Words

whispers

consider
repeat
lines rearranging
cadence willing
words
slide
bursting buoyant
land upon my page.



I'm pushing myself out into uncharted waters, bending and coaxing my thoughts into verse. It's new, but as my friend Kendall gently reminded me yesterday, these 'poetic shores' are not really that unfamiliar to me. Words are a wonder and this daily exercise in arranging them is beginning to feel as important for me as my photographic eye and that box of crumpled, oily tubes of paint.

My mother wrote rhyming verse and sent many letters and cards with special poems tucked inside. Christmas 2008, the year after she died, Gregory(a gifted poet) collected some of her ancestral poems and had them softly handbound as books for the family. I've included his preface and one of my mother's birthday poems for me amidst a table full of Haikubes.

Three cubes seemed especially fitting,

PRECIOUS WHISPERS CLAMOR

For the Record,
This day came in warmer with overcast skies. I'm off to the studio soon to begin a new painting in the Nora series, painted collages, upended, suspended.

For a giggle, take a peek at last year's thumbnail.