I tightly hug
my sons goodbye.
Leave them
to their young men’s lives.
Drive away
after skies decant a
thunderstorm,
then burst into
peach and pale azure.
Journey and travel
and ride
through ebony night,
singing loudly
to stay awake.
Park in dawn harbor,
crimson and tangerine
ripple on dark water.
Gentle breeze,
moon slice
punctuated with
a single star,
dark side of the moon
outlined against
indigo sky.
And wrapped
in my husband’s arms
I dream
a gentle scent
of
sweet
spring rain.
June 20, 2017
White and white
essential light
Fog and forest
field and plow
Isolation
and family
Though privileged
he saw in poverty
his mirror image
black edges in.
Rise from Baltimore’s land, swinging south, the harbor lies cushioned by skyscrapers. Fluffy clouds in pale azure sky turning gold and rose. The moon a companion, rising directly next to my window, nearly full, cold pale light. Sail across land, the necklace of the Bay Bridge below and then..we are floating over ocean…there is nothing below us but clouds that we might drift down and straight down into the depths of the sea, inhabited by stage monsters, florescent and spiky or amorphous with a myriad of tentacles and we will sink and because I am with the magical pale Vikings we will drown but live forever frozen on the sea’s rocky floor.
skies and roadways
red tractors and maple trees
my cat and my husband
sisters by the train,
tree branches, cement bricks
fences, flowers,
and the sky
reaching across
roadway with a green exit sign.
The world is upside down
in my wine glass
reflected with clarity
but bowed by curve of glass
the curve of the world
the curve of the sea
the curve of your body
when you turn to
speak to me in the shower,
drops glancing off you
as I sketch the first
drawing of the day.
You are my constant
as I blow from
mood to mood,
my thoughts swinging too hard.
I can only admire
those who travel with easy comfort
in these streets turned upside down.
The moon
a slender bowl
resting on treetops,
Venus above.
The park
was closed.
I have lived in artistic communities since early adulthood. I love the energy, feel it even when I am alone in my room. There is affirmation of the value of creating within an art community. There is knowledge that process is important. The energy in a community where people participate in the creative process helps generate ideas, even as we disagree about the relative value of specific pieces or particular forms of art.
Art for me has been a means of keeping an even keel in a crazy world.
Often when I create, whether a poem, a painting or a song, I don’t fully understand the symbols and juxtapositions of ideas until much later. Art is not a way to recreate reality, but distorts reality in order to fully portray it, like a curved glass will focus the sun’s rays on a single point, and result in a fire.
photo of Baltimore rapper Wealth making a music video in Savage, Maryland.
I don’t really care
if you wash the dishes
in the dishwasher
even after
I’ve washed them and placed them
in the drying rack.
I don’t really care
that my desire to buy
large pots
and dirt
and throw seeds in them
to see what comes up
annoys you.
What is most important
is the knowing of each other.
The small things
are who we really are.
When I was sick and despairing,
you comforted me,
forced me to eat,
and stroked my hair.
When you come home to me,
I listen to your stories
your sorrows, worries,
triumphs and joys.
We still sleep
entwined,
my arms wrapped around
your strong back,
or your leg snuggled
between my thighs.
And thus we know each other
past the superficial conversations
of friends
and casual lovers.
ovaries out.
i imagine sex
try to recall
wanting you.
it’s been raining for days.
It is at
Forest
Edges
Where we see
Most clearly.
Shadow laid on shadow
Cut by sunlight
Bare branches
Life tightly sealed inside
Bark and layered rings
Counting years past
All cast
Against
Cerulean winter
Sky so clear
I can almost see
The infinite
Stars
Beyond.
gaia mouse 