installation 2

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the eyes of butterfly wings

my talented, fellow artist sister Grace snapped this pic of me, the day of my mom’s homecoming party a few weeks ago – I’m one of those who don’t relish getting their photo taken, but I like the way this image had little background. The absence of structure made me think heavenly thoughts…and of my dad who I sorely miss…

blackest days

school right around the corner, time doesn’t fly it rockets
I’ve been altering colored photos of my children when they were younger and appeared more innocent😉
I enjoy stepping away from pencil and pen once in awhile and pretend I’m a photographer

uneven candles

I updated my “About” page last week – been writing offline in an effort (as so many of us share the same dream cloud) to send my art and writing off to more clouds…

here is a piece I had published in Red Fez Magazine – thank you

for Lily

what is motherhood if not by your side
watching you my love
what is pure in my life holding by a wisp within your deconstructing body
sweet child how I need to scream inside the ocean
smack the gods
embrace the spirits
where you won’t hear my pain
these arms and legs of mine so powerful
if I could give them and live to hold you still,
carry you as I have done across these years
never with regret
all that I am
wrapped around your life
such beauty in your speaking eyes, your soul-plumped mouth
how you’ve grown these past seasons
metal-bar suns and rubber-tube moons following along your flesh
yet
you and I have traveled so much longer than they believed possible
now
you grow a bit tired
your little body weary from the outside
fatigue settling some on the inside where my care holds you together
but still fierce in your heart
in your eyes of earth
you are my rock
you are my joy
not in any time
in any space
of any moment
will I ever grow tired
of your heart living inside mine

Gallean with ragdoll

to my cousin, Marie for her beautiful daughter, Lily xo

a flat world where things sometimes roll off

sitting at my kitchen table–
a flat world where things sometimes roll off
‘thoughts’ cram my vapid head
never to disappoint, there she is my gooey, ‘Annie Oakley’
the incessant ‘creative’ cowgirl who rides my bulging brain every morning
trying her ‘Wild West’ best to lasso bucking words
working up quite a sweat she is, as I so often do trying to be ‘clever’
I’ve no chance of corralling these wild beasts
wax fences are nonexistent in my vacant mind
the most ‘insightful’ prose gallop directly out my right ear
wax that should be in my empty head is on the kitchen table–
a flat world where things sometimes roll off
here a tiny flame–cruelly trapped in a jar–flickers
–
like my tongue used to so many years ago
watching the singular flame burn, I imagine it raging
but the cold fireplace is empty like my head
outside the kitchen sliders, a tiny tufted .6 ounce titmouse
enjoys the seed I loaded in the feeder
others will be along
oh yes, here they come
the heavy snow is cascading down and these frail birds are stronger
than my slumbering two hundred and fifty-five pound son at the moment
when I was little
my mom and dad served as bookends at our rectangular kitchen table
their six children, incomplete chapters
now my parents have a round table too, with obligatory leaves for visitors
no more sharp corners for any of us
oh, a beautiful red-headed woodpecker has joined the snow-ladened feast
luckily for him his long chiseled beak is as sharp as it is
otherwise, he couldn’t reach the seed
life doesn’t have to dull everything down
it is glorious to have a point sometimes
isn’t it?
wildfire