Showing posts with label mine. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mine. Show all posts

4.20.2012

mini place poems

My students have moved into a (very brief) poetry unit. After we've read a few, I tell them they have to write a poem based on a place - real, imagined, it doesn't matter - because that tends to keep them from cliché, abstract, emotion-based pieces.

Before I give them time to write, I have them brainstorm about my classroom, and model how I would turn that brainstorming into a poem, using their input. I'm rather amused at how they turned out this year. (The last one falters in tone a little, but I was very tired by the end of the day.)

. . .

Walls of stormy blue, with explosive stars
Above Egyptian tombs,
Tattooed with a kohl-black lexicon.

. . .

Stars are dangling haphazardly
From a cratered ceiling, and polar
Winds make the moons wobble.

. . .

James Dean glances over glowing crescents
Of strung stars, the scent of Paris
And a pickle. 

2.23.2012

les chevals



I found this sketch when I started cleaning out the office this weekend. I drew it several years ago from a friend's photograph, and was always rather proud of the style.

Lime in the Coconut's recent picture post, and the (missed) opportunity to go see the horses another friend was horsesitting, inspired me to post it.

I never did quite grow out of my horse phase.

7.13.2011

it’s the sangria laughing, pt. 2

Keys of rain
Rain keyed in
Slanted horizon and a girl looking perpetually over her shoulder
in a dead Sea
Things are not as you believe
A wandering Jew and his daughter
stopped to drink some water
and found only
salt tears in the sea
If you believe
in stars in a field of grass
and sailing ships without masts
I cannot help you

There is only
watered down wine
and people losing track of time
oozing across tracks that don’t exist
because time is an illusion

The world spins on an axis that wobbles

4.04.2011

the rooster

He’s awfully big,
flouncing around that barnyard,
red feathers plumed and a jaunty
fingered coxcomb on his head.

The melody of his crow
enchants his ear,
so he sings his refrain
into redundancy.
He looks around and hopes
all the hens hear.

His claws are thick
and shiny; his raptor’s scaled
feet feel powerful. He is sure
he could claw someone
half to death,
if he could ever find a chance.

He is the cock.
This is his barnyard.
But once he’s been
beheaded and defeathered,
his proud chicken flesh
makes a mighty tasty meal.

3.02.2011

poem written on a bathroom mirror, morning of july 27, 2010

Blue eyes like the sea--
Like worlds of seas or luminescent clouds.
Valleys at the edges when he smiles,
Two deep lines between them when the worlds within
Grow heavy. Globes of ice in anger;
Soft, cashmere soft, in love.

2.13.2011

cento

Forever Taking Leave

Lose something every day,
before one of us has accidental babies.
—Happiness never,
like a rootless tree.
Out, out, brief candle!
Put out the light, and then—
fly to others we know not of.

Flights of angels sing to thee
as one who lies down to pleasant dreams.
So it goes.
We’ll know better next time.

chains and things

This is the top of my jewelry chest. I thought it sort of poetic-looking, and it was entirely unintentional--I didn't specifically position any of it.

I'm a naturally nosy person, and I assume most people are too, if they're being honest with themselves. I especially enjoy poking through other people's jewelry and hearing the history behind pieces, so I thought I might explain the stories behind these.

The picture is a couple in an Argentine tango pose. I bought it in Flagstaff, long before I really learned anything about the dance.

I don't remember what wine we were having that night, but it's in a Ridel crystal goblet that Colin got as a present from a friend. Now that we have them, and have discovered that the wine really does taste better out of them, I don't want to bother with our glass goblets.


A better shot of the surface.

The chest itself was a present from my friend BreeAnna. She claimed she really didn't want it (although really--how could anyone not want a giant jewelry chest to fill?). Now I need to either purge some of my jewelry or get a bigger one.

I'll move clockwise from the top right. The box was a gift from my father when he went to Saudi Arabia for three months on business. For a long time, he had a tradition of bringing us something little home whenever he went away. I was in high school, and used to him traveling quite often, but three months was the longest I had ever gone without seeing him. Because the trip was so long (and, perhaps, because it was so exotic a locale), he brought us quite a few things.

The pink rose pendant was also a gift from my father, this time from when he went to London. It came in a green box that said Herrods on it, and he told us it was a famous department store in England. I made sure to go when I finally made it over there. My sister got a pansy, but I haven't seen it in years.

The starfish was from Target for ten bucks. I bought it because I had been trolling the Tiffany's website and fell in love with the Elsa Perretti starfish, and since $150 for sterling was something far beyond my college-student budget, I jumped on the knock-off. It's bigger than the Perretti versions, but I've decided I actually like that better. That said, though, if anyone wants to get me the diamond version, I wouldn't mind in the least.

The faux pearls are opera-length, and supposedly from the 1930's. I got them at a vintage store in Sedona the last time we went up. Again, childhood tradition dictates that one buys oneself a souvenir on vacations. I actually walked out of the store without buying these, but went back at the last second to purchase them (which I am very glad of). They're quite heavy.

The silver flower necklace was a bridesmaid's present from Leeann, whose wedding was about a year and a half ago. It's one of two pieces I have from Tiffany's (the other also from Leeann, come to think of it. She spoils me).

The glass mouse and the fish were also presents my dad brought home from the Saudi trip.

I paid ten dollars for a strand of lapis lazuli at the gem and mineral show and made that necklace. The gold-tone beads between the lapis were from a necklace my mother owned in the eighties that I dismantled. Again, very heavy, but I love the stones.

12.19.2010

Ode to Diana

Diana is
golden skin and hair
and green eyes with a slice of gold in one
a grin with one corner of her mouth turned up
and capoeira when she’s too drunk
to drive or remember--

She is the sum of a blond mother
with perfect English grammar
and a heavy, charming accent, still beautiful
and voluptuous;
and a balding father, small, intense,
a full moustache and a habitual silence
deep enough to communicate worlds.

Diana dances,
a kinetic expression of non-stop hips and knees and feet
tapping complicated salsa rhythms;
a high hitch of leg and low,
sensual bachata dips;
her head down, lips parted,
slow tango steps and legs like taut pins,
tapping, sliding, in tiered lace.

Diana is kisses of greeting on cheeks,
hand flutterings when agitated,
raspberry beer for sexy evenings
and the insistence that her happy
birthday be sung in five languages
before the candles are blown.

9.10.2010

6:55pm

feathered star, falling
faster than a thumbnail moon
set in ombré sky