Poetry arrived....in search of me. I don't know...
I don't know where it came from, from
And I love faces. How we learn to hide behind a smiling face; tuck away emotions, disguise or mask how we really feel. So I decided to combine my love of words and my current art project, which is drawing quick sketches of faces (using oil pastels) with an exercise in word play, to create a poem to accompany each sketch. This is like a dart game. I don't know where the dart's going to stick; I just aim my attention at the target and follow whatever word or image slips out. So here goes.
winter, or a river.
I don't know how or when... -Pablo Neruda
I love words.
I wanted freedom
babbling to the bus driver
pitted concrete, muddy water, yellow daffodils
quiet down, down
river rock, early morning thunder
gas station parking, cheap hotel lobbies
listless, averse to crowds and
drunk on ice, love
I had a father who didn't say goodbye
my mother has a lion heart, strong legs
and tiny cooking hands but
her tail, I'm afraid,
|There is not one Truth, but|
many truths. One is:
white people don't share.
Two: stones are alive.
Three: I have seen the sunrise, and that is all I need to know.
|Maiden: wildflowers, angel hair, fire in the belly|
Mother: midnight feedings, cognitive dissonance, apologetic children
Crone: borrowed candles, barren trees,
a black dented pot