PAINTING: River of Sky

This is finally finished, I think anyway. It is one of those pictures where I didn't have a good composition to start with, and I fiddled and fiddled to bring the perspective into line. Originally there was a water fall in the rear as well and judging by the height of the trees in the foreground, and on how far back it was -  it must have been hundreds of feet high higher than Victoria Falls even.  It didn't make visual sense though it was very dramatic. It makes more sense to me now.

It's quite small 8 by 10 canvas board with oils. There is a cat in this picture too. Whenever i can fit one, there is a cat.

Below you can see the original design - which I liked in someways, and the stages through which it evolved. The original, I liked it but I could not accept it visually. Water doesn't fall at an angle. By perspective, and by comparison with the trees on the banks of the falls, - that water fall was ENORMOUS - taller than Victoria Falls.  Slowly I tweaked it into a form I could accept. I do like the some of the early versions for their  energy and angles etc. I like the finished painting better.

NaPoWriMo #19 - My broken glasses

My broken glasses

hieroglyphs appear
but no Rosetta stone near
can't translate today

Today I couldn't seem to get more than this ridiculous haiku. It's a dry day for me. And I guess this is really  the opposite of a light bulb moment in the prompt.  -- waiting for a light bulb that never comes....

NaPoWriMo # 18 - Suspicious activity

Suspicious activity

When the strainer for the kitchen drain
is in the center of the floor at dawn

when there are q-tips beneath the pillow
or an earring and tie-clip suddenly are gone

When there is water around the fish bowl
when scarves are tucked into the couch

if there are footprints on the counter
and crow outside becomes a squawking grouch

a roll of stamps becomes unraveled

and underneath the chair a bottle cap appears

and soil keeps escaping from a planter

there is no doubt:  the cat's been here

- Mar Walker

Yes this is just a little light verse but true. Above sits one of the conspirators. 

THE PROMPT: Write a poem featuring the cat family, whether big or small.

NaPoWriMo # 17 - Apple Blossom Air

Apple blossom air

Warm white snow
of petals drifting
down to the yard of youth
from the ancient apple tree
shading my path: stone walk to
slate porch through dark blue
door between inset glass blocks,
a house my father built lovingly.
Narrow hall,  the first door,
my room with bright walls,
crank-out windows and
in the corner closet - my
desk- a low, wide, pine shelf
with my small chair, where
I would write or draw alone.
Or often glance
from closet to room
through the window to
the apple blossom air
for just a moment,
and breathe

-- Mar Walker
I think i'm still on yesterday's scent and memory tack..

THE PROMPT: Let’s be elemental. Fire, earth, water, wind. They touch our lives every day. Choose one that interests you, then take a point of view that is not so much your usual. Observe what interaction you’ve known, or not known, with this element.  You might make it personal or take the element’s point of view (how might humans appear to you from that stance?) or wander where you may. Tell us something about your element that we don’t know. You’re welcome to make your own rules, and as always, the most important point is simply to write and share, however it comes your way! Have fun! 

NaPoWriMo #16 - two glazed, coffee light and sweet

two glazed, coffee light and sweet

My sleep churned with daymares
when I worked midnights
in the donut shop on White Street.
I remember the smell of donuts in the fryer
the heavy clinging scent of fat,
vanilla custard, chocolate and coffee brewing.

Donut dough filled my sneaker treads
confectioner's sugar in my hair
I had to choose a future:
going back to bible college
and pretending I still believed in hell,
or starting up a life without belief.

I remember the baker's brother
ordering breakfast at the counter,
dark curls, muscled forearms
a sculptured nose, his smiling lips
poised on the rim of a coffee mug,
as the flush of red perked in my cheeks.

-------

THE PROMPT: was to recall a smell and free write from the memory. This is a memory from 1972. Actually I later married the baker's brother. Now he is married to someone else. And good for her.
THIS WHOLE MEMORY REMINDS ME OF SOMETHING ELSE THAT HAPPENED WHILE I WAS WORKING THERE. OMY I need to write a post on that story.....

NaPoWriMo #15 - Temporary Hiding

Temporary hiding

The card house falls
airborne cards scatter under
things too large to move

where dust balls hide,
plot to overthrow order,
cleanliness and its restrictions.

The dark provides refuge
and this unnoticed moment
of safety before the next shuffle.


THE PROMPT (OMG!!! Zesus's THUNDERBOLTS!) Somehow this didn't work with the tune.
In a nice private place, pick out a stanza, or a few lines, that you like from a poem that you don’t otherwise feel was very successful. Say them over to yourself. Now hum them. See if you can find the tune. And now sing them aloud. (Who cares if you can sing? You’re in private. And this is poetry!) Throwing away the rest of the poem, write two more stanzas (stand-alone or connected) that go to the same tune.

NaPoWriMo #14 - What of the child that lived?

What of the child that lived?

The dead child died                     The living child grew up
twenty three years ago                loved? grandchildren?
she mourns daily                          well-mannered, studious
every detail, as                             novelist? surgeon? drunkard?
nuance of her loss                        we don't know
gilded in memory                          she doesn't say
such sorrow preserved                only one child
in poetry clung to                           is spoken of
as if there was nothing                 no one else
nothing else                                   to live for


The prompt was to write a cleave poem that could be read across or down each column....  I read this prompt early this morning and got nowhere. But this evening I heard a poet read who had lost a child and her specialty (even after 23 years),  is grief poems for the dead child. She is so much associated with this subject  she is even giving a workshop on the topic. Yet none of the poems  include redemption or healing, even the newest poems, which are still on the same subject.  And she did mention she had two children, but she didn't read any poems for the child that lived who must be all grown up by now. (I am sure there must be some poems for the other child). I just thought this situation would lend itself to the cleave form  -- with one child for each column, the two columns together for the mother.......