Sunday, August 28, 2011

the muse

the dead brown grass under the cedar tree
becomes covered with fall leaves
the woman at the bus stop wears a sapphire cloak
her violin case is covered with stickers

(I <3 NY + Recycle & Use the Force, Luke)

bus pulls up chugging smog loud music squeals
from its speakers and the woman winces
acorns as big as tangerines thud onto the sidewalk
as the bus lurches forward trailing notes in its wake

( uprising & viva la vida + another brick in the wall)

sparrow flutters from the tree almost
losing itself in the dun-colored leaves as
girl flies by on a scooter her yellow hair
tangled in the breeze her red bookbag bouncing

(art * english & history)

farther into the park a man plays guitar
strumming faster and faster till his fingers blur
his labrador barking at the squrriels that
leap higher and higher into the branches

(twig; nut ^ bark)

boy in a yellow ballcap weaves his skateboard
in and around the passersby white cables
dangling from his ears the pigeons take wing in
fear as he enters their territory

(grey down + seeds * wheels scraping on pavement)

this is my world
this is my muse
this is my life

Friday, August 26, 2011

Artist Spotlight: Alexa Meade

Alexa Meade paints people. First she paints on the person, then she photographs them. Really. I'm not kidding. It's crazy cool.

Here's the link to her website!

Saturday, August 20, 2011


a hundred dishes fell with a crash
littering the kitchen floor with shards
as delicate as crushed conch shells

(shattered and
harsh white
against the red tiles)

I picked up the base of a cup
turned it over in my hand
it caught on my fingertip, cut deep

(bead of
red bloomed,
a bright eye)

set it in the kitchen sink
and watched it bob up and down
on the frothy tide, suds swelling round it

(white cliffs,
white chalk cliffs
round white sides)

one puff of breath set it spinning
another sent it banging against the side
and a third sent it to the bottom

(bubbles flew
upward, freed
by its demise)

I watched the shipwreck
slipping my hand through the little sea
blood weeping a crimson trail from my finger

(a red tide
algae bloom,
the red sunset sky)

Saturday, August 13, 2011

woman of the seasons

woman sits in the doorway
leaning forward in the sun
her fingers brown polished roots
shelling out the
sweet new peas
with quick birdlike twists

(and the swallow sits singing on the rooftop
of living and gleaning
of living green things to follow)

the woman she hums a tune so old
it has no words, all have faded away
today she husks the summer corn
stripping away its browning cover
exposing its pale yellow heart
and the sun beats down above

(and the sparrow sits singing
of hot sun on the grass and fresh new wheat
and heat to come tomorrow)

the woman wraps a scarf round her head
when the dry leaves fall floating down
it's oysters she's shelling today
fresh from the muck and the brine
she crunches their roofs with her fingernails
and sucks out all the marrow

(and the crow on the tree
cries of fading and falling
of falling he cries today)

woman sits inside her house
stringing dried herbs from the rafters
the children outside are sledding
their laughter slips in through the window
and she sings that old song again
till her voice is faded and pale.

(and the owl in the glen hoots a deep
sad song of resting sleeping
of awaiting the spring he sings)

Sunday, August 7, 2011

The Haven: an antique shop

Wednesday, I visited one of Port Austin's antique shops.

As we walked up the front path, this sight greeted us:

Something was peeking from among the shrubs... a small flash of blue.

Upon looking closer, we discovered a china plate, with two saucers and a teacup glued on top of it, and then mounted to a pole.
It wasn't the only sculpture.

Wine glasses and perfume flasks had been mounted in a similar manner.

Whole tea sets perched, one piece on top of another. It was like something from the Mad Hatter's garden.

The inside of the shop was equally exquisite.

I purchased some buttons from the overflowing button box, and admired the diminutive ballerina standing on this pink table.

As we were leaving, we stopped to take a last look at the tea set towers, and saw this little cat.

 He watched us go, smirking slightly as we walked away.


Bad Axe Historical Village

In Bad Axe, we stopped to visit a historical village that was open to the public.

It was most interesting!

First, we visited the schoolhouse, the church and the barn, but unfortunately I didn't get any pictures of them.

Then we visited the general store.

On their counter, they had many objects...

including a sausage stuffer

a little shoe

 and a bowtie making kit (cool).

They also carried hats and some clothing.

Then we visited a cabin that had housed eleven children and two adults in its day.

There were only four rooms.
Downstairs, a kitchen

a bedroom

Upstairs, a room where the bathtub and some clothes were kept

and another bedroom with two beds

It was a real trip back in time!


the breakwall in Port Austin

Last week we embarked on a road trip to Michigan.
We lodged in a condo overlooking Lake Huron and learned our way around the tiny town of Port Austin. We've gone to thrift stores, visited the historical village in nearby Bad Axe, and walked on the breakwall that keeps the waves from crashing into the shore.

Posts to come!

Pleasure: three haiku

children laughing
beach of sugary sand
surrounding the forever lake

tea with a friend
not talking just being
knowing what it is to be quiet

walking on the breakwall
sunset spreads a vibrant light
sun dies slowly

Thursday, August 4, 2011

Pathfinder by Orson Scott Card

When I found out that Orson Scott Card had written a new sci-fi book, I was excited. When I found out that it was over five hundred pages long, I was exhilarated. Here's the trailer:

Pathfinder is the story of a boy-Rigg-who can see the lifepaths of every creature to walk the earth. Not just current trails, but the paths of dead and truly ancient creatures as well. His father is the only person he's ever met who doesn't cast a path. When Rigg's father is crushed by a falling tree, he returns to the village to collect his inheritance. But on the way back, when he tries to rescue a child from falling over the falls, something unsual happens. Time slows, and out of the ancient paths comes a man... a man who gets in his way. The child dies, and his heartbroken brother accuses Rigg of murder. Hunted by the villagers, he returns home- and finds that his father kept a wealth of secrets... the least of which is that Rigg is of royal blood.

Pathfinder is a smart, thrilling read and Rigg rivals Ender as a realistic, brilliant lead character. Again, Mr. Card has outdone himself.