The Fool
The sky is littered with the spent shells of small humilis clouds. It is a humble day, despite the boast of the afternoon sun. She is cooling herself under the wide expanse of shade the Russian Olive provides. Her feet are swollen and she has unfastened the leather laces and the top five buttons of her blouse. She is free of those she has left behind: the man and the sleeping child. She has been granted permission to step out of the life given her to stealth through alfalfa and wheat fields and alongside creeks swollen with mountain water. The mountains to the east still hold snow in their creases. She has not slept or eaten in three days. Bird chatter seems to her like a chorus chanted from a Greek tragedy. She remembers the stew and its potatoes and hank of pork she left simmering on the cook stove. The clouds remind her of the smoke symbols she read about in a book on the New World. She tries to decipher their meaning and finds in the bumpy cauliflower shapes a warning from the ghost of her mother.
National Poetry Month - 30 Prose Poems in Thirty Days
It's April, the first day of National Poetry Month, despite it being Fool's Day, or perhaps because it is.
Which made me think: The first card in the tarot is the fool, the last is the world. (off to wiki for quick research). There are 22 major arcana, so that covers twenty-two days. I'll just pick eight other cards at random. (dropping by Barnes & Noble to pick up a tarot pack).
The plan: I will begin this month of writing with the fool, ending with the world.
The back story: I really didn't have much of an idea of what I wanted to write about as to theme until a few minutes ago, this is how my brain works. Get an idea, run with it until the car is out of gasoline, so I'll center my prose poems on the major and minor arcana of the tarot. Yesterday I did research on clouds, so I'll incorporate this into the writing as well.
30 Prose Poems in Thirty Days: Tarot, clouds, and whatever else presents itself.
I'll post and edit and re-edit and repost as I work.
Which made me think: The first card in the tarot is the fool, the last is the world. (off to wiki for quick research). There are 22 major arcana, so that covers twenty-two days. I'll just pick eight other cards at random. (dropping by Barnes & Noble to pick up a tarot pack).
The plan: I will begin this month of writing with the fool, ending with the world.
The back story: I really didn't have much of an idea of what I wanted to write about as to theme until a few minutes ago, this is how my brain works. Get an idea, run with it until the car is out of gasoline, so I'll center my prose poems on the major and minor arcana of the tarot. Yesterday I did research on clouds, so I'll incorporate this into the writing as well.
30 Prose Poems in Thirty Days: Tarot, clouds, and whatever else presents itself.
I'll post and edit and re-edit and repost as I work.
Artist of the Day: Tina - Julie Linz
Stilt Man - Julie Linz Holga photography - 6 x 6
Tina - Julie Linz pinhole photography - 4x5 pinkphoto.etsy.comPhotography is something I've always wanted to learn and pursue. Linz's art photography have a ominous, almost menacing undercurrent. There's the soul of Diane Arbus in them. I love them. Linz's photography on her website is more traditional.
bio:
I am a fine art photographer who loves to photograph using alternative cameras. Black and White images are my passion along with very moody narratives. I want my pictures to capture your attention and lead you down a path of story telling. I also recently have come to love shooting fine art weddings. Check out my website julielinzphotography.com for examples of my wedding photos from etsy
Poem Therapy March 25, 2011 at 2:28 - In Darkness - Jon Davis
In Darkness
Jon Davis
Silence in this suburb of cars and dogs, of roar
and rumble, sudden thump at the railroad crossing.
But this morning before 5 am, there's only the wash,
the waterfall of cars on I-25, which sounds in my ear
almost like the sound of blood in my arteries—
that inner traffic. In the pre-dawn silence
a bright crescent of moon, darkness visible,
the flared edge. Now a dog barks. Now a single bird.
Another. Now a car in the distance. Dog. Bird,
farther off, this time. Just this one moment of silence
before the traffic begins, before the full choir of dogs
and birds and coyotes flush with desire, as I begin,
shook and shaking now in the lea of in the wake of
in the grip of what unnameable fierce beauty.
I read first few lines of Davis's poem and thought, "this is exactly what I do in my This Moment posts. Then I read "just this one moment' and well, hmmm. I know I haven't read particular poem before, but it is a a little odd that there are such direct parallels between the content and literal phrase from his poem and what I do for my feature, record what is going on in the exterior and interior world. Goes to prove there is nothing that hasn't been done before.
Jon Davis
Silence in this suburb of cars and dogs, of roar
and rumble, sudden thump at the railroad crossing.
But this morning before 5 am, there's only the wash,
the waterfall of cars on I-25, which sounds in my ear
almost like the sound of blood in my arteries—
that inner traffic. In the pre-dawn silence
a bright crescent of moon, darkness visible,
the flared edge. Now a dog barks. Now a single bird.
Another. Now a car in the distance. Dog. Bird,
farther off, this time. Just this one moment of silence
before the traffic begins, before the full choir of dogs
and birds and coyotes flush with desire, as I begin,
shook and shaking now in the lea of in the wake of
in the grip of what unnameable fierce beauty.
I read first few lines of Davis's poem and thought, "this is exactly what I do in my This Moment posts. Then I read "just this one moment' and well, hmmm. I know I haven't read particular poem before, but it is a a little odd that there are such direct parallels between the content and literal phrase from his poem and what I do for my feature, record what is going on in the exterior and interior world. Goes to prove there is nothing that hasn't been done before.
This Moment: March 25 1:06 P.M.
The wind is thrusting its heavy body against the windows for entry. I have closed all eight tightly against its insistent shoulder. It blusters, howls, then throws handfuls of detritus upwards in a kind of reversed funnel cloud. Yet, a small current fingers its way into this room and quickly finds the back of my shoulders and neck to chill. The wind and I have had this arguement every March for the last decade. There is never a clear winner to our fight. Never. It always ends in impasse until the season changes and we forget each other again. Forget until winter exhales and the next onslaught of new breath blows through the valley.
This Moment: March 23 11:53 P.M.
The sky is littered with clouds. Lazy spring snow falling in an ashen halo. The tree is glutted with magenta buds preparing to burst. The sun is back, but I have yet to give my sadness back to the passing season. A rhomboid of blue emerges from between dense clouds. I am offered a fleeting glimpse of the new season. Light is there in the distance. All I must do is reach for it, grab it, eat it, let it fill me up. The basil plant on my desk reaches for the sun, unafraid to lean toward its desires. A lone helicopter breaks the silence and passes overhead on its way to the local hospital. The clouds shift and muscle out the sky.
Artist of the Day: Heart for Japan - Juri Romanov
Heart for Japan - Juri Romanov limited edition print/100
Be Strong - Juri Romanov limited edition print/100I found Juri Romanov's charming ink drawings a few minutes ago over at etsy.
Her GreenOptomist etsy shop states: All profit proceeds will be donated to The Red Cross to support earthquake disaster relief efforts.
Bio:
I am a full-time professional artist living in Europe,between - Russia,United Kingdom and Bulgaria. I came out of Stroganov Moscow State University of Arts and Industry with a First Class Honours Degree . I have always loved painting and using my imagination.
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