arch
sinew
fiddle
shadow
tremble
dance
one
art
peach
vain
indoors
hurry
Oh, art!
Art is one—Oh yes.
We do not dream in vain.
Do not hurry. There is no need.
Tune your fiddle to the canvas,
chisel a marble dance.
Dress your singers in peaches,
and tremble in the shadow of a word.
The arch is wide; the road is wide.
Out doors is all, there is no in.
We who make art bind bone to bone
by sinew after sinew.
We do not dream in vain.
—rye
—eclipse
—identity
—fumble
—gravel
—sunlight
—cake
—please
—eddies
—release
IDENTITY
A child crouches
in a sunlit field.
A fighter pilot’s wife can’t sleep.
A new mother cannot walk.
I am a whirlpool—
an eddy of identity
where a complexity
of currents meet.
I am a layer-cake of scars:
Wry neck and fumbly fingers.
Knees marked with gravel.
Nose repelled by the scent of booze.
Nevertheless.
As the pummeled moon
still glows in our shadow,
I am eclipsed but whole.
I am pleasing to topsoil and stones,
to bears and birds and trees.
I have been released
by every disappointed god.
rambunctious
Pomeranian
red
With a frisk of rambunctiousness,
a Pomeranian energy,
the March wind like a red-rubber ball
is bouncing away the long cold dark.
OPEN STUDIO POEM #18
aplomb
solid
chrysanthemum
collage
secluded
Under snow, under solid ground,
earth knits a fabric of mycelium,
bulb, the roots of chrysanthemum
and rose. The February landscape
shapes a shifting collage
of branch and cloud,
a splash of of jay-blue.
We stay secluded, painting
our lives with aplomb.
Open Studio Poem #17
disco
lickety-split
splendid
magenta
Fairies shelter behind the disco ball
hung in the portal to the kingdom of odd.
After sunset, they emerge lickety-split,
and all night they dance through the city,
their magenta wings flashing splendid
in the lights of streets, and traffic, and stars.
The other occupants of the Open Studio are out to get me, as you can see. But I know where that disco ball hangs, and I know the fairies, too.
OPEN STUDIO POEM #16
makeup
cattywumpus
kerfuffle
erase
I’m going back to makeup.
Not the kerfuffle of my youth,
with eyeliner cattywumpus
to each brow,
not a sad attempt to erase
my decades on the road.
Just a streak of red on the lip,
a little taupe along the lid.
Since July, I’ve been attending an online Open Studio with four artists, who are now my friends. Most weeks, they give me words to use as prompts so I can practice my art while they do theirs. This week, I think they were out to get me.
OPEN STUDIO POEM #15
leaves
haven
susurration
possibility
When the days lengthen,
the cold strengthens
but the light too grows strong—
apricity on a frozen day.
Last fall the young oak kept
its leaves. It stood, susurrating
in the shadow of its mother,
collected light feeding the roots.
We live these days
in a haven of possibility.
14
life
vigil
tune
mute
Life goes on. Really.
We keep vigil together .
It is possible to be friends
on a screen. David
mutes to tune. Kathy C’s
computer is down
but she’s here, there,
and we know she is,
making art. Kathy H
met Wanda
in a parking lot
and reports that,
as we suspected,
she is three-dimensional.
OPEN STUDIO POEM #13
bobble
bauble
clarity
celebration
POEM FOR THE LAST DAY OF 2020
With smiles and nods, thumbs up
and applauses, with bright baubles
of technologies—our new necessities—
we’ve bobbled through this hardest time.
We have more courage than we knew,
our loves are stronger than we thought.
Now, let us begin a celebration, now,
as we tiptoe toward the clarity of light
at the far side of this dark passageway.
We are beginning to know
how tender we are; beginning
to know how gentle we can be.
With thanks to Wanda, Kathy H, David and Kathy C for their words.
OPEN STUDIO POEM #12
patience silent ricochet hibernate Have patience, my friends. There is no need to run, to roar, to ricochet from hard place to rock. Practice being silent instead. Sit still, hibernate your mind. Go stand in the snow. Listen to the stars.
