her professor

based in truth

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Esopus

sadly inspired this past week after reading about a homeless man who drowned in the bloated Esopus Creek
certain things hit me hard and I need to write the images out of my head

my little Matryoshka

Concerned with fashionably balanced items on bookshelves–
I thoughtlessly placed her long ago
To this day, she squats, eyes forward, harboring no ill will
Most of my shelved tomes have sat so long, their spines have rusted–
But, eight horse-sized literature anthologies have seen action
Their bulked-up spines are careworn and wrinkled
As part of the publishing team who created them, I’ve perused them plenty
Two houses ago, I held an authentic job–
accompanied by a generous paycheck and a me, me, me business card
When child number one entered into my, my, my world, I exited Prentice Hall
Since then, Springsteen’s Glory Days, endlessly loops in my ears
This might explain my current cruelty to Matryoshkas
Depending on the day, the time and the spider muses in my studio–
my temperament shifts

This morning, I’ve not yet descended into my she-shack, where all creative things happen or nothing at all–
I’m still sipping coffee in my kitchen, facing the ‘family room,’ and the mantel with its bookended bookshelves
Colored spines form up-ended brick paths to limitless rabbit holes
The antique nesting doll guards a Time Life series covered in 70’s drab
The decorative mirror resting behind her bulbous form, lends a reflective quality to the warm palette
You can’t see the dust. I can. The shelves have remained undisturbed for awhile
I never considered little Matryoshka’s thoughts when I exiled her to shelf Siberia
Not a single heart-string of mine tugged for her redundant life–a nonstop amalgam of herself
As I write this, I’m thinking about Matryoshka–
her delicate flower patterns and the firm twist one must apply to reveal her abundance
Perhaps, I am jealous of my little Matryoshka
She knows who she is, inside and out
bookshelvesshot of my family room taken this morning, portrait hanging over mantel was painted 2 years ago, if you look closely at the upper right, top bookshelf you can see little Matryoshka

anthropomorphic animals

four legs four legs on the ground
untainted smooth
inertia bound

there it hides
its hiding there
safe from them
there is nowhere
go stop run
run stop go
from flesh, that flesh
that’s white as snow

must cut away her utility…

when it goes
where it stops
gets trampled underfoot
route unnamed
smudged by earth
man’s untimely soot

must appreciate his underbelly…

polluted vagaries
nest, pack, herd,
colony, turmoil
gaggled words
shrewdness,
heard
the silent sound
tribe, cackle, richness
boom band bound

must reexamine my duel motives…

pride and mob, school and pod
pride and school emergent mob
efforting while in sexual season
sucking up to tainted treason

dissonance parleys the uninformed
murdered the goddamn unicorns
call and alarm all shadows here
their fur hides hide our naked fear
no more, no more, I beg no more
uncork the apple from the boar
knocking, crippling, maturing hell
alarm a shadow, crack the bell

oh, Theodor please help me…

up it stands
on his hands
she be down
on the ground
all replete
on 2 feet
no longer
balking
they are walking
no more
walking
they are talking
walking
talking
when it goes
where it stops
no one knows
oh, but I do

polluted hearts
dirty forms
chatting animals
form the norm

it is never too late, darling…

four legs four legs on the ground
only two now make a sound
earth burnt souls melt in the fold
low bones whisper words foretold…

Interred/change
I couldn’t admit how I adored you
my dead heart must now implore you
so simple back then, my oh my
my Theodor’s eyes in absentia cry
skull-homageI generally don’t attempt rhyme but something grabbed hold of me this morning (perhaps a sprite from last night😉), Animal Farm on the brain while reading youngster Rimbaud’s pain (I admit sadly for the first time)…

writers and artists I admire

Enchanted am I
when I collapse into your world
Inside, my eyes transfix on silent rhythms 
like nowhere else I know
Lost, my mind vexed
neurons dizzied to orgasmic numbness
I am a journeyman to your will
letters impossibly perfect
imperfectly created
Other petulant muses gnaw on my body–
“I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free”
How these holy demons chew at my flesh
like ravenous dogs might cripple limbs

But you–
you, lure me to my knees
While I can only dream of sweating implements–
my hands wake and are forever empty
Bare pulp is sacrosanct, I touch it and abort
But you–
how you create
bringing new life each time, breathing air where I suffocate
Enchanting are you
Enchanted am I
Crashing wands, frantic waves
pulverize my bound world with freedom
Moonlight too, beguiled at your whim
I gaze at her through midnight glass
as a voyeur with insatiable desire and dark appetite

It is all I have–
imagining your soul pierced to my breast
Then it happens
I am transported
I am transformed
white-vampalienvampire/alien no 3 in my new, fun-for-necks, series

well, this is just freakin’ amazing

well, this is just freakin’ amazing
apparently my little book
has gone “temp out of stock”
on both Amazon and B&N
why I’d love to believe it’s selling out like Harry Potter😉
the reality probably is
because it’s a self-pub title
they don’t take it very seriously
and don’t order that many copies initially
geez
it is still available on my book’s site
loveofthemonster.com
but most folks
are going to Amazon or B&N to buy
darn this selling stuff
I’m going to start peddling door to door
so if you hear someone crying
in your hedgerow
late in the afternoon
it will most likely be me
cover-image-jpeg

ghost horse

It has been said of the song, Wildfire, it arose from the artist’s subconscious
–a Native American tale about a ghost horse

mythical and sweet
oh, imagine
a golden Palomino mare carrying sunlight upon her hide
how she would warm your aching body
settle your bones

ferry you to another place
distant from worry
away from strife

all you hear
rhythmic patter of spiriting hooves
winged forelocks
lemon-white mane wrapping your bare skin
keeping you secure
she gallops across the planet
without grazing earth

your stomach lifts
your heart steadies
peace she finds
for you
never the same place
but

if you should call her twice
if you should summon Wildfire
to guide you away
she may just bring you
back home again
wildfire

sketched on the way to New Hampshire last week, after listening to Michael Martin Murphy sing his Wildfire

I want to again thank those of you who sometimes read my verse. I’ve been amping up the language or at least trying to. I’m not always comfortable pushing the pub button with some of these posts–last night’s is a good example. I challenge myself to step out of my comfort zone. I hope by doing this, I’ll discover other directions to pursue. I do admit it is fun dreaming up saucy voices–though these ‘characters’ make me the saddest after they’ve been fleshed out.  With each piece I try to get away from who I am and write as if I’m someone else. Sometimes these ‘personalities’ beg the question-okay, AnnMarie–what’s the next move. I’m not always sure. It is this uncertainty that pushes me onward.
Thank you, again.
I’ve called on Wildfire more than once:)

Have a lovely weekend.

like only words can

line after line of cyan rope heaves its burden over the side
to lasso our floundering bodies
and guide us back to shore

delicate symbols the birth children of ups and downs
sleep with us through the night
and convince us the day is not over

fierce inked fingers untwist our knotted spirits
straighten the crooked paths
our meandering feet struggle upon

elegant expressions lick our wounds
despite their own situations

transport then devolve into code

as ethereal elements
they rise above the false light
escaping their one-dimensional fortresses

to comfort our human condition
and ease our lives
in the way that only devoted words can

Paper Shadow

Paper Shadow

the antithesis of wisdom

I don’t agree with Golding
I believe there is tremendous capacity for Good
innate human Kindness
though Survival is instinctual
education is the bedrock of Peace
Savagery is learned too
but it is the antithesis of wisdom
lord of the fliesin William Golding’s novel, Lord of the Flies, the wild boar’s head symbolizes the devil…
The big son is currently reading this novel in school though he’s read it many times before.
This head was made for a class project.
It’s constructed with a large styrofoam ball, a plastic cup, a partial cat mask, sponge pieces for filler, oodles of duct tape to hold all this crap together then covered in clay and painted…it was quite fun to art direct 😉