Art on My Door

Art on My Door, a set on Flickr.

I haven't posted anything lately because life has been busy and crazy and little too stressful, but I did want to take a moment to say how amazed I am when I look at the whole set of Art on My Door on Flickr. It makes me ridiculously happy to know that I've made all these little piece of art and that sharing them with others makes them happy sometimes, too. Click the link to see all of them, and feel free to leave comments. I love getting feedback.

Book Review: Altered Curiosities

Altered Curiosities: Assemblage Techniques & Projects by Jane Ann Wynn

My rating: 5 of 5 stars


Author and artist Jane Ann Wynn offers inspiration, insight, and step-by-step instructions for turning common objects into uncommon artifacts. Even more importantly, she provides advice and lessons for artists looking to find their own voices, their own styles, and personal mythologies from which they can derive endless opportunities for interpretation and storytelling in their art.

This book is almost as good as taking a class with Jane (which is an experience I am happy to have under my belt and one I look forward to repeating some day).



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Constructive Criticism

I don't usually feel the need to accompany my poems with photographs or illustrations, but I wanted to share this shot, taken from my office window, of one of the more offensive sounding machines associated with the new construction taking place nearby.

I've had a relentless headache for a couple of days, and my massage therapist has his work cut out for him getting the effects of the noise this beast generates out of my shoulders and upper back.

And now, today's poem:

Constructive Criticism
All day it droned and chirped
beneath my window, producing
from time to time a shrill,
metallic grinding and sharp
reports like cracking bones
destined to become some giant's bread.

Bad Hair Day

Some days are better than others. Today was not really one of them.

Bad Hair Day
Starting early,
somewhere east of the snap-crackle-pop
of dawn, I rose
to an aching head, itchy eyes,
and the dry scratch
of something sick
just a little deeper
than I wanted to dive
before I choked
on the smell of snow
and forced myself
to care enough to catch
the bus, man
my desk, and make
the work that makes
me feel like I make
a difference
most days.
But not today.
Not when rain, hail, and snow
all fell in equal measure
along with tender cherry blossoms
and my spirit,
drifted to the the cold, wet
ground, and I didn't even bother
to reach down
to pick it up.

Sad Haiku

Okay, maybe more silly than sad, but it's been a long, tough day for us both, and we seem to be having little luck getting what should be easy comfort at the local cafe. I even had to turn to my writing prompt app to inspire me today.

Sad Haiku
Some things should never
disappoint at day's demise:
like bad diner pie.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

African Violets

Ironically, the orchid our friends Jeff and Ron gave us for our wedding last year has actually started to send out new shoots. It gives me hope, despite the tone and subject matter of today's poem.

African Violets
My mothers' windows bloomed
purple, pink, and white,
explosions of color nestled
in dense mats of soft, succulent
green leaves.

I try to do her proud,
time and again, hopeful and hapless
and never intending things to end
the way they inevitably do.

How long does the terra cotta
pot of dirt sit dormant
on the sill before I admit
the uncomfortable truth
about the color
of my thumbs?

Pushing It

My husband, Damon, and I went for a walk on the beach today down at Golden Gardens Park in Ballard. Despite the chill, dozens of hearty Seattlites were out enjoying a mostly dry day, walking dogs, flying kites, even grilling and picnicking at the beach. You might say we're hungry for spring.

Pushing It
Stumbling over tumbled
stones, gasping
into a chill wind,
we persevere, cheered
by the soft crush
of waves beating
rhythms on the shore,
whispering encouragement
and flimsy promises
of a spring that never comes
soon enough.

Discovering Florida

Ponce de Leon "discovered" Florida on April 2, 1513, looking for the fountain of youth. Florida's current population of people over 65 years of age is more than 4% higher than the national average.

Discovering Florida
He set foot on tropical sand,
so sure he'd find the fountain,
the elusive elixir of immortality.

Instead, he got a mortal wound,
a painful death in a place very far
from home.

Now his fountain feeds the Rat King's realm,
entices wrinkled, shivering refugees
who grow no closer to youth
than Botox® will allow.

Out of Practice

Kicking off National Poetry Month 2011 this morning with a new poem on an old theme. Ironically, I was just going to write one line, but once the image took me, I couldn't stop. Now, gotta get to work!

Out of Practice

The door creaks
on rusty hinges.
Flimsy webs flicker
at my cheek, ghost
kisses shivering me
in the cold
April half-light.
I reach for the cord,
and pull, illuminating
dust. (My lord, so much
of it. Where does it come from?)
Beneath the dull mantle
of disuse, I spy (perhaps)
a familiar tool
or two.
I clumsy up my fingers
in gloves stiffened with mud and time.
Grab a spade, a rake, a set of shears.
Knock it off.
Shake it out.
Shine it up.
It's time.
Things need to grow.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone