monochrome music
nuance plays upon nuance
melodies in gray
Cee’s Black and White Photo Challenge: Music
grayce notes
4
Category Archives: poetry
dog days of winter
The gravel path encircling the dog park is churned to mud. Wood chips, spread last season to fill in low spots, now form a waterlogged sponge underfoot. The sky, pale blue and cloudless, does not belie that we are in mid-dreary-chilly January. It bears a sense of oppression, making one inclined to slouch when walking, as if to clear a low ceiling.
The dogs don’t seem to mind the damp chill. Puddles, gritty mud, soggy clumps of sod… it’s all the same to their weather-hardened paws. There are balls to chase, fence posts to water and all manner of smells to sniff.
After a couple of plodding loops around the field, I catch up to my pup, who has paused to stick his nose up a Doberman’s butt. I latch the leash to his collar and we head out of the park. I sidestep pools of standing water, morosely noting that the rainy season has only just begun. My dog plows straight through the water, tongue flopping, slobber hanging off his chin. He — obviously — has failed to notice that we are in mid-fricking-depressing January.
gnarled bare tree shivers
arthritic branch points skyward
lays blame on winter
sewing discord
threading through the clouds
jets rip the sky asunder
contrails hide the tears
On Time
Who invented time?
I mean, really…
before there were calendars and watches
and birthdays and scheduling apps and
• b
• u
• l
• l
• e
• t
journals,
who decided we need to slice and dice our days and
months and years into the confines of linear numbers?
The planets and suns and moons
run circles around one another on a fairly regular basis.
They do not, however, march on like time.
Circles, cycles, ellipses, eclipses…
It is humans, not nature, who love to be linear.
We wait in lines to catch the bus, because buses must run on time.
We meet deadlines to stay timely,
read headlines to keep up with the times,
string power lines to serve the demands of modern times,
post bylines, because it’s about time we got credit for our work.
There’s no time like the present.
Time is on our side.
Time stands still for no one.
What would happen if we all became timeless?
I guess only time would tell.
continuation
winter solstice wish:
may lessons learned in years past
guide the year to come
A Toast to Childhood
“Cheers, everyone!”
Glasses raise in salute.
“Clink glasses!” a child calls.
Same granddaughter who clapped and “yay”ed
following a somber hymn at my dad’s funeral.
That’s how her performances are received.
I smile and bend down
toward her happy face.
“Cheers, little one.”
Always.
love sinks — magnetic poetry
Brilliant stars kiss the sky.
Fevered ocean steams.
I picture amore’s caramel eyes,
and listen for secret embrace.
Cheating dog, so long.
Velvet smoke almost gone.
Somber, I will heal, then fly.
world afire
Had we only raked the forest floors
we could have stopped the fires.
If we built a higher wall,
tear gas wouldn’t cross the border.
There is no global warming;
can’t you feel the cold rain
falling on the fallen?
Anger rakes across my senses,
fire ravages my gut.
Walls can’t contain the pain
or hold back the tears.
The earth burns with desperation
as hearts grow ever colder.
And all the while, it is snowing in Russia.
The Big Reveal
It is weeks in the making. First the design is conceived, drawn and copied for a pattern to attach to the worktable. Glass is selected by color, texture, opacity… or sometimes simply availability and affordability. The glass is cut, ground and sized until each piece fits perfectly into the pattern. Individual pieces are wrapped with leading, lead joints soldered together, then putty is worked under the lead for stability and waterproofing. Cleaning is done in place with a bristle brush and whiting powder. Then, the wait.
The putty takes three days to set. Twice daily the artisan cleans off any putty that seeps from beneath the lead. She notices where she applied too much solder. Or too little. She guiltily surveys a piece she had cut too small but used anyway, knowing she could fudge with lead or putty to hide the gap. She second-guesses her glass choices. Will the colors compliment or contrast as she intended? Will the nuances of the design come across as planned?
When the putty is set, it’s time. The artisan lifts the stained glass panel, wipes it clean and rests it gently on a windowsill. She backs away and for the first time gazes upon the completed work. The critical eye judges workmanship, mercilessly and exacting. The artistic eye must wait ‘til the critic quiets. And lastly, the cautious heart will weigh in on the worthiness of the piece. The verdict? We’ll have to wait and see.
patience takes patience
minutes take sixty seconds
waiting takes its time
“Hammer Shattering Glass Shattering Hammer” stained glass panel by Maggie C.
unplayed – magnetic poetry
I decided to experiment with magnetic poetry. Don’t know if there are any rules other than use the words/letters you draw. If so, someone can tell me.
I sing with drunk tongue,
with breast crushed by need
to share music we had
not yet played.
You sleep as time drips.
What Rhymes with Stanza? 