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To Do & Not To Do:
1. Start a friday photo posting.
2. Rest from posting on Saturdays and Sundays.
sweet pea
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Author Archives: nancy marie davis
travel
Have you ever traveled and have things go way differently than planned? I once spent the
night in the Denver Airport with kids. I have learned a few more tricks about air travel since
then, but, i’m still not your first-class business traveler that is able to saunter-in with all the
perks from spending an unusual amount of time flying for being a creature with no feathers.
I have been doing more reading this week. In a way that’s like traveling and resting at
the same time. I started a visual art blog here that i would like to post in, at least once a
week, about the art of another artists, or of something that i’m doing that’s art related,
which might be pictures of someplace i’ve traveled for art viewing.
I’ve also been traveling south-of-town to a state park, to do some walking on the trails.
The trails are nice. The trees are very friendly and hospitable, and you could never meet a
more charming bunch, but they’re definitely not into traveling.
carnations
every funeral i’ve ever been to
smelled of carnations
so every time the scent comes my way
i think of my grandpa
my cousins, pam and janet
their lifeless, stiff, pale bodies
from head to hips shown
in a casket with white silk
makeup on the skin
that they never wore
before
back
on the road
psalm
.
.
I thirst for you, my whole being longs for you, in a dry and parched land where there is no water.
.
from psalm 63:1
one
.
river of water from the clouds
fall winter spring
life growing out of decay
the colours in shade and light
on this golden day
one summer
july
.
.
today
i came upon a clearing
my friends were there
silently waiting
already knowing
why i came
carry me
.
.
my heart aches for completeness
this lonely soul in skin and bone
all that i am cries out for your grace
enrapture to sweet existence in You
.
.
don’t miss
.
the mark
keeps getting higher
up there in the sky
go
get
do
make
time
for
sweet caress
give someone
a loving kiss
don’t
miss
read
lips
red
.
.
Book Reading
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Book Reading at TweetSpeak Poetry
The Anthologist by Nicholson Baker
Fiction
It’s about a poet, talking about the writing he should be doing, and
his live-in woman friend that has moved out, as well as mentioning other
odd thoughts that he tends to have. He strings the whole thing along going
from his life stuff to what he knows about rhyme and free verse poetry. It’s odd
but not too unusual, it’s frustrating in the way that our own lives can be, in
that it takes us forever and a day to get through some things, if ever. And yet,
some of the information on rhyming starts to sound okay as he relates it to
different things, like song and beat. He takes time to inform the reader of
his poetic knowledge by talking about certain poets and poems. If it were not
for the story of the love interest in Roz, and the ones about his dealings with his
friends and editor, it would basically be that introduction to the anthology that
he is trying to get himself to write. You can tell that Baker once attended a school
of music as much as he likes to emphasize the beat and rhythm of poetry in
this book.
I can understand about the sound of words and the rhythm of a line…but,
i think one can get a little too caught up in thinking about how to do something
instead of just doing it. Or even allowing it to happen. Just like the unwritten
anthology in the story.
I like how the story relates how people do things differently, which is what can
make poetry so remarkably interesting in the long run.
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photo via flicker
bad old woman blues
i’m having a hard time with dying
this growing old
this decay of body and mind
my soul aches for a consuming love
one
passionate
kiss
a cool breath of spring
warm breeze of summer on my skin
easy laughter
i want to be in love
to believe with someone
to be beautiful in someone’s eyes
and i know better
i know
my heart is set on breaking
and the best that i can do
is let it break
sometimes the truth needs to be shared
even if it makes you feel really ugly and spoiled and pitiful.
want
.
.
opening two windows upstairs
a late morning summer breeze
sucks the light bedroom curtain
and lifts it outside
sails it in the sunshine
and gently lets it fall
i
want
to be that
curtain
.
.
surrender
.
there is
one
i’ve come
to know
and that is
where
i now will go
into the arms
myself
i’ll throw
and leave
no hint
of
sorrow
.
.
in the midst
.
in the midst
in the mist
of my days
only my heart senses
a small understanding
of pain
.
.
I wrote the above because, today, I followed a tweet by Glynn Young
to his Saturday Good Reads post.
And there, under his list of poetry, was a familiar name that caught my eye.
John Blasé …a poem…”20 July 2012″…i clicked on the link.
And this is what i found …
.
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20 July 2012
O my God, take me not away in the midst of my days… ~ Psalm 102.24
The news reporter said you just can’t make senseof something like this. He referred to understanding,
the singular sense; but what about the plural senses?
I can clearly make senses of something like this for I
see the tears huddling in the corners of my eyes and I
feel the trembling of my hands at the keyboard and I
taste the copper of blood from biting my lips and I
smell the fear that sucks oxygen out of thin air and I
hear the sleeping of my children who for now are
safe as the sun also rises on this dark July morning
that seems, I must report, to make no sense at all. . . .
A LITTLE SOMETHIN' 