marsowords
Words. Image. Connecting.
Still Here
Greetings. Everything is alright.
Just stepped away.
Still here.
Just haven’t been posting . . .
and . . .
not sure if, when, how often, I’ll resume.
Best wishes to those I stayed in touch with while posting here.
Perhaps another time?
Take care ♡
Orderly
This is what I had the privilege of seeing this week.
I like including the tractor (and its driver)—
reminders of where this order comes from
long before we see the orderly rows of produce
—fruits and vegetables—in our supermarkets
on shelves and in long aisles.
In response to Daily Prompt: orderly.
Geometric Abstraction
Architecture—its endless opportunities to see and see again— its possibilities for finding and framing an abstract!
During National Poetry Writing Month, I am considering what we call art and poetry, along with the diverse ways we express and experience the sacred. People most often turn to nature for a sense of both the poetic and the sacred.
Some find it in other ways—even, in mathematics and geometry, or in architecture and engineering—maybe in a remarkable bridge. If you have bridge phobia, though, you may think, “Yes, I sense . . . the sacredness . . . of my own life!”
Time
A moment—when we notice—
stands still—it seems—
like a blade of grass
in a bending breeze.
.
A response to: abstract.
Joining those writing a poem a day during NaPoWriMo and National Poetry Writing Month.
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Grass and Redwood
Rain’s refusal
and no escape—
grass and redwood alike . . .
wait.
.
Poems in the series “Waiting for Rain” are still in process, now appearing only here on this blog.
Tough and Tender
Stark swirl—
tornado’s
tantrum
tears
through
wild
landscape
—no escape—
as tough and tender alike,
s c a t t e r.
.
.
In response to a three word prompt: tantrum, tear, tender.
A drought-themed variation on this will post soon (for the “Waiting for Rain” series).
Wonder Swirl
Oh Maps, it’s not your fault
how people fight over you—
how they contest your lines—
your names!
Our planet is not
the color-quilted globe
of childhood.
Visible by spaceship
it’s a wonder-swirl
of water, wind, cloud, and land
gloriously undisputed.
.
A poem from a collection-in-process called Maps.
Joining those writing a poem a day during NaPoWriMo and National Poetry Writing Month.
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Beauty
Waiting for the blue moon.
Lacy clouds conceal its rise.
Then, laying aside
my set expectations,
I see, I see, I see.
.
Poem “based on a true experience”. After feeling disappointed by clouds not allowing me to get a clear photograph of the moon, I then noticed them—beautifully backlit—and wrote this poem with a wider, deeper consideration—how letting go of (or shifting) expectations can turn initial disappointment into a pleasant surprise.
Joining those writing a poem a day during NaPoWriMo and National Poetry Writing Month.
.
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World Map
My first world map,
in a coloring book
open to imagination
at national lines,
no soldiers or border guards,
just Crayolas lined up on the table
while other children worldwide
looked for their country
and favorite color
innocent of differences
beyond crayon,
only sensing we could play together
if we met someday.
.
From a collection of poetry called Maps, appearing at this time only here.
A response to: earth.
Joining those writing a poem a day during NaPoWriMo and National Poetry Writing Month.
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Time’s Release
In all things—water—
seen, unseen—in clouds
that seem to hold nothing.
In all things—spirit—
rain—locked in a cloud,
contained, released—by time.
.
Joining those writing a poem a day during NaPoWriMo and National Poetry Writing Month.
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Considering locked.
.
.
Perception
Tender aching hands
warm at window’s sunlit pane
forgetting winter.
.
Joining those writing a poem a day during NaPoWriMo and National Poetry Writing Month.
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Mortal
Trees look self-sufficient—
immortal—
yet leaves, in a curling
grasp of want and wait
reach and fall.
A tree slumps
leafless
mid-summer.
Drought reminds,
we forget.
Our thirst
easily quenched.
.
Poems in the series “Waiting for Rain” are still in process, now appearing only here on this blog. (more…)
Rain Dance
Opaque skies listen
to nimble, wistful wind,
a marimba in the woods,
graceful grasses swaying,
a melancholy rain dance.
.
Joining those writing a poem a day during NaPoWriMo and National Poetry Writing Month.
Written in response to a three word prompt: melancholy, nimble, opaque.
Poems in the series “Waiting for Rain” are still in process, now appearing only here on this blog.
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Dissonant
Dry wind—its raspy voice
drifting off key
in a dissonant
melancholy
landscape.
.
Written in response to a three word prompt: raspy, dissonant, melancholy.
Poems in the series “Waiting for Rain” are still in process, now appearing only here on this blog.
Lift
A sip of coffee,
morning fog not yet lifting,
a deep breath of now.
.
A response to: breath.
Joining those writing a poem a day during NaPoWriMo and National Poetry Writing Month.
Poems in the series “Waiting for Rain” are still in process, now appearing only here on this blog.
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Hope on the Line
Hoping for rain
is like stream fishing—
wading into hip-deep water,
flicking a wide arc through the air
tipped with hope on the hook
and in the line tied to it—
the one you reel in,
even without a catch.
“It got away?”
You know better,
waiting with net and umbrella.
.
Poems in the series “Waiting for Rain” are still in process, now appearing only here on this blog. (more…)
Ideas in process
Where do ideas come from?
Ideas that contribute to artistic works will come from various directions and countless experiences, thoughts and feelings; yet, patterns may tie them together. Connections may be subtle, ambiguous, complex or simple, in a way we may not initially realize. For example, during one period of writing, I was quite surprised to find how often my poems related thematically to drought or rain.
Where do ideas go?
Ideas can disappear as unwritten inspirations, or remain as if they were never written—forgotten in notebooks, slips of paper or hard drives. (more…)
Nostalgia
Nostalgia hovers like mist
over landlocked lake.
It flutters like flight-fragile wings
of migrating monarchs.
It settles like morning dew
on drought-crusted branches.
It lingers like condensation
on cold glass—window and mirror.
.
Poem 13: during National Poetry Writing Month.
Joining those writing a poem a day during NaPoWriMo.
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