Indian summer
dandelion seeds
whiten the spider web
water strider
skims across
my reflection
Recovery (short poem)
a wall
of voices broken
glass that night you slashed
your hand
and went to bed,
bleeding,
pieces-- not to be remembered.
full moon
cool and crisp,
my voice veiled in it's transparency.
the smoothness
of your hands
pressed and pounded,
my heart
in the breaking waves.
and hands so
warm-- I was crying.
thoughts shattered
and rearranged into smiles.
I know again my own fragilty.
rain
in an open window
I stop and breath
the silence.
Sky Lark Special American Women's Edition Number 52 (1984)
(India's leading English quarterly devoted exclusivley to modern poetry.)
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
New Old
storm clouds
drive way
awash with oleanders
cira 1987 wind chime issue 22
Heart Stones
sea mist my thoughts diffuse into twilight
off brand empty bottle her children unfed
while I scold the child milk scalds
in line fill out a form my limp son
years now the silent wound won't heal lost breast
in the blue river fog the crow eyes it
heart stone her visit ressurects old feelings
only a rumor between us river murmurs
at the end of the letter white out
off season the begonia start she gave me blooms
cold moon that night a hollow that couldn't be filled
nidnightinapoet'sheart
leaving the blame for you he leaves the deep orange sunset
spring sitting in her wildflower garden as the other woman
iris i painted her bare wall new life
morning star until it rises
late in summer as air lightens a swollen sundown
lace heart scent she sent in a box of maternity clothes
transition: his name in each breath
tornado watch black clouds split the sky
5 'oclock shadow in need of sleep sunburn
red eye leaving the dark jeweled city below
Note:Blogger looses a lot of the formatting and thus looses some of the art.
Monday, July 7, 2008
Reflection on being bed ridden on a long holiday.........
Well I was
sad and
whiney
I slept til noon each day
Doctor’s orders
a fever
body aches and pains
quizieness abound
so I subsisted on
Tylenol and juice
no food
no coffee
but tea was nice
both hot and iced
(I was trying not to rhythm
too bad)
I thought about
what I could do if
I lifted my head from
the pillow but
that was no fun
I watched two
movies and wrote
a review
I snuck out and
took photos
bought fruit and
then another day in
bed to recoup
(I was trying not to rhythm
too bad)
I slept through
worship
read my Bible in bed
thought about
writing those
devotionals
articles
and how to's
but not me
I did algebra instead
got an 80 on the
quiz I almost forgot
then Scott
left for New Orleans
(I was trying not to rhythm
too bad)
I went back to
work and
hurt some more
But now I am going to sleep
because I need it
Doctor's orders
you know how that is
and how well
I listen
so tell me
how much trouble
am I in?
(I was trying not to rhythm
too bad)
sad and
whiney
I slept til noon each day
Doctor’s orders
a fever
body aches and pains
quizieness abound
so I subsisted on
Tylenol and juice
no food
no coffee
but tea was nice
both hot and iced
(I was trying not to rhythm
too bad)
I thought about
what I could do if
I lifted my head from
the pillow but
that was no fun
I watched two
movies and wrote
a review
I snuck out and
took photos
bought fruit and
then another day in
bed to recoup
(I was trying not to rhythm
too bad)
I slept through
worship
read my Bible in bed
thought about
writing those
devotionals
articles
and how to's
but not me
I did algebra instead
got an 80 on the
quiz I almost forgot
then Scott
left for New Orleans
(I was trying not to rhythm
too bad)
I went back to
work and
hurt some more
But now I am going to sleep
because I need it
Doctor's orders
you know how that is
and how well
I listen
so tell me
how much trouble
am I in?
(I was trying not to rhythm
too bad)
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
In Glimpses
I was in the ezine this morning. To see it you have to subscribe. It is called Glimpses by Heather Goodman. Heather’s description of it….
Our Vision: Bridging Faith and Imagination
One of the legacies of the modern era has been the secularization of culture. For much of the twentieth century, the belief that God is dead, or at least inaccessible, has stripped a great deal of religious vision and wisdom from the modern imagination. Most of our leading critics and thinkers have been skeptical of, or indifferent to, artistic expressions of religious faith.
Read more
From my self portrait project from yesterday late. Called Embrace.
On the writing gigs one of them is on how to seal oil pastels, this marks a transition into a new medium with my mentee. We will broaden our times together to painting with oil pastels and paint sticks.
Glimpses ezine features people incarnating Christ in their stories, in their art, and as the Church. Each month, subscribers receive in their email an issue that contains a feature on a person or group, a work of art, such as visual art, poetry, and flash fiction, a devotional on what it means to live as the Church, and an opportunity to win a free giveaway. In the past, Glimpses has given away books, audio books, music, artwork, and artwork.
Another website along the same lines of art and faith I have found that you may like is Image.
From their site.
From their site.
Our Vision: Bridging Faith and Imagination
One of the legacies of the modern era has been the secularization of culture. For much of the twentieth century, the belief that God is dead, or at least inaccessible, has stripped a great deal of religious vision and wisdom from the modern imagination. Most of our leading critics and thinkers have been skeptical of, or indifferent to, artistic expressions of religious faith.
Read more
From my self portrait project from yesterday late. Called Embrace.
On the writing gigs one of them is on how to seal oil pastels, this marks a transition into a new medium with my mentee. We will broaden our times together to painting with oil pastels and paint sticks.
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