Spring Symphony, Three Colors- 2 Poems

Day 2. Spring Symphony. Inspired by all of the California Poppies in bloom now. And the music I want to be making. I miss arranging parts for a horn section.

Collage, washi, pen/ink, water color, and sage leaves from the garden.

Day3. Three words. When the art teachers ask ‘what is your color palette?’ I show them my words.

Watercolor, ink.


Air, Water, Poetry: National Poetry Month

It’s that wonderful time of year again, to honor and celebrate all things poetic- Poetry and Poets for April’s National Poetry Month! 

But before I post my first poems, I wanted to segue from a post last year where I introduced the topic of visual Poetry Journaling.  I mentioned starting a Pinterest board of visual poetry to get inspired, and indeed, this all started a new journey begun last April to incorporate more visuals on my otherwise white pages. The biggest push into this wonderful world has been the many artists I discovered on IG who inspired quick, 15 minute journal  pages, abstract moods, collage, found poems, asemic writing, mindful mending, and messy mixed media techniques. You can follow my arty discoveries here on IG  @OrbitingOracle.  

Blending arts and media in this way makes a lot of sense for any artist, and why not? For me, my poems are never separate from musical Muses, which are never separate from lyrics, which are never separate from the constant visuals- all of which is fed by emotion, imagination, spark, and  color. To explore this gorgeous cross fertilization, I began a journey into the art world via classes, art challenges, and personal projects for the first time as I set about to jazz up my journals.

I also mostly make my own journals now, made of different papers (watercolor, scrap, sketch, junk, and vintage). While I’m not there yet- a poetry journal style that leaves ample space for words and forms with a dance between image, texture, color, and written sentiment- the journey and discoveries have been fascinating; I feel like a poet-musician wandering about one mixed media artist’s studio after another as I try varied things- and it’s been a blast! But my overall aim is to bring it all home; spacious pages that hold my poems ensconced in visuals when the mood strikes.

So ‘what if…we told ourselves that nothing else mattered but our art in April?’ Here is my Day 1 poem:

Excerpt from Air, Water, Poetry
© 2019-4-1 Tara Linda. v.4

For National Poetry Month this year, I’m excited to try different art and collage visuals with my poems, with cues coming from my usual favorite poetic forms (free verse, short haiku, waka, tanka…) and others. As usual, inspirations will be more spontaneous than cued; overheard conversations, other poets’ work, my Muses, and scattered prompts.

And because I always make it a point to buy more poetry in April from local bookstores and small publishers, (YES!- Support Poets: read/buy more Poetry!) I will be also be showing you favorite poet authors and recent book purchases. Please leave a comment below to let me know if you are also writing and posting poetry for the next 29 days, or just say Hi!!

Visual Poetry Ideas: https://www.pinterest.com/taralinda/poetry-journal-visual-feast-planner/

NaPoWriMo

Green Absent Black

Sticky green, lush
spirals on woody stems
that barely move
in the coast winds.

We called them black
for the pods, the way
they cast seeds
dirt imprinting stone
dark with dust.

I swallow silence, taste the tea
as you hand me fresh cuttings.
And all this time
I thought the leaves oozed
shadowed things, absence.

Great grandmother knew well
you say, moving memories from
fingers to apron in sage stains.
The bees know too.

Tara Linda © 2017

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Offering

Awakening
is our first offering
praise…

Awakening
is our first offering
praise, an open eye taking in
first light, space, color ~
A stretch, body’s first gift of
movement, vibration, cells alighting,
muscles expand, remembering~ Gratitude.
Warm contentment, Freedom before thought
weightless presence, first breath,
Joy ~ our ultimate prayer.

TaraLinda c.p. 2014

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Fishscale Stasis

I saw you tonight, just after sunset, plucking small scales from
sand, the Pacific rolled back as far as vast, timeless- your slate cleaned by
expanse, even the crabs withdrew in yearning, your tears glistened grey
breaching…

I saw you tonight, just after sunset, plucking small scales from
sand, the Pacific rolled back as far as vast, timeless- your slate cleaned by
expanse, even the crabs withdrew in yearning, your tears glistened grey
breaching a swell, a strait, the dunes of your cheeks, hope and fog swirling

cumulus above       hurt. These are the vistas you will forget by
morning, as you place each scale like a sequin on the bare skin of your
shoulders, filling in blanks, erasing vulnerable, to become or shed, a counterbalance mended in

dreamtime, where only the fish know, pelagic ones drinking down your tears each
night, swimming into bays, spits, coves, to shed more scales to help you
cover, mend, soothe that pale membrane, the cool damp of your exposed
back, where raven’s wings have stopped     just shy of          whole, full,
metamorphosis fettered, that stasis where truth
shivers itself warm.

    Tara Linda c. 2014

il_570xN.415703459_pmyoSource: Nicolas of MyAntarctica

Stasis:  A state of stability in which all forces are equal and opposing, therefore they cancel out each other.

:a state or period of stability during which little or no evolutionary change in a lineage occurs.

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Leaving~ 3 Short Forms

Strangers
leave everyday,
so why tears
when you hug me
goodbye—?

2 years ago, for NaPoWriMo, I was taken by the efje- a short poetry form of 5 lines said to have originated in the Netherlands.  Words- not syllables:  1.2.3.4.1

LEAVING

-Efje-

Strangers
leave everyday,
so why tears
when you hug me
goodbye—?

-5 Lines-

There he goes,
another friend
packing his truck, high
with all the things
we forgot to say.

– Random

Waving goodbye,
a slow motion blinks while
houses peel their paint in more ways
than we found Words
But all good wishes
all the same.
Suerte.

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Unravel

This visit,
when I came to see you,
time was the shirt on your back
unraveling as we walked…

I.

This visit,
when I came to see you,
time was the shirt on your back
unraveling as we walked. You led the way, down
flower fan path, your hand so firm on mine, it pressed each moment
from blood into bone and back- new territory, before desert, my skin yielded
in tiny coils, touched chert in Rock-that-tells-stories,
its crevices filled with moss and shell, wet waving tentacles.

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