Autumn Window

soft       slow as a chilly butterfly

late       on its way south

breeze enters       barely audible      

wraps around my forearms

takes my hands       lifts them

from this desk       this page      

cups them to my cheeks

cool as damp bed sheets

hung on an autumn line

welcome “hush”       pausing

the crickets       quiet now

I sing my own silent song 

Jaguar's Two Moons: Painting & Poetry Paired

Jaguar's Moons: A Shamanic Self-Portrait

watercolor/gouache painting on paper, 2004-2007

$3500, inquire

There is a story within a story in this painting... and very personal.   I am happy to share it with all who are interested.  I prefer to relate it directly.  I started the poem below in about 2000.  It was a challenging birth... nights writing at a diner at 2 in the morning.  It seemed to want to be two poems to I finally acquiesced.  It was born out of a vision I had of the moon dividing in two.  Often the art, in whatever form, visual, poetic, et al, informs the artist, has a life force of it's own.  Toss in the collective unconscious and who knows where it will take you.  After writing this poem, I learned that the Maya believed that Jaguar protected people's souls while they slept!  Namaste!

Jaguar’s Two Moons 

Phase I

Jaguar births from fractured light

Moon and her beloved              dark waters

surrender mottled cat

to deep and sacred beauty              night jaguar

tastes new gods in moon drops

laced indigo laced gold

bites mystery off a comet’s tail

chasing herself past Mars

Beauty sits atop sleeping Earth

to waken Morning Sun              dappled souls

astride broad spotted back              dreams

true waken promised dawn

Phase II

Born of Moon’s water

breaking out of stone

Jaguar fractures light in two

follows where it’s flown

Luna’s waters wax ~ then wane

crescent moon ~ it’s duty

surrenders beloved mottled cat

to deep and sacred beauty

Jaguar watches light play dark

bouncing betwixt the stars

bites mystery off a comet’s tail

chases herself past Mars

Seven Sisters and offspring too

dapple Jaguar’s coat

entrust themselves to Shadow

sanctuary remote

Night Beauty leaps onto her cherished Earth

splashing wisdom on her face

washes all sleeping souls onto her back

ferries them safely to sweet morning place

Kindred spirits with her fly

paint light and dark as one

tell sublime tales of timeless Jaguar Lore

a whole new world begun!

Me & My Jaguar @ White Butterfly Studio

Factory on 5th, ABQ, NM

In the premiere issue of the new zine, ARTISTICA

Bathing Rabbits

Sometimes in my sleep

I walk       up to the dark house

knock on the thick door

ask if shadow can come out to play

It’s a risky endeavor           

akin to bathing rabbits

in a bathroom sink

without reinforced gloves       or a tin suit

A thrashing fever of fingers & fur

all tooth claw nail       tattered ears           

a fury and flurry of wild pink water

blood rising & screams curdling & soap

I dare you to take your free hand       if you have one left

light a candle near the wall

bring thumb forefinger together just so

make two bunny ears with the other three

Listen to what this silent rabbit has to say       laughing

as you articulate thumb & forefinger

it wants to teach you the wisdom of play

playing in the dark with your shadow puppets

I’m very happy to say that we will be including your work, “Bathing Rabbits” in the premiere issue of Artistica!   The first issue will be available on September 1^st, 2011 and I am very proud of the work in this first issue. We have had a great response and the buzz is already building! I’m sure this will only be the beginning of a tremendous journey, so I thank you for coming along for the ride!

Artistica is a new ‘zine that has two missions – to highlight the amazing artists living in our community through community building; bringing artists, poets and writers together and to do so by having fun. Artistica is a playful little ‘zine with as much for love for craft as we have for bad puns. You can expect quirkiness, but you can also expect quality.

Zachary Kluckman

Spoken Word Editor - The Pedestal Magazine

Associate Editor - The Journal of Truth and Consequence

Albuquerque Slam Poet Laureate Program Director

Clothesline Assemblage

This little piece was pure magic! Observing my friend, Sarah Hessinger's, beautiful outdoor art installation of white sheets on a clothesline flowing in the breeze (at the Artists Studio at The Farm at South Mountain in Phoenix) I walked the grounds and found the primary elements... the clothespin, unlike the ones Sarah was using, the piece of rusty metal (the bodice) the twig, and the rusty wire with screw eyes... all just waiting to be made into a little piece to honor Sarah's work!  I would be inspired a year later to create a complimentary installation using tea towels as prayer flags.    

HORACE'S PITCHFORK: Assemblage Installation @ 5G Gallery, Factory on 5th, Albuquerque, NM

"You can drive nature out with a pitchfork, 

but she will always hurry back" 

~ Horace, 65 BC - 8 BC

 

I carved the little bird bodies out of bass wood...

 used found pieces of wood for their wings...

and bent rusty found wire for their heads and 'springs'.

Inspires my 6 word memoir:

"Farm girl sprouts artist-poet wings!"
http://www.smithmag.net/community/people.php/dustbunny7#
Go to www.smithmag.net to write and record your own!

And so, as a curiouser and curiouser girl myself, I begin at the beginning...

"Little ME and Grandma B like cream & sugar in our TEA!"

“Which beginning and what kind of tea?” replied HeR MaDNeSS. “There are so many from which to choose!”

Well, SWeeT VaNiLLa RooiBoS for tea and the one most personal to me I reply, though my memory of it has so daily ‘LeSSeNeD’ as to be as dark as a RaBBiT HoLe… and ‘tis why I add the ‘WRiTiNG LeSSoN’ at the end of this entry… for no reason at all.

“That's the reason they're called lessons, because they lessen from day to day,” said the Griffin.

I do remember the date ~ July 18th, 1959 in the very early a.m. not two hours after midnight… I was born ~ in the very same hospital and obstetrics ward where ‘Me MuMZie’ worked when she wasn’t giving birth herself. I was #2 of 4. My mother’s first words upon my arrival, so she tells me, were “a girl?!?” After the proper admonitions she explained that my dad was certain I would be a boy. (Not that it mattered… WiNK-WiNK))) A girl I was, and a Midwest farmer’s daughter with a fondness for RaBBiTs and other wild creatures.

As I also have a fondness for teaching, PoeTRY, creative writing and evolving & expanding,  I offer you this ‘WRiTiNG LeSSoN’. Take out your journal or grab a scrap of paper and pen and write I ReMeMBeR WHeN I WaS BoRN… Keep going, have FuN!

Real birthdays are not annual affairs.  Real birthdays are the days when we have a new birth.     ~ Ralph Parlette

WRiTiNG LeSSoN:
   
I REMEMBER WHEN I WAS BORN ~ a sweetness ~ what must have been a clear summer night, bright stars and indigo… the moon full and round. Mama said I “come quick and easy’. They stopped the car at the side of the road going into town. “This little one don’t wanna be born in no cold hospital! Pull the car over Harvey. I’m havin’ her right here!” Harvey knew arguing with Mama was futile, and ~ beings it was their seventh ~ knew the little bugger wasn’t wait’n till town anyhow!
   
Mama said it must’a been the reason for my peaceful nature, in spite of this two bedroom house full of kids being a crazy busy place to grow up ~ and the reason she’d find me sleeping in the cool green grass on cloudless summer nights.


QuoTeNeSSeS:

There was a STaR danced,
and under that was I born.
~ William Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing

We are all born MaD. Some remain so.
~ Samuel Beckett

Oh, you can't help that, adds THee CHeSHiRe CaT.
Most everyone's MaD here!