blue grass blew up under there, landed there, over there you see, look here bled blue on this over here so they sang over there, banjo’d blues ‘round those mountains got a banjo too, but no bluegrass livin’ in these olive eyes listen here, do you hear the weary sky humming da blues below her womb, flesh ‘n bone spawning bitter gods swelling wellsprings of madness manic rivers drying, warm water shattering man-walls cause he be screwing the planet ‘n mother earth be pissed
don’t we know, going backwards ain’t how growing goes
great grandpapa’s mighty oak just felled by climbing fire man ‘n his man-guns knocking things ‘neath blue-blue sky no seed sown with lead, no gilded heart embraces love listen here, do you hear the weary sky, how she hums da blues she be blue, oh, so blue hummin’ above — this mankind of ours screeching and scratching below
don’t we know, going backwards ain’t how growing goes
this piece inspired by a newly black-topped parking lot here’s to looking up at the sky – still blue – still lovely am:)
“I was twelve the year I noticed her missing knuckles. My perfect mother was missing the section of her pinky where there would have been ligaments, bone and a knuckle. Her right pinky was noticeably shorter than its left counterpart. And the finger with the diamond I sometimes lost my eyes in, though normal in length, was also missing a knuckle. Mom’s ring finger could only bend using the knuckle closest to the palm of her hand. What other secrets did my mother have? What else hadn’t I noticed? She laughed when I accused her of not coming clean sooner and was surprised I hadn’t noticed before.” —excerpt from Missing Knuckles
PURE SLUSH has put together an entire LIFEspan series. These remarkable anthologies are worth checking out, and it’s always wonderful to support our independent publishers.
Thank you, am:) I hope you’re all managing the heat.
decades through the doors truckin’ up the steps pushin’ at the walls
like floppin’ fishes land-slappin’ the earth swimmin’ up a universe
that in the end — always wins
drove by this shiny building with a sign that’s seen better pay periods – an ironic image in the saddest way possible after a brief photo moment, words rolled from my penny pencil
Mom — we don’t need phones, you can hear me through the window just fine. She picks up the phone on her rolling table and holds it upside down to her ear. Dad is gambling on my shoulder. Mom — Dad is not on your shoulder. Look, I’m not using a phone and you can hear me just fine.
My teeth are falling out. This phone isn’t working.
Mom — your teeth are not falling out. She continues talking into an upside down landline. Mom — please put the phone down. The receiver twists in her hand.I release an invisible string, a white balloon floats away. Mom — stop knocking the phone on the table. Mom — please look at me here standing outside your window.
She built a family with her bones. Another balloon floats away. Mom — would you put the phone down please. I knuckle the glass. Mom — for the love of God please put the fucking phone down.
Butterflies flying overhead, so many more this spring. The year of my daughter’s mermaid birthday party I didn’t stare skyward looking for wings that weren’t there. I smiled in my cleverness at having covered our dining room walls with iridescent paper and hanging foil starfish from the ceiling with aqua crepe paper.The room became a magical ocean.
Mom — please stop hitting the phone on the table. A wheelchair is talking to Mom’s ass and if she leans too far forward, her tongue might fall out. Mom — hang up the phone. Mom — Mom I’ll see you tomorrow. I hang up my pretend phone.
Sometimes, there is nothing more to add than the conversation. Here’s to Fridays fringed with warm wine, good and red.
My studio runs parallel to a quiet side road that springs to life when school lets out. Watching the kids leap into summer often makes me think back. Long ago, but ever present, the silly girl who I’d like to smack in the head.
image above – me in my early 20’s – ah, the makeup-less, cover-up less time of long ago:)
In 1975 and for many years afterward, I wanted nothing more than to look and sing like Bobbie Gentry, and emulate Carl Kolchak, the mildly insane journalist, who investigated supernatural crimes while wearing a goofy smile and a slanted straw hat.
Today, I continue to play my favorite Gentry album Ode to Billy Joe while the guitar sitting in the corner of my studio listens along. And I strive to pile my hair higher than is normal.
As for becoming a boots-on-the-ground monster-chasing reporter, I daily arm myself with art supplies to track down creatures, and I type prose on a typewriter keyboard. The wide-brimmed straw hat resting on a pile of books in my studio sees action when the sun is out.
Maybe, I did become who I wanted to be all along. Maybe…
Pencil sketch of Bobbie Gentry done about two months ago. I continue to use a giant Ticonderoga pencil. I’m not allowing myself to get into details using sharpened points and varieties of leads in the hopes of focusing on shape and form.
I’ve not done much writing these last few months. I’ve been madly creating monster collage mini-paintings like Shunka Warakin (below) for the upcoming UFO Fair in Pine Bush, NY. Such fun:)
(Above, a recent sketch I did of my dear friend, DS Levy. My reference was a photo taken when the amazingly talented writer known as little Deb had a typewriter already growing in her heart)
Man, it has been a long time since I’ve posted. Like you all, I’m juggling coffee mugs attempting to make a Venetian decanter. I’ve been doing quite a bit of writing and ‘arting’ offline. ‘Tis difficult wanting to do it all with the damn clock dictating the days.
I do hope you, your families and friends are doing okay.
Here’s a piece I wrote sometime ago while sipping coffee in the kitchen of my previous home:)
The Lollipop Vanishes
The cold isn’t done yet. It remains bluster-blue out there. Steam from my morning coffee marinates my face while a pen hanging from the calendar on my pantry door doodles pictograms. The wind spirits are still dancing. Shouldn’t have cracked the kitchen sliders open so early. Perhaps the swinging pen is scrawling a message from beyond, should I pray or wipe the door down?
Time flips on its head whenever clouds sail by that fast. Between sips of luke warm coffee, I remember me as a little girl in brown polyester, a tomboy with a pageboy, and a half-shirted party girl. Young woman with a career, an apartment, a sports car, a motorcycle.
As a lefty, I never learned biker right-hand turns. The bike went away. I totaled my car. The car went away. I bought another car. Got married. We moved from New Jersey to New York. We had children. Moved into a bigger house. Our large dog died. We got another dog. Plus a smaller dog for child anxiety. My children earned degrees.
Our family had a bad eleven weeks that killed my father and mother-in-law and gave my mother a massive stroke. My mother died three years later. I don’t remember being her caregiver. My children moved into their new lives. We downsized into a new “old” house. My husband’s hair turned grey. My older relatives are nearly done dying. A box of Clairol waits in the wings for me.
In one of my book clubs, I’m the oldest, in the other, I’m the youngest. I worry the elder members will pass on before reading the next book selection.
The lollipop vanishes, and the goddamn stick can beat you into the ground if you let it.
Look out there, the gray is fading to light purple. How lovely. That’s something I haven’t seen in a while.
Apologies for the post-holiday posting of this. It somehow landed in drafts when I imagined tapping the “publish” button.
A merry montage for my family that I share with you this Christmas.
May you, your family and friends, near and far, enjoy a peaceful and joyous holiday.
Love, am
Nero the Cane Corso, friend and muse to my sister, Grace; Honey the Pit mix, adopted this year, crazy companion to my sister, Dolores; Cormac/Mac-mac the Malamute, snow-lover and liege to my sister, Virginia; Mojo the Dachshund, long-bodied, big-hearted buddy to my family; and last but never least, Kiwi the Testudo tortoise, roommate and foil to my daughter, Caroline❤️🎄🌟
anntogether 