Thursday, April 28, 2011
lichens and geodes in limestone in beautiful Walnut Canyon Arizona for all my rock friends.
Monday, April 25, 2011
The birds are in their trees,
the toast is in the toaster,
and the poets are at their windows.
They are at their windows
in every section of the tangerine of earth-
the Chinese poets looking up at the moon,
the American poets gazing out
at the pink and blue ribbons of sunrise.
The clerks are at their desks,
the miners are down in their mines,
and the poets are looking out their windows
maybe with a cigarette, a cup of tea,
and maybe a flannel shirt or bathrobe is involved.
The proofreaders are playing the ping-pong
game of proofreading,
glancing back and forth from page to page,
the chefs are dicing celery and potatoes,
and the poets are at their windows
because it is their job for which
they are paid nothing every Friday afternoon.
Which window it hardly seems to matter
though many have a favorite,
for there is always something to see-
a bird grasping a thin branch,
the headlights of a taxi rounding a corner,
those two boys in wool caps angling across the street.
The fishermen bob in their boats,
the linemen climb their round poles,
the barbers wait by their mirrors and chairs,
and the poets continue to stare
at the cracked birdbath or a limb knocked down by the wind.
By now, it should go without saying
that what the oven is to the baker
and the berry-stained blouse to the dry cleaner,
so the window is to the poet.
before the invention of the window,
the poets would have had to put on a jacket
and a winter hat to go outside
or remain indoors with only a wall to stare at.
And when I say a wall,
I do not mean a wall with striped wallpaper
and a sketch of a cow in a frame.
I mean a cold wall of fieldstones,
the wall of the medieval sonnet,
the original woman's heart of stone,
the stone caught in the throat of her poet-lover.
Friday, April 22, 2011
the sail just needs to open and the world is full of beauty.
Today is such a
the promise of life
that it always
both caress the earth with great
This love I know plays a drum. Arms move around me;
who can contain their self before my beauty?
but ecstatic dance is more fun, and less narcissistic;
gregarious He makes our lips.
the sail just needs to open
and the love starts.
"Tribute" earrings can now be found here.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
A very rude and agitated man came in after me and started making unreasonable demands on the young receptionist. If there's one thing I won't tolerate it's a bully. I was writing my check when he sidled up next to me and began another string of rabid demands, I turned to him and asked him to calm down, when he yelled in my face, I'm not talking to you, I replied you're not "talking" to anyone.........argh#@***^@! s o m e p e o p l e !! the way they navigate though life never ceases to amaze me.
It was late when I finished these so I took them outside in the dimming light for a better shot. The wonderful larger faceted agate beads are mined near Kramers Junction or "the four corners" section of the Mojave Desert. I bought them several years back from an elderly prospector. It's fun finding and using local materials, these agates are in various colors from brown to white and everything in between, the color of the great horned owl.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
I walked up to look for the owl but I could'nt find him. I decided to explore his neighborhood instead.
New work can now be found here.