Patient
I will be patient for the reward of your patronage
and desires darling
given that our youth is spent
and I have learned to wait.
Category: Poetry
Happiness
.
The smallest pleasure
may be more rewarding.
.
Do I fool myself?
I question, as I reposition the answers.
.
The sly smile of old men friends
afternoon coffee
all women in black dresses
on the street of a village
a church
with a modest chapel
.
The difference of my pace here is
work on two feet
I travel the world after all
to come home to own
familiar comforts and
my freedom
left unsacrificed.
Categories
Too young to worry
Too young to worry
.
Lusting in the time
of old towns spent alone
the cabinetry of our wishes
and moons further sources
.
I feel like talking to him again
The onset of monogamy
after sleepless nights as rest
the whole of my being
set against all relations
positively myself
husbands speak to wives
different as best friends
the worries of our worlds
fall onto laps to young.
The street and the village
from two stories around it.
.
We work to our deaths
the prayers for our penance
that we may wake one morning
to the grievances behind us
.
It is there
I sat to play
the baby, grand as a piano
an Italian town
children to lunch
in the silence of fallen rain
a tall drop wanting.
.
I see the church
steeple steps
new whiteness
the cooks in the shed
weddings on the way
brides name as mine
secret into the love of a husband
the schools, the work or the play
the hardening knot of
what’s been brought on us today
.
A freshly scraped grave
the condolences of a new enemy
the familiar face behind the counter
bringing the fresh brew of coffee
.
We long to take our steps
in trustful moves toward one another
I wonder why we may be hiding
in the desperate spare of forever
our secrets dreading
the souls between us.
Categories
Swim in an Outside Room
I watch the city as it leaves over my shoulder
and I watch the moon and star follow
one another, the star circles the cusp of the moon.
.
Churches are resurrected off glossy faces in the mountains
I swim in an outside room, the small rooms grab you
I am in the vast mountains
floating myself in a pond to take leave
floating back to a rock sky
disturbances are counted in the number laps
back and forth, reaching my toes
like children throw pebbles into a brook
the ripples we have made eventually fade.
.
One wine with my dinner
I set my table alone
then drive around the mountains again
down a dark road in the evening.
.
There are such towns of people
where codes, law and peace
all abide between yellow houses
and gold hills
Their minds have sought and their children discovered.
I touch dusk just after it is black
and make a drawing to suffice myself.
Categories
Spring Flower
Flower Ball
.
A daylight lamp
turns sparingly on
the world she covers.
.
The seasons warm and cool
in rhythmic paces
so common and reassuring
to the plans of spring.
.
The roses continue to grow
even where the old steps lead
no where, and where the concrete crumbles.
.
The peonies are balls of thin seashells
a rounded woman’s belly,
about to become a mother
emerge like bees from honeycomb,
butterflies from the nest
a newborn baby
too heavy to hold their head
the peony blossoms fall to the ground.
Grounded
There is life between the peaks
grey ash falls from the glaciers
direct triangle orders ascend
until they break off at the sky
or at the top of my paper
when I drew mountains as a child.
White clouds take over the mountains
just before storms
and just after.
The sun swirls like ovals
into the red-orange sky, black shimmering rock
most of the landscape
the mountains, the alps
one large echoing room.
.
Grey soapstone rivers to the left and right
grey ice rivers
the mountains cup in the south
a hilly incline to the Jungfrau
we walk into their huge valley over the saddle
and head north to the gorge
are held in a glove until leaving Switzerland for Italy.
.
The alps are so large that cities hide in her shadows
an orchestrated sound of wind strikes
far away church bells and cow chimes
sound like dropping stones into a shallow creek
the mountains are an entire raised ocean of frozen waves
we walk in the dissipating midst
easily disoriented
there is a jagged sunset, the outline of the sky blurred
with the misty clouds.
we capture the sunset on the underbelly of a cloud
smoking the dusty alpine air.
.
In a cave
along the black rugged walls
granite rock, my husband
releases his hand
opens it to many years
of rivers and verrigation
of a dusty sky
a wispy earth.
Categories
Inspirational People
Inspirational People
When I went to a cathedral in France for an afternoon concert
The boys came to us from all directions
from the mountains
the sound of their young voices
pierced through the thick stone walls
the colorful stained streaks of sun
the dusty pews, the full crowd
pulled us closer
Closer to our insides
a beating heart pulled out
now, here was a place to think,
sound to guide.
In Padova, Italy at St. Anthony’s Cathedral
people pray
place their hands on the grave
leave pictures and notes of awakening
Without warning I feel connected with these people,
pulled in
elevated beyond my reach
to explain why the concentration of a church crowd praying
allows something inside of me to open.
Categories
What I’ve read lately
Research Driven Work : In Architect Magazine, Toshiko Mori,
Poetry, & Seeds of Deception
Too busy to think? It’s so easy to get in the groove, but so hard to get out of a rut.
I want my architecture to be smarter. I want to be an architect to come to with the best answers and a well thought out practice.
In an effort to live life to the fullest and have my everyday perceptions inform my work, a friend and I from architecture school are collaborating to do just that. The first thing we need is devoted time to thinking and a goal. So… stay tuned.
This article by Mimi Zeiger highlight’s a womans efforts to evolve research driven work in her own practices. Toshiko Mori is between many practices including her own NY firm, Toshiko Mori Architect, teaching at the Harvard Graduate School, and her latest think tank, VisionArc. Isn’t she pretty?
“Architects see spaces in plan, elevation, and section; we have a way of analyzing problems in a three- or four-dimensional way. We can slice through an issue that may not connect in plan,” Mori says. I suggest reading the whole article here.
Poetry
Depending on the Wind by James Galvin
.
Coloring Book
by Connie Wanek
Each picture is heartbreakingly banal,
a kitten and a ball of yarn,
a dog and bone.
The paper is cheap, easily torn.
A coloring book’s authority is derived
from its heavy black lines
as unalterable as the ten commandments
within which minor decisions are possible:
the dog black and white,
the kitten gray.
Under the picture we find a few words,
a title, perhaps a narrative,
a psalm or sermon.
But nowhere do we come upon
a blank page where we might justify
the careless way we scribbled
when we were tired and sad
and could bear no more.
a kitten and a ball of yarn,
a dog and bone.
The paper is cheap, easily torn.
A coloring book’s authority is derived
from its heavy black lines
as unalterable as the ten commandments
within which minor decisions are possible:
the dog black and white,
the kitten gray.
Under the picture we find a few words,
a title, perhaps a narrative,
a psalm or sermon.
But nowhere do we come upon
a blank page where we might justify
the careless way we scribbled
when we were tired and sad
and could bear no more.
Also, currently reading for the Environmental Book Club at the Schrader Center of Oglebay every third Thursday of the month: Seeds of Deception by Jeffry Smith
Categories
Blues Fest Tear Down
Blues Fest Tear Down
All at once the wind came
the quick sudden change, shifting
a light grocery bag across the boardwalk
filling the sails of a four-poster tent
just beyond the reach to catch it.
