The Snow Queen
Cerulean blue rings above
Doe-see-doe your partner
Blue sky and white fluffy clouds
Gracefully exchange places
Round and round they go
While snow falls on the mountain
Castanets click as violins play
The sun sparkles off the new fallen snow
The little part of the world
Northern New Mexico
Fresh and new
The dance continues
A matador's pose
And then you step forward
The crowd applauds
The musician picks the strings
For the tune of his choice
The girl in grey
Points her tow
Spins across the stage
Light as a feather
Swans tuck them heads
Under their wings as the pianist plays
February 22, 2018
Wednesday, February 21, 2018
This Road or Another
Oh how dreary the voice can be
Droning on and on
Words topsy-turvy tumble
Pell-mell head over heels
Roly-poly and all land in a pile
And yet when you speak to me
It resonates somewhere inside of me
Somewhere in my chest
Perhaps it is my heart
An instrument of my silent song
I wait quietly for you to speak to me
Share your ideas with me
Ask for my opinion
Do I agree and if not
What do I have to say
Can I find the words
Can I make myself clear
Do my meanings make sense
Do we even speak the same language
One word follows another
Like soldiers on parade
High step in line
Words spoken by the voice
Black on white
Or white on black
And sometimes grey
Or shall we sing songs out loud
Your voice and mine intertwined
Holding hands as we journey
This road or another
Do we speak just to hear ourselves talk
Or do we use the voice for the first time
The time that is real
The only time we have
The time that is ticking on the clock
Let me hear you speak
February 21, 2018
Tuesday, February 20, 2018
What does the poet have to say, on an early February morn?
Will he speak of robins in the glen, on an early February morn?
Will he notice when you come, strutting in your finery?
Will he compliment your new hat, on an early February morn?
What about the temperature, will he be chilled?
Will he ask to come in and warm by the fire, on an early February morn?
Will he take out his paper and pen, scribe a few verses?
Or will he make a word sketch in the snow, on an early February morn?
Will he speak of spring, and the missing green?
Or will he speak about summers past, on an early February morn?
Will he take breakfast, of sausages and eggs full of yellow yolks?
Will he sit awhile, on an early February morn?
Will he read to us, in his melodious voice?
Or will he ask to hear what we have written, on an early February morn?
Later will he walk with us, for an outing in the snow?
Will he come home tired, on an early February morn?
Will he take tea, as he used to?
Will he ask for milk and honey, or lemon, on an early February morn?
Will he nap after lunch, dozy, dreamy?
Will he rest his head on the soft Parisian pillows, on an early February morn?
Will he remember all the other times, we went into the mountains?
Will he read to us what he has written, on an early February morn?
Will he stay overnight, and sleep in the guest bed?
Will he snore as loud as before, on an early February morn?
In the morning when he awakes, will he sit upright in his bed?
Will he remember where he is, on an early February morn?
Will he execute Tie Chi, with the grace of a King fisher bird?
Will he ask to bathe by the river, on an early February morn?
Will we have time to write and read for each other?
Will he laugh until his sides burst and his tummy wiggles like jello, on an early February morn?
Will he come again next year?
As before, will he forget his staff, on an early February morn?
Monday, February 19, 2018
As a visual artist, I have been practicing my craft for over 50 years. There was a time, my work was colorless, but for the last few years I have been studying Itten's and Josef Alber's ideas about color.
It is my experience, that my work often parallels what is happening in my life. Perhaps. I am considering color, and I see color everywhere; in the pinks and golds of the sunrise, the fiery yellows, golds, and reds of the sunset, the subtle blues found in the sky… or in your eyes.
When I am experimenting with all of the greys that are the lower intensities of brighter colors, found on the color wheel, will I see greys everywhere, will it bring "beauty or misery?"
Early morning or late afternoon
Can be filled with beauty or misery
Winter days are often grey