Any Small Thing

The poets know of morning sun, 

falling snow flake and the things we circle around, 

like the book ends of birth and death 

and the space in between.  

 They write what we remember 

at the half edge of sleep and awake.

The poets have words 

and they have the white space between 

where they leave us room 

to feel the words pierce or comfort, 

room to breathe in and breathe out. 

I have lines, and dots and I draw them. 

These lines and dots form a story or maybe a poem, 

perhaps of the woods and birds and the feelings 

I have for the glorious world and my very temporary place in it. 

Wanting to speak of these things I retreat to the alphabet I know.

Dot. Line. Crossing. 

I love this artistic language of ours. 

On canvas, in wood, with paper, thread, 

clay, twig or found object an artist makes her marks, 

sings in her own voice, dances with the elements.

Any small thing…..

A small color

Texture

Happily exploring my way into the new year 

with small things created in the evenings 

near the warmth of the fire, 

I am inviting awareness, openness, and acceptance. 

These attitudes are meant for my art, 

to see what will come, 

to remove myself from the front of the equation, 

to drop my bucket deep into the well.

This attitude shift, shifting, shifting 

feels like vital work to me, to step back, and back, and back, 

to get very clear that I am not driving the bus, 

but that I am invited to create. 

And that I humbly accept the gift. 

My art. My life.

Do you know words for this?

Dots

Dot and line together

Lines

Lines crossing

Planes

Circles

There are so many kindred spirits in the blogging world. 

And I appreciate you. 

I would like to introduce you to an artist and blogger you may not yet know, 

but she is another kindred spirit, 

living her life with quiet gusto, 

being true and blogging about it.

Here, at “to live poetry” you can find Anca Gray 

who today has blogged some of my thoughts and work. 

I am honored Anca.

Thank you.

Anca is an artist friend of mine from tumblr 

who has graciously included me in her blog post series. 

Anca describes her series as

“a regular friday feature, a series of quick interviews with strong creative confident women that inspire me”.   

I found Anca’s questions enlightening. 

You might answer them for yourself and 

see where they lead you. 

One word rolls across the floor,

Lodging under the slipper

Of the man who has felt uncomfortable

All day.

Now he knows what to say.

~naomi shihab nye

From a poem titled 

Listening to Poetry in a Language I do not Understand

For me, 

I am following the lines and dots to the well. 

It’s probably also sometimes called the rabbit hole……See you there?

Any small thing can save you.

Scraps of Time and Paper

Priceless Gifts

An empty day without events.
And that is why
it grew immense
as space. And suddenly
happiness of being
entered me.

I heard
in my heartbeat
the birth of time
and each instant of life
one after the other
came rushing in
like priceless gifts.

- Anna Swir

Gathering scraps, I pieced together many minuscule bits, arranging, adding, gluing, and tearing apart.

The tiny bits blended with one another, beginning a new whole; a thing, a composition, a space in time born of smallness and insignificant scraps of paper. A picture of my time. 

Time is the music of our being.  

It is to us what water is to fish.

~ Jessica Julian

In this world, there are two times.

There is mechanical time and there is body time. 

The first is as rigid and metallic as a 

massive pendulum of iron that swings 

back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. 

The second squirms and wriggles like a bluefish in a bay. 

The first is unyielding, predetermined. 

The second makes up its mind as it goes along.

~ Alan Lightman

 one moment, one chance

 

She had always felt

that the essence of human experience

lay not primarily in the peak experiences, 

the wedding days and triumphs 

which stood out in the memory like dates

circled in red on old calendars, 

but, rather, in the unself-conscious 

flow of little things--the weekend afternoon

with each member of the family

engaged in his or her own pursuit,

their crossings and connections casual,

dialogues imminently forgettable,

but the sum of such hours creating a synergy

which was important and eternal.

~ Dan Simmons

Happy New Year my friends. 

May 2012 bring us all 

ample creative bluefish times.