Back With An Artistic Vengence
Writer’s block sucks. Whatever the photographic equivalent of writer’s block is, sucks. I’ve been floating in the muddy, uninspired waters of various blocks for the past few months and have finally emerged with new work on Bodhairim and new words mostly baked.
I would love to report that the words here match the images here, but that’s only true in one instance. Nonetheless, here’s to throwing myself headfirst onto the creative rocks again. My metaphors will get sharper, I swear…
Illustration for Learning to Surf
A haiku. Gone supernova…
February
February seems
the unsupportable act,
you wait for things to
happen; buds to break,
the early death you always
feared, and something
mean, bohemian
lives in the water, under
the skin of snowfall,
winnowing, know sure
there is no other world where
dry and warm are real
just fair tale told faint,
a memory feint, but sure
and still and still you
look for the sun to
parch your skin, a leaf, an air
to crumble a spell.
Illustration for Song for the Middle of the Sky
One Veil
Stitch a star to a star to a star
like mother taught in thread
is solo in wilderness, in veins,
wandering and eating
the smell of the green
skin of pine, of autumn,
and I think of lost souls,
faster angels, those smooth waves
fog on the cheek and the nose
the smell of the green
skin of pine and the goodbye
chill of autumn, winter coming on,
and the large starling goodbye.
Illustration for The Last Night
The Last Night
We carry ourselves through orange trees
fruiting on the branch, perfume to the night.
Death comes at midnight
in the cathedral and the nave,
narcotic, holy scented litany arcane
and slow, my pounding heart slows,
death falls as a black hole, absolute;
Jesus has died again this year
in his season, silent and complete
we join this finite, this universe.
All breath and light smothered
but darkness burns,
the universe is waiting.
Is that what we do?
No sign, not a bell or a tick
just a firefly light east, makes two, fire
makes four and life licks wick to wick
in bated quiet, body to body to body
afire to me, a stranger gifts me fire I hand
life and love to familiar, another, my other
glowing in my hands, something sacred,
different, and we are fire and life together.
Together.
We carry ourselves through orange trees
fruiting on the branch, perfume to the night.