Wednesday, January 29, 2014

I Looked Into Your Eyes And Saw A World That I Wish I Was In

I collect clouds...
                          Cirrus, Nimbus, Fronts and Cumuli, 
                                                                             I love them all ...
                                                                                                       The sky gives me vertigo...

And flowers bring me back 
                                        to the beauty of the earth. 

I have been painting sticks and sewing bits
                                                              and pieces
                                                                                to make things. 
My sewing basket contains inherited bits,
                                                         From Mother,
                                                                                         and Granny ...

The treasures of my hoard, 
                                         and of the women of my blood before me...

And the essences they carry 

push forth soft things

Like pillows of linen
                               and cotton
                                               and foraged buttons
                                                                             and beads

And in jars I keep a myriad of ephemera, 
For use in future projects. 

I preserve cicada shells in shellac and PVA, 

Feathers and flowers in my freezer, 

Broken threads and necklaces

And Bits of Christmas Wreaths

I Plan For The F U T U R E....

One day, at 45 degrees, I went to observe the locked swimming pool...
The sign lies, 
                         It was September when they closed it. 
                                                                                Concrete gets cancer as well.

Country Music Festival Time
                                         for picnics in the park, 
A glass of white wine, 
                               and barely cooked broccoli with piles of ginger
                                                                                                  with miso paste dressing

And for jealousy over the collection of crochet blankets owned by camels.

There is treasure in the grass.

And the four o'clock flowers blossom 
                                                                    well into the evening
in front of the bowls shed.

The clouds tease, 
But no precipitation comes

And I purchase an everlasting daisy for my handbag-pot

Then a morning front provides cooler days
                                                             For sweatless bluegrass breakfasts

 And drum circle joy

The heat does not bother the baby black-birds

But this, 
                third clutch of the season
                                                      Bothers my seedlings immensely...
                                                                                                           (in fact, they are metabolised....)


My feet walk, 
On concrete, 
Through the flowers, 
On grass, 
Brown and 
                 C r u n c h y....

The grapevines, 
                                                                     is upon us.
                                                                                      (despite lack of cool change or rain)

Then a long drive, 
                            with good friends
and terrible music, 

To deliver love and flowers to a new
                                                   Mother and Baby

And for a few days, 
I will eat the fruit of cactus

and tiny fruit tarts

 And read Artlink with my legs in the sun
                                                                   And a list of lovely people to see. 

More to come....

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