Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Haiku 7

(Umbra.)

Dark shadows trailing
Purple, yellow, orange longing.
An invitation.

(Penumbra.)

Vast pockmarked landscapes
Grasslands turn, repaint themselves
Settle to their knees.

(Antumbra.)

Trees’ roots in landscapes
Shadow lines’ strong-shouldered stance
Your name, holy ground.


Happy National Poetry Month.

LL, 4/26/2009. Prevail.

Sunday, April 26, 2009

Haiku 6

(Umbra.)

Bare branches observe
Irrefutable blackness
Breath crippled by wind.

(Penumbra.)

The magnolia tree
Loses its pink: straight-line winds.
An entrance pose.

(Antumbra.)

Stands of tall cattails
Begin as a dialogue.
Always my answer.

LL, 4/26/2009. Prevail.

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Haiku 5

(Umbra.)

A cold stone shoulder
Chipped bedrock, crushed aspirin.
Decomposition.

(Penumbra.)

Blackberry briars
Indigo shadows stain skin.
Consideration.

(Antumbra.)

Tight whorls of dark hair,
Trees toss out their tangled arms.
Build something sacred.

LL, 4/22/2009. Prevail.

Monday, April 20, 2009

Haiku 4

(Umbra.)

Fall asleep to dreams
In alabaster chalk dust
My masterpieces.

(Penumbra.)

Tree roots, gnarled, bent
A voice pushing through floorboards
A counterpoising.

(Antumbra.)

Legs crossed, curved angles
Purple, yellow, blue shadows
A movement pose.

LL, 4/20/09. Prevail.

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Haiku 3

(Umbra.)

An obscured ingress
Secrets are eaten like cake
Don’t call it my choice.

(Penumbra.)

Pine-skirted marshes
Rangy green and purple weeds
A reparation.

(Antumbra.)

Unfurled on one knee
Purple, yellow, orange shadows
A slope-shouldered stance.

LL, 4/12/2009. Prevail.

Saturday, April 11, 2009

Haiku 2

(Umbra.)

A life in secrets
Transparency means unease.
Turn the other way.

(Penumbra.)

Unpeeling an orange
Into moon-slivered phases.
An invocation.

(Antumbra.)

Rooted in landscapes
Lace’s serrated textures.
Reconcilement.

LL, 4/10/2009. Prevail.

Thursday, April 9, 2009

Haiku

(Umbra.)

Dark shadows trailing
Nips at ankles. Trips each step.
Demands Look at me.

(Penumbra.)

Crouched on cool concrete
Back’s shadow-lines blue and orange.
A stillness pose.

(Antumbra.)

Shadow-slight head turn.
Longing: bottomless whispers
Surrounding sweet flesh.

LL, 4/7/2009. Prevail.

Saturday, April 4, 2009

Gallery Manners

Last night, I was quite excited as my close Goddess friend and colleague Schawn and husband Ryan Hardesty invited me to his art exhibit opening. Every few years, he shows his work at the Lorinda Knight Gallery, the most renowned gallery in Spokane, with this year’s theme entitled Continuous Field. Art is important to me, and while many galleries do not cater to the young eye and touch, I still feel it is important to expose my boys’ malleable minds to different ways of expression and craftmanship. I made the parental decision to bring them at five sharp before dropping them at their friends’ home so I could return to linger to my heart’s content.

“This is expensive art, and Ryan has put countless hours and effort into these pieces. Please approach them with respect and do not touch, but feel free to peer closely and formulate your own ideas about these landscapes,” I instructed them. As they quietly walked from painting to painting, the boys were beautiful, tolerating their mother who likes to stand in front of pieces, gaze into their interiors, become acquainted with their beings.

In addition to the main floor exhibit, the upstairs’ mezzanine hosts additional works of the featured artist. Paintings, photographs, and sculptures by other artists the gallery previously promoted line the shelves, lean against walls, and rest on the floor. Because Zachary and Alex’s behavior was exemplary downstairs, I assumed they would carry it with them upstairs like their Calvin & Hobbes books that they cart up and down the stairs in my house several times daily.

Soon after, however, their voices from the adjacent room penetrated my meditative contemplation like the sound of a prepubescent jackhammer.

Turning, I was horrified as I witnessed my boys fighting and fending off the villains of Star Wars with a metal sculptural piece, a triptych of guns.

At that moment, I understood that the three-gun piece beckons a boy in the exact way the overpowering smell of a new book lures me. After corralling them, downstairs we crept and said our cordial good-byes to the gallery owner.

(I am just hoping that Ms. Knight, during her rounds, doesn’t notice the misplacement of the triptych of guns, become suspicious, and check the sculpture for fingerprints. We’d be in trouble for sure.)

LL, 4/4/2009. Prevail.