Topic #42--"Poetry" Entry

From Wendy!:

Orange: I'm not quite certain if this journal quilt is totally finished but will try to squeeze it in yet for artwords whose theme for this week has been poetry. Though some of the words to "what a wonderful world" are on the quilt I was spending a lot of time thinking about the poem I wrote called "Orange" as I was making it.
The photos are of my Dad, my Mom and brother, and then my brother and me. Family is very important to me, for those of you not yet aware of that. Though I grew up with "Orange", I never would have been able to get to the place I am without the love and support of my wonderful family.


When I was a child
With diabetes,
I grew to hate
The colour orange.
The sugar in my body
Needed testing.
Orange
Meant sugar,
Too much Sugar.

And now -
I envision lines,
And lines,
And lines,
In the record book,
Lines of orange.

As a child with Diabetes
What
Went through my mind
About these lines of orange
In the Record Book?
They were always present.

I probably did not even recognize
Any interspersal of beautiful blue,
Or calming green.
Striving For perfection?
Who Me?
Striving to erase all those lines,
Of orange,
Which could never
Be erased.
Striving to erase the lines
Of imperfection
Which would be
Forever
Part of me.

Today -
I can truly appreciate
The colour orange.
Now I understand
It represents joy.
I work towards Joy.
I strive for it.
I strive
For more imperfection.
The striving
Is not easy.

Forever will live in me -
Those lines and lines
Of the colour orange.

Topic #42--"Poetry" Entry

From Darcy!:

This is what I get
when I try to paint my love to you
Overflowing color
with the light peeking through.
There is no beginning
as there is no end
You won't see any order
just the feelings of a friend.
You see, my love
takes many shapes and forms.
The lines are sometimes broken
as sometimes hearts are torn.
It may seem chaotic
as life can often be
You see, my love
won't fit neatly on the page,
it has no boundaries.
It may seem naive,
not a fine piece of art.
The technique might be slightly off
as are matters of the heart.
But please take it as a token,
a reminder of a friend,
who holds you close
within her soul
until the very end.
D. Altaville c.2000

This is a from a card I made for my hub way back in 2000. I came across it recently, in the archives and thought it fit well with the Artwords Poetry theme.

Topic #42--"Poetry" Entry

From Peggi!:

"My favorite all-time poet is Robert Louis Stevenson - I loved having his poems read to me when I was a child; and later, when I grew up, I enjoyed reading them again - to my own children (and yes, sometimes even to myself late at night when I can't sleep =) ... This poem in particular, entitled "To Any Reader" is my very favorite. In my very old copy of "A Child's Garden of Verses" this one is the poem I would ask my mom to read to me over and over again ... very sentimental, I know, but Stevenson's poetry does do that to me ... Oh well =) Anyway, I've included a pic of my childhood home in St. Louis and a copy of pictures of me when I was little and being happily spoiled rotten in the Lou (the handsome young man behind me in the photo on the sliding board is my wonderful big bro)."

Topic #42--"Poetry" Entry

From Tricia!:

16 x 20 canvas
The first in a series of six I hope to create and put in our downstairs hallway.
I may still go back and stamp words into the canvas. I kept going back and forth with that so I decided to hang it up and live with it as is for a while.

“The Window of My Soul”
The window of my soul opens, and from the purity of the unseen world,
the book of God comes to me straight.
The book, the rain of divine grace, and the light
are falling into my house through a window
from my real and original source.
The house without a window is hell;
to make a window is the essence of true religion.
Don't thrust your ax upon every thicket;
come, use your ax to cut open a window.
---Rumi

Topic #42--"Poetry" Entry

Welcome to Bianca! Her entry!:

"I chose a poem by D.H. Lawrence. The background page I had made on a whim--I had a page that I didn't like the look of, so I used my square punch and punched it into a bunch of little squares and then thought they would look good on a gold background so that's what I did. Once I was done with it I had no idea what I wanted to put on it. I liked the look so much I didn't want to disrupt the overall feel And then I saw the challenge for this week and thought it would be fun to do it on transparencies. I used a bird stamp from invoke arts. I stamped it on each side of the transparency so that it would face both left and right. The rest is hand drawn with a sharpie."
The poem reads "I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough, without ever feeling sorry for itself."

Topic #42--"Poetry" Entry

From Aileen!:

"Here's a hand painted chunky 4x4 page I did for a bird themed swap I'm in and its doubling as this weeks Artword challenge "Poetry." I used PYMII to seal it."

Topic #42--"Poetry" Entry

From Patri!:
Artpoem

A combination of art and words, a capturing of the imagination and senses.
Part drawing and part digital imagery, all poured in a bowl and mixed together. The words are my own.

Available for purchase

Topic #42--"Poetry" Entry

From Ascender!:

Title: Young Fiber Artist
Medium: Pointillism/Stippling; Pen and India Ink

Available for Purchase

In these pages, Mary,
is where I’ll always be,
not in the valleys’ soft
comforting waters of custom,
but on mountain peaks -
words frozen as they left me.

You may falter on black ice
hidden under newest snow,
but if you will reach me,
follow the flag marked track.
Breathe deeply, take your time;
the air is very thin here.

“Thoughts On The Education Of Daughters” by Barbara Dordi;
After the book of the same name by Mary Wollstonecraft, 1787
Barbara Dordi is editor of the poetry journal Equinox. She has published three poetry pamphlets and is currently pursuing an MA in Creative Writing.

Topic #42--"Poetry" Entry

From Susan R.C.!:

Flora
Goddess of Springtime

Beneath Winter’s frosty dream
She sleeps:
Crocus Queen, May Princess,
Mother of the second season.
Earth’s axis tilts in space;
Sun’s vernal beams awaken her;
Her hair blooms..
This is a page from an altered calendar swap I did last. I think this was May.

Topic #42--"Poetry" Entry

Welcome to Carla! Her entries!:

"She Walks in Beauty"
10" x 10 " x 1" mixed media on wood panel
This painting was giving me so much trouble that I came close to gessoing it over. But I really liked the background, so I put it on my dresser against the mirror (that's where I put unfinished work that I want to think about), and looked at for a couple of days until the solution revealed itself. I'm glad I gave her a second chance!

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

- George Gordon, Lord Byron (1788-1824)



Witness - 10" x 10" x 1" mixed media on cradled wood panel
Sometimes gravity settles into my spirit and becomes an ever-strengthening pull of self-doubt that can keep me from soaring beyond my fears. I find then, that instead of feeling grounded in something real and solid, secure enough in myself to venture outward and onward, I am held back by those inner voices that, for some strange reason, want me to stay put. I always come out of these little episodes of the cosmic blues, usually by reconnecting with Nature, looking at beautiful art, reading some poetry, and then messing around in my studio.

How do you defy gravity?

Witness

I saw that a star had broken its rope
in the stables of heaven--

This homeless one will find her home
in the foothills of a green century.

Who sleeps beside still waters, wakes.
The terrestrial hands of the heaven clock

comb out the comet's tangled mane
and twelve strands float free.

In the absence of light and gravity,
slowly as dust, or the continents' drift,

sinuous, they twine a text,
one letter to an eon:

I am the dawn horse.
Ride me.

- Liz Waldner

Topic #42--"Poetry" Entry

From Izabella!

The rain set early in tonight,
The sullen wind was soon awake,
It tore the elm-tops down for spite,
And did its worst to vex the lake:
I listened with heart fit to break.
When glided in Porphyria; straight
She shut the cold out and the storm,
And kneeled and made the cheerless grate
Blaze up, and all the cottage warm;
Which done, she rose, and from her form
Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl,
And laid her soiled gloves by, untied
Her hat and let the damp hair fall,
And, last, she sat down by my side
And called me. When no voice replied,
She put my arm about her waist,
And made her smooth white shoulder bare,
And all her yellow hair displaced,
And, stooping, made my cheek lie there,
And spread, o'er all, her yellow hair,
Murmuring how she loved me--she
Too weak, for all her heart's endeavor,
To set its struggling passion free
From pride, and vainer ties dissever,
And give herself to me forever.
But passion sometimes would prevail,
Nor could tonight's gay feast restrain
A sudden thought of one so pale
For love of her, and all in vain:
So, she was come through wind and rain.
Be sure I looked up at her eyes
Happy and proud; at last I knew
Porphyria worshiped me: surprise
Made my heart swell, and still it grew
While I debated what to do.
That moment she was mine, mine, fair,
Perfectly pure and good: I found
A thing to do, and all her hair
In one long yellow string I wound
Three times her little throat around,
And strangled her. No pain felt she;
I am quite sure she felt no pain.
As a shut bud that holds a bee,
I warily oped her lids: again
Laughed the blue eyes without a stain.
And I untightened next the tress
About her neck; her cheek once more
Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss:
I propped her head up as before
Only, this time my shoulder bore
Her head, which droops upon it still:
The smiling rosy little head,
So glad it has its utmost will,
That all it scorned at once is fled,
And I, its love, am gained instead!
Porphyria's love: she guessed not how
Her darling one wish would be heard.
And thus we sit together now,
And all night long we have not stirred,
And yet God has not said a word!

~Robert Browning

Topic #42--"Poetry" Entry

From Cookala (Eileen)!:

Pastorale

O, to be a tree in the dusky hills of Provence
crowned with a coronet of leaves, holding court
in the middle of a scent-drenched field, my roots
tucked under a lavender comforter. There is the sky
for mirth and birdsong to lullaby a noonday snooze.

And there, up on the hill, sits a cottage
propped against the sky. It’s weather-worn stone
ashen with age, its shutters and doors silvered;
scarlet roses scale its walls and windflowers
waffle around its foundations as the day exhales.

And in the evening, threads of chimney smoke
embroider a path to the stars while crickets chirp
and the owl hoots. O, to have this time
of purple and blue.

Topic #42--Poetry