a little nuzzle to tide you over...

allo, Poppet! Ah, my poor orphaned blog... neglected, mistreated. I do love it, I do! Look at that lovely painting of me writing. My dear friend Jan Vermeer whipped that up. Nice, no? And see... there's my writing maid... she sharpens my pencils, rubs my shoulders. Quite essential, that girl.
I am swamped in real life and art projects, but I will attend to you soon, my precious blog. Fear not... You are not forgotten. kisses...

bloggery!

allo, Poppet! Ah, my poor orphaned blog... neglected, mistreated. I do love it, I do! Look at that lovely painting of me writing. My dear friend JanVermeer whipped that up. Nice, no? And there's my writing maid... she sharpens my pencils, rubs my shoulders. Quite essential, that girl.
I am swamped in real life and art projects, but I will attend to you soon, my precious blog. kisses...

the straw

In Dallas a father forgets
his son. It is 105 outside and the baby sleeps
in his car seat. It could happen to anyone.
Strategies and deals spark and flame.
How easy to drive to the usual spot,
park and set forth to claim the day.
His wife is the one who usually takes their son,
carries him, feels his tender weight
(Oh, how he’s grown), leaves him
(Sweet boy, he has learned to wave
with his dimpled hand).

The world smolders, sons are lost
to hate and habit. Some are forgotten,
(Heart’s treasure, darling one)
but when the domes collapse today
in St. Petersburg, it is their loss
that takes my heart with them
into the fiery rubble.

fun and games...

Why is it that life feels, at times, like a poorly designed game? The rules are crap. You can never win. It costs too much. But the graphics aren't all bad. I'll give it that.
Another ass-kicking day of 104, or 5 or 6 friggin' degree weather. I pulled up half of my flowers today. Felt bad about it, but I figured a swift end was better than watching them cook. We are on pretty severe water restrictions right now, so I felt guilty about watering them. The sky is so clear it's scary.
I love summer, but not this one... too hot, too dry... too long.

poetry Thursday

This week's theme is time. My offering...

bare branches

Hours gather, fallen leaves, vibrant
but dying. We long to press them
into bright, talismans. Memory, we pretend,
is surely the moment captured, time held
in amber stillness, beautiful and unaltered.

But days drift and pile into damp mounds.
Beneath they decay, destined to lose themselves
to the earth. Our hands cannot hold them all
or save even the most vivid of moments
from the final, soft dissolve into forgetting.

just fly...

I'm hungry...

family ties (nooses actually)

Good Lord! What a weekend! Actually, Saturday was quite pleasant, normal... Ryan's birthday party was fun... but Sunday... egads!!!! Let this be a lesson... caller id can save you a lot of agony. But, of course, I do not heed my own advice...

Geeze... how do I write this with humor??? Here goes...My youngest sister is quite mad (as in- c r a z y). Her life has been a series of white trash dramas that Jerry Springer would find perfectly enchanting. Yesterday's played out like this... my phone rings (arg!) and my other sister is frantic. Things have reached crisis mode up in the f'ing backwoods of Utah. L'il sis and hubby are at it again. I think I'll just list some keywords and let the reader piece this B.S. together...
hedgehog
methadone
u-haul
amputation
adultry
plane ticket
young 'un
blah, blah, blah...
A situation, so bizarre it reads like VERY BAD fiction, unfolds against a tableau of Mormonism (excuse me if that is mispelled... it is not worth spell-cking... I am very open-minded re: religion, but that one is beyond the pale!), the Crestview Motel and gold mining. I need never dream of space travel, as I have experienced it already. I traveled to the planet TrailerPark yesterday. My ear is bleeding from the shit that was shoved into it. And since when am I the voice of reason!??
So, 400 wasted dollars and 6 hours of phone time later the happy couple has reconciled. Ain't love grand!?
My poor Texas sister (just trying to help the Wild One) ... my poor husband (a saint with a credit card)...my poor ear (probably pemanently damaged from the heat of my smokin' cell phone)... my poor nephew (doomed by circumstances beyond his control)...
This is really not funny...
I would so move to an island that had no phone service... seriously... I would...

ah, the genius of David Lean...

from Dr. Zhivago

~a lovely thought on a 105 degree day~

for Poetry Thursday

realistic expectations vs the world's largest frying pan

I'm consistent, you have to give me that.
I take the number three, multiply it by orange
and am astonished by the sum,
which is radishes squared, of course.
When I put wheels on a piece of toast
I expect a twelve string guitar
and into my hands drops a Limoges dish
with a gilded rim and violets.
I sleep in a nest of teacups and socks
and wonder why I wake up sun burnt.
This is the story of my every day,
how I stir the same ingredients
in the same old silver shoe
and stand amazed at the elixir
that pours across my threshold-
a tried and true potion, as reliable
as the moon's ballet.
I take a sip, wait for striped fur
to unfurl down my arms,
when I know that I can only grow
pansies in the furrow of my brow.

August sunrise

Mornings like this make north Texas bearable. The sky is so beautiful here. Very nice to wake up to this splendor.

oh, stop it!

torches!!!

almost done

Will's castle room is nearly done. I have to make the banners and theflicking torch lights (I love IKEA!) need to be put up. It's looking very cool!

poetry thursday

what I would have said

I see them down a long hallway,
doors shut tight against the words
I did not say. Behind them are worlds
I will never glimpse. The keys rest
in my belly, swallowed long ago
and left to rust.

Regret is an inimitable sorrow,
that whispers in your ear;
possibilities unclaimed,
opportunities overlooked.
It recalls for me the slight slope
of your shoulders, your hair
brushing your collar,
the back of your blue shirt
that grew smaller as I watched you go.

My tongue was a gold bar
heavy with potential.
With it I could have bought
a human heart, but it lay behind my lips
cold and thick. Silence flowered
from my mouth, formed a thorny bower,
lush and impenetrable. Sturdy vines
crept down the hall, covered the door
and obscured the threshold of hope.

I did not say your name,
but kept it, a gilded briar
as shiny as a new key.

getting there...

We are through painting!!! Ignore the dumb lamp, blue sheets and the curtains hung by clothes pins (I forgot to pick up a curtain rod) . Still have more to do, but it is looking very Lord of the Rings-ish!!!

Clara

all in a day's work..

Will's castle room... a work in progress.

losing Polaris

Losing Polaris

You hover like the Golden Peg,
brilliant and distant, your steady light
meant to steer me, pull me into clarity’s
clean embrace. But I am a gypsy now.
In shadowed moments my hair has grown wild,
my hands rough. Robbed of my language,
my lips are parchment, my mouth a dry well.
And I have strayed from my caravan.

The wind whips my spangled skirts
and I am not eager for your guidance.
I like the forest at night, how it draws
me deeper into the violet smudges
of the unknown, pulls my eyes
from the twinkling and into the dusky dark
of webs and folded wings.
I rest beneath the balsam branches,
close my eyes until I feel the weight
of storm clouds on my brow.
Tonight I aim to follow my own True North,
led by thunder and the tempest’s blazing slivers.

Cynosura moves- its constancy overrated.
Though the drift is slight, the fact remains-
the pole star shifts, slides across the velvet sky
and another takes its place.

all hail the amazing Tim Holtz!

Wow! What a wonderful time we had with Tim! The time flew by. I learned some great new techniques and spent too much $$$. Tim was wonderful... funny, smart, very professional. We made a technique book. Aside from one lady who felt compelled to bitch and moan for the entire workshop (of course, she's at our table) everything was perfect. Tim provides all the supplies you need, so while you may come to the workshop empty handed, it is quite unlikely you will depart in the same condition. I got some great inks in lucious colors and a few other goodies. Whew... I need a beverage. I am stoned on art.

art day!!!

My friend Laurie and I are off to theTim Holtz workshop this morning!!! I know it will be wonderful and inspiring!!!! Hopefully my kids won't burn down the house or give the dog a lobotomy. Beyond that... anything goes... as long as they don't call me!

listen...

Stirring it up...

I am honored to have one of my poems published here http://www.sundress.net/stirring/index.html in the August issue of Stirring. Among the fine poets I have the privilege of appearing with in this publication is L.J. Cohen http://www.bluemusepoetry.com/ , a fellow Wilder, talented writer and extremely kind soul. Take a gander if you find the time.

poetry Thursday

This week's theme is finding inspiration in a song. Like most everyone else on the planet, music touches me. I love many kinds of music, but a favorite is flamenco. Johannes Linstead is remarkably talented and I find his work very uplifting. http://johanneslinstead.com/ Take a listen and perhaps his talent will inspire you, also.
I wrote this cinquain to honor his lovely music and gentle spirit.







For Johannes

Your hands
are a wonder,
instruments of magic
that rain sparks and novas upon
my heart.

live it up!

Okay... The picture is what my kids are dreaming of. School starts next Monday. Poor things. Why on earth Texas (aka~ the surface of the sun) starts school so damn early is beyond me. It is too hot to think. August is summer for christssakes! But noone asked me,so off to school they go next week.

So... I am trying to do a zillion things this week, including turning Will's room into a medieval castle. No worries...I like a challenge.