Word-Painting

B is for Bench and Bricks

2012-01-24T15:09:00.000-08:00

A City Bench

A place to sit
and listen to snippets
of dialogue
and watch people

remove one brick
and they all collapse

A is for Art on the Wall

2012-01-17T17:28:00.001-08:00

I love when art appears
on city walls, when bricks
become the canvas

Z is for Zeal

2012-01-10T14:38:00.001-08:00

A zeal for flowers...

A zeal for signage...

A zeal for books...

A zeal for life...

Y is for Your Choice

2012-01-04T05:27:00.001-08:00

You Can Take a Walk on the Rocks

You can Sit Among the Trees

You Can Walk Among the Fowl

X is for Xtra, Xtra —Read All About It

2011-12-27T17:42:00.000-08:00

Newspaper Installation at DeCordova Museum

Xtra
Xtra

Read All About it

W is for Wishing

2011-12-20T20:03:00.001-08:00

A Joyful and Meaningful Christmas for those who celebrate Christmas

And a Happy Hanukkah filled with Joy for those who celebrate Hanukkah.

V is for Very

2011-12-13T16:42:00.001-08:00

We passed this Very Large Reindeer a week ago. A large red bow appeared a few days later. After a significant period of rain the poor dear drooped to one side. At that point the wood struts keeping him upright disappeared and were replaced by four hefty wires.

Last night I noticed that the bulb glowed. Now I wonder if more lights will be added.

Passage

2011-12-06T19:03:00.000-08:00

Who
          knew
 the clock
                    moved faster
                                            each
year

Count
         Ing
                off 
                    sec   onds

                                         ticking

off times as if no one noticed the missing time

I notice
              when laugh lines
etch into my skin
               when gray strands appear

when it takes longer to
                recall Joyce who played Ashes
                         in  the fifth grade 
performance of Cinderella

Tick tock tick tock

What happened this past second?

I 
      swallowed 
                      
time in my dry throat
                    
                       Seconds lost in this vortex

U is for Utterly

2011-12-05T17:48:00.001-08:00

An utterly unrecognizable object—

AND

An utterly rusted bumper on a van parked in a no parking space.

T is for Taking it all In

2011-11-22T17:51:00.001-08:00

A woman with a trenchant focus.

S is for Shoe Repairing

2011-11-21T20:41:00.001-08:00

Eastport, Maine

R is for a Regal Chair

2011-11-15T20:23:00.001-08:00

Pot Luck Dinner Party

2011-11-14T20:37:00.001-08:00

Too
many
sweet deserts
hot hor d'oeuvres
plates of cheesy casserole dishes
may leave you with a queasy sick feeling

Poetic Asides
"deadly and dangerous poem"

Breaking Bread

2011-11-13T16:29:00.000-08:00

Two
women
one dressed to the nines
the other with shoes needed patching
shared a meal at a cafeteria
"No sense,"said the woman
who bought the meals
"eating alone."

Poetic Asides
" a kind poem"

A Late Fall

2011-11-12T19:44:00.000-08:00

 many leaves
                   left     
                            a
                                yellow  mat

            An orange tint

        waiting for the rake.

Poetic Asides
"excess"

Upon Reading a Math Book Late at Night

2011-11-11T17:55:00.001-08:00

Halfway into dawn
when the line between light and dark
hovers before plunging into day
I know my odds are determined by happenstance.
Unlike numbers
I live in the vicinity of coincidence

Page after page patterns,
letters wordless in their equations
emerge as symbols.

Knowing nine decomposes
into one plus three plus five,
knowing how many odd numbers
are needed for a given square number
lends order.
There is no room for chance.

On page thirty-four the equation
cy + dx = cd characterizes
the ‘lineness’ of a line,
capturing the essence
like a line of poetry
unskeins and translates love.

Absorbed by questions of position and space
I read of a Greek mathematician
who grappled with
a pyramid’s volume.

He approximated a stack of tapered square plates,
seeking volume as if he could hold
formlessness with linear markings.

I kick the imagined plates,
skewing a pyramid off-center
and compose an epilogue
to Egyptian laborers dragging stones.

Poetic Asides
"poem involving math and/or numbers"

From an Oak Tree

2011-11-10T16:41:00.000-08:00

I climbed to the highest limb
and looked down. Points
of grass poked up from the earth.
Rocks looked like pebbles
and a hill flattened itself
into the ground.
No one looked up
and I didn't call out.
What would I say?
You're really quite small
viewed from here.

Poetic Asides
"Another Perspective"

Now or Never

2011-11-09T15:36:00.000-08:00

wait
till
all is
perfect and
it may be too late
to find out what you really want

Poetic Asides
“(blank) or (blank),”

Recipe for a Ghoul

2011-11-08T17:50:00.000-08:00

sharp
fangs
instead of
teeth, long curled
fingernails painted
black and a laugh that splinters glass

Poetic Asides
Paranormal Poem

Q is for Queen

2011-11-08T05:02:00.001-08:00

This appeared in a catalog: "Solar-Powered Waving Queen"

On Getting Older

2011-11-07T17:48:00.001-08:00

Tomorrow can't stop
until I finish today
with its lists and tasks

Yesterday hurried away
and last week buried itself
under a blanket

Time can't wait for me to catch up
It won't stand still
but plows ahead
I follow—arguing, cajoling
for the years to slow their pace

The calendar pages turn
and time keeps a steady rhythm,
a perpetual metronome,
a perennial pendulum
fixed on a course

a shuttlecock that never falters

Poetic Asides
"What won't wait"

Perhaps Tomorrow

2011-11-06T19:44:00.001-08:00

Chocolate chip frozen yogurt in a cup
satisfies my craving until the next
day when the rhythm of my desires
gnaws and pecks away at my armor.

Just one more,
then I'll abstain.

I'll flee the thoughts of chocolate bits
and curb my rapacious craving
after this one last taste.

Poetic Asides
an addiction poem

Shards

2011-11-05T14:56:00.000-07:00

her daughter stopped
talking to her when she left the house
taking only what fit into two suitcases
"Can't stay here," she told her daughter
"and you're away at college."
it seemed so simple
didn't she stay for years

what happened ?
the distance grew until the empty place
of no talking leaked into every crevice
filling up each crack

now so many years removed from
when she left all that remains
are shards-- shattered across several states

Poetic Asides
"broken"

An Unexpected View

2011-11-04T17:41:00.001-07:00

when
rice
paper
pasted on
a clear white backdrop
dried, mist covered mountains appeared

Poetic Asides
Finding something unexpected

Sort of a Dilettante

2011-11-03T18:39:00.000-07:00

He read a book about stratified limestone
and then an article about Precambrian rocks
which sent him off on a tangent to find
a mystery about a fossil hunter he recalled
seeing his daughter read for a science project.

His daughter, age twelve, loved chocolate
so he decided to learn how to make chocolate
turtles for her birthday and forgot about fossils.

Of course before settling down with his pans
and thermometer he wandered through the library
seeking information about thermodynamic equilibrium.

And then to the history of chocolate
which led him into tracking
down Aztec religious rites around chocolate.

No doubt from there to ancient Mayan culture
and so he forgot about the chocolate.

Poetic Asides
start with "sort of..."

I Can't Hear What They're Saying

2011-11-02T18:17:00.000-07:00

And then the other
evening, I heard the story again.
A Language by Susan Stewart

You told me about the woman
who rummages through trash cans
looking for lottery tickets, half smoked stubs,
empty cans, and scraps of food.
You don't get it. She's looking for a tomorrow.

Last night I watched two women
on a dumpster scavenger hunt
outside of McDonalds, the one on Eighth Avenue.
They filled a bag with half- eaten burgers, a few fries
and left with a handful of weariness.

Poetic Asides
Use an epigram

Dinner's Postponed

2011-11-01T19:39:00.000-07:00

If I started early enough,
didn't get distracted by loose
ends, or a piece of lint caught on
my fleece jacket, or the dust on
the bookcase, if I didn't pick
up the book on meditation
and begin to read and highlight
important points to remember
then I'd have time to cook a meal
instead of opening a can
of tuna fish.

Linda Watskin. 2011

Poetic Asides
Write a procrastination poem

P is for Pumpkin

2011-11-01T16:12:00.001-07:00

We had an unusually early snowfall .

O is For Orange

2011-10-26T18:02:00.001-07:00

Waiting

2011-10-23T19:36:00.001-07:00

For
winter
to enter
through an open
window and settle down,
huddling into each corner,
an interloper for months

N is for New York City

2011-10-17T16:01:00.000-07:00

From a trip to New York City
Doesn't everyone look up?

Taking photos on my way to the museum—

M is for Museum Marvellers

2011-10-12T17:32:00.000-07:00

How many museums are there in the United States?
There are at least 17,500

from The International Council of Museums:

"ICOM is not aware of the accurate number of museums in the world. However, in its 17th edition (2010), the most comprehensive directory Museums of the World, published by De Gruyter Saur, lists 55,000 museums in 202 countries."

L is for lupines

2011-10-05T18:03:00.001-07:00

Corea, Maine

"Corea Maine located in Hancock County on the southeastern part of the Gouldsboro Peninsula, is a classic Downeast Maine fishing village. Small and quiet with excellent harbor views of lobster boats and other vessels, it is actually part of the municipality of Gouldsboro."

Wild lupines can be found in fields, along the road, close to water— in fact this June they were prolific. Gardeners do plant lupines, but I like them growing wild and free.

K is for Kymatology

2011-09-26T20:20:00.001-07:00

Kymatology or the study of wave motion.

This photo was taken the day after hurricane Irene.

I is for Just

2011-09-20T10:14:00.000-07:00

Just—as merely
or simply
or plainly
and nothing more
Just a second
or just now

Just Out Walking to Dinner

Just Walking in Santa Fe

Just smoking

just—as merely
and just at this moment
simply and solely
just

I is for Intense

2011-09-13T15:00:00.000-07:00

I passed this woman taking photos. She stopped in front of a rock, moved into a variety of contortions and with complete intensity started taking photos.

Actually I don't know if she took one or many photos and I 'm not sure of the subject.

H is for Harbor

2011-09-06T16:19:00.000-07:00

Behind the fisherman— Eastport Harbor

Down East Maine Harbor>

A Memorial for all those fisherman from Bass Harbor and Tremont who perished at Sea

2011-08-25T19:28:00.001-07:00

Imagine
a time before
artifice held sway

G is for Glass

2011-08-19T20:50:00.001-07:00

Dale Chihuly is known for creating dramatic glass works. These photos were taken when I went to see the exhibit of his glass creations at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston.

Watch a Video of glass blowing at his studio

F is for fingers

2011-08-18T14:00:00.000-07:00

Time is like a handful of sand—
the tighter you grasp it, the faster it runs through your fingers.

Of Time and Memory

2011-08-16T13:34:00.000-07:00

I
too
watch waves
exhale against rocks–
a high-spirited dance
then a turn about as old as antiquity.
You gave me a gift of sea glass
glazed and etched by waves–
each side burnished,
an amulet
of
time

E is For Eye

2011-08-15T18:32:00.000-07:00

An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind. -- Ghandi

• The average person blinks 10,000 times a day.

I became quite self-conscious when I tried to count the number of times I blinked in a minute.

• The eye of a human can distinguish 500 shades of gray.

• People generally read 25% slower from a computer screen than from paper.

Does that include a Kindle?

• You can't sneeze with your eyes open.

• The largest eyeball belongs to the giant squid.

"Giant squid, along with their cousin, the colossal squid, have the largest eyes in the animal kingdom, measuring some 10 inches (25 centimeters) in diameter.
National Geographic

•An ostrich has a bigger eye than brain.

The facts were culled from the internet.

D is for Daisy

2011-08-09T14:25:00.000-07:00

"The name "daisy" is thought to come from the Old English "daes eage", meaning "day's eye", for the way in which it opens at dawn.

In Scotland, daisies have been called gools. At one time farmers there were taxed for having too many daisies growing in their fields.

The daisy family, known to scientists as Compositae, was classified in 1792 by Paul Dietrich Giseke, a German botanist and close friend of the Swedish "father of modern taxonomy" Carl Linnaeus.

From around 2,200 B.C., daisies were among the flowers that grew in ancient Egyptian temple gardens."

culled from a variety of web sites

"To the Daisy"

The poet's darling.

~William Wordsworth

C is for Chair

2011-08-02T19:13:00.000-07:00

From: Shaw Creek General Store web page

"The Adirondack chair was not always known by that name. According to the Adirondack Museum in Blue Mountain Lake, New York, it started its life as the Westport chair named after a small town close by the Adirondack Mountains on the edge of lake Champlain.

Thomas Lee first worked out the design of the chair around 1900. Vacationing at his family's house Stony Sides, along with some 22 relatives, he set about designing a truly conformable outdoor chair

Nailing boards together on the front lawn, he asked other members of his family to test prototypes and tell him which were the most comfortable. With this research as a guide, he built a chair with a sloping seat and back. Each chair was made from a single pine board and with the wide armrests that became a hallmark of the Adirondack style. His chair was an immediate success with the family."

This photo was taken on Sunday. We went for a walk on Ocean Point-- several miles from Boothbay, Maine. I usually like a more isolated area, but this is a lovely walk. The owners of the chairs live across the road and their house is festooned with flowers.

Several weeks ago we were in Hulls Cove, Maine and visited

where we saw

A well worn chair.

Waiting

2011-07-29T15:03:00.000-07:00

be wary
of waiting
for the right day
for perfect weather
for the navigable river

Linda Watskin ©2011

B is for Brushes

2011-07-26T16:09:00.001-07:00

Brushes for Chinese Brush Painting.

I've been taking Chinese Brush Painting classes for the last four years. I collect brushes —always hopeful that each new brush will make the stroke easier.

Have a Seat

2011-07-23T02:00:00.000-07:00

just sit down and rest
watch the clouds pass by
listen to the wind brush against the leaves
don't rush, tomorrow will be here when it's time

A Lover of Flowers

2011-07-22T06:32:00.000-07:00

the stone frog sits in my garden
besides a cluster of flowers
patient in summer heat

Summer Pastime

2011-07-21T06:30:00.000-07:00

Every summer I get caught up
in the games
I watch the scoreboard
rooting for whatever team
will defeat our rivals

Each hit, each out
marked in my mind
Who's in a slump
Who's riding the crest of success

Will we play in the fall?
Will autumn playoffs make summer last a bit longer?

Linda Watskin

In One's Own Hand

2011-07-20T14:54:00.000-07:00

a story unwinds;
like a skein of yarn
tangled until spread out
word added to word
the way each knitted line
reveals the end

Linda Watskin ©2011

A is for Avocado

2011-07-20T12:32:00.000-07:00

"Avocado is also known as the “alligator pear” because of the rough skin on some varieties. In the 17th and 18th centuries the fruit was also commonly known as “butter pear.” In tropical Central America, avocado trees have been growing wild for thousands of years... The Aztecs called the tree Ahuacatl. Marauding Spanish armies changed this to abocado or avocado, the now common English name.

According to the Little Green Avocado Book, there is strong evidence that avocado trees flourished 50 million years ago in what is now California, and avocados might have provided food for dinosaurs."

Dictionary of Natural Foods Dr. William Esser.

Laid Back

2011-07-15T17:42:00.000-07:00

In winter I wait for summer
to unwrap myself, to
wear shorts and sandals
to sit outside drinking iced water
reading one book from my winter stockpile
to buy large cups of iced coffee
and overstay in a coffee house
to indulge in too many frozen yogurts
to while away time as if it will never turn
into another season
Summer is a time to entertain possibilities

On hot and humid days
I dream of trout fishing
of learning fly tying knots
with names like Beetle Bug and Bimini Twist

But, just collecting the names is enough

Linda Watskin ©2011

A Maine Landscape

2011-07-06T19:17:00.000-07:00

If I don't speak of white lupines
or the sea smoothering rocks
If I close my eyes and see the foam
on the shore's edge
and hear the ocean's voice
but say nothing
it's because I am
the lover at a loss for words

Linda Watskin

Waiting For the Unexpected

2011-06-15T18:06:00.000-07:00

Clay pots fired in ashes
as red heat cracks glazes
Blackened lines spread erratic patterns

Slender herons pose on one leg

Chalk white gauze dipped in plaster
gains form when draped
around a skeletal armature

Impatiently
insects scratch
against wire mesh
stretched taut within a frame
and seek entrance
A place to break through

This afternoon
I stared out a train window
at water streaked sidewalks,
a jigsaw of unfamiliar streets

We edged into a station
thickened with people

I held onto my pole and recited the day
Firing pots in the morning
and reading graffiti
on station walls
in the afternoon

the equinox won't come
I'm just metering out time

Shade

2011-06-11T14:04:00.000-07:00

Under an Apple Tree

Writing has laws of perspective, of light and shade just as painting does, or music. If you are born knowing them, fine. If not, learn them. Then rearrange the rules to suit yourself.
—Truman Capote

Submitted for Photo Friday

The Boys of Ainsley Road, Maryland

2011-05-13T11:02:00.000-07:00

Every boy is small
with so much inside
—Mr. Walker

yesterday ten boys played baseball in an empty lot
yesterday a scythe made it easier to field a grounder
yesterday the boys explored a sewer
using hair spray and a match to light the dark
yesterday the boys sailed in a tub on a small stream
yesterday their bikes demolished the sound barrier
when they sped down a hill worthy of the Tour de France
yesterday red and blue crepe paper decorated bike wheels,
a community celebrated July fourth
yesterday favorite recipes filled five banquet sized tables
yesterday plates of Moroccan stew, stuffed cabbage, green goddess salad
five layer cakes, chips and pretzels
yesterday Maryland crabs caught by the boys —
dumped out of buckets onto newspaper, then
passed hand-to-hand
ending in boiling water
yesterday returned in a letter,
years folded into a cream colored envelope
one of the ten
remains in yesterday

Linda Wastkin ©2011

Digression

2011-05-06T05:19:00.000-07:00

Teaching is
the parsing of thought,
a sifting out
of undigested
spinoffs
too brittle
to gain a footing.

She asks
a question
and waits.

An ibis
striking a pose,
resting.

A bee enters
the room,
an aerialist
capturing an audience.

Linda Watskin © 2011

When My Friend Left a Marriage

2011-04-30T15:13:00.000-07:00

She relied on cinematic memory and pruning shears

to fit twenty years into boxes

and sort out what is

and what is not needed

boxes of soft-backed books with loosened glue spines,

four Chinese bowls from Hong Kong,

three non-immersable electric appliances

She takes eighteen photographs

in silver toned frames

In one a birch tree strains

to stand. separate from underbrush

and unending hedges.

" I felt that way," she tells me as I

pack the Chinese bowls

The first day in her new house

I help her hang a photo of two Bennington rockers

next to a sampler she copied

from one done two hundred years ago

The first Sunday she invites friends for brunch

I bring damson jelly, someone brings scones

Near the window a plant in an earthenware pot

gathers in the sun

New leaves unwrap

Linda Watskin

Day 30 Poetic Asides

To Center

2011-04-29T16:15:00.000-07:00

Our relationship,
a gyroscope held in place
by your inquisitiveness
reminding me that your love is given
to the stalwart and the weak
to the crested and the dull
to those who gallop
and those who limp

We meet this afternoon,
a humid day
Frenzied and breathless
I tell you that we only have a few minutes
Then I stop talking, say nothing
and a quiet hovers, obliterating
the drain of the week.

I am centered in your love

Linda Watskin
Day 29 Poetic Asides Prompt &Big Tent prompt

I Can Do Without

2011-04-28T18:35:00.000-07:00

Autocratic critics who write reviews
Brash hedonists on vacation
Carping perfectionists who never err
Daredevils beckoning us to follow
Earnest megalomaniacs

I can do without

Flimsy take-out containers
Grainy DVDs
Harbingers of spring who arrive late
Ideological arguments late at night
Juicy gossip told to titillate

I can do without

Kebobs refusing to budge
Lollypops falling off sticks

The world can do without

Majority unmindful of the minority

too many people

Not listening or not hearing

or an

Obstinate refusal to see

The world can do without

Petty grievances morphing
Quagmires we create

Rude people
Snide comments as asides
Telemarketers calling at dinner time
Ubiquitous cellphones ringing

Vegetables laden with pesticides

Wasted dreams

xenophobia

Years of strife
Zeal without compassion

Linda Watskin
Day 28 Poetic Asides prompt

In the Middle of Life

2011-04-27T16:19:00.000-07:00

Are you bold enough
to shift positions
to set out on unthreaded paths
or do you yearn for safety
ignoring everything swaddled
in uncertainty, afraid to discard
a familiar name tag
flattened by housekeeping

the wind blows seeds

Linda Watskin
Day 27 Poetic Asides prompt

Follow Me

2011-04-26T15:50:00.000-07:00

" ...you need only to keep
walking with God and all of life
becomes one long stroll."
--- Etty Hillesum

Can you follow Abram
when he leaves Canaan?

Imagine simply answering
Hinneni: Here I Am,

dropping everything,
leaving friends, the neighbor
who shared cool lemonade
on a seamless summer night and
wandering to the edge of a place
you can't name, resting on a promise

Can you answer: Here I am

when you hear a whisper
asking you to follow

Linda Watskin
Day 26Poetic Asides prompt

A Spring Exposure

2011-04-25T16:09:00.000-07:00

I'm falling into the habit
of watching spring spread
across fields and leave
a swath of green

I'm listening to her stretch
revealing skeins of color

Such bravado,
such blatant exhibitionism

Linda Watskin
Day 25 Poetic Asides prompt

At a Restaurant

2011-04-24T14:00:00.000-07:00

I see the father hold his little girl's hand
while her limbs flayed and her head
lolled to one side. When her hair fell in front
of her face he fixed her barrette and kissed
her cheek. Balancing talking to his two small
boys he filled a plastic tube with liquid and fed
the child through the tube into a space on her body
marked for feeding. When the plates arrived he
cut his son's burger in half, took a fry from his own plate,
blew on it to cool and held it for the child bound in a wheelchair.
She laughed and sucked and nibbled the fry.

Lord, please fill this father with your Spirit.
And Lord, I've worked with children who are denied
the ease of childhood. I pray, Lord, that she finds
splashes of color wherever she goes.

I recall watching a play where no one spoke words,
and wheels moved the characters from place to place.
A mother standing next to me said, "My daughter
was so excited. She's the child in the blue dress."

Lord, give this child a place to sing, a place to move about.

Linda Watskin

Day 24 Poetic Asides Prompt

Another Way to Pray

2011-04-23T18:17:00.000-07:00

Do
quit
waiting
for answers
and begin to ask
what's my role in God's drama

Linda Watskin
Day 23 Poetic Asides prompt

Prayer

2011-04-22T17:32:00.000-07:00

Several words

spiral on a polished

wood floor.

A sound of breath

behind me, settles down

in a rocker . I sleep

within the breath.

Outside a light rain

adds itself to a pond.

We enter into a conversation.

Linda Watskin

Day 22 Poetic Asides prompt

If He Had Another Chance

2011-04-21T12:06:00.000-07:00

Just

give

me ten

dollars for

this guitar. It sang

in protest marches long ago

while I slept in, too busy to

join up, too selfish

to see the

truth I

see

now.

Linda Watskin

Day 21 Poetic Asides prompt

Message in a Bottle

2011-04-20T15:44:00.000-07:00

Unfurl the paper.
Embrace the words
on this beach bibelot
scripted by a land bound
townsman tethered to a rocky
coast across an ocean distance.
Read his words written twenty years
ago. He tells you his age, his wife's name
and the four children still alive. One son died
at birth. If you can he says, send this on. It's
my only way to travel beyond my languid place.

Linda Watskin
Day 20 Poetic Asidesprompt

Uncomplicated

2011-04-19T14:40:00.000-07:00

If I start a fire
will you find two sticks
Let us roast marshmallows,
warm our hands
and watch flames
form a symmetry
against darkness
Let us hold our hands
hand over hand
I'll hold you, you hold me

We'll knead words,
breathe the same moments
court each other with touch

Quietly
gently
I'll say love

Linda Watskin
Day 19 Poetic Asides prompt

Like a Book Critic

2011-04-18T15:37:00.000-07:00

I read a book following
the ascension of plot,
discerning if the narrator
is reliable or speaks
with crossed fingers.
I take an inventory of details
swallowing images whole,
accepting a chronology
of filigreed events.
Do the characters pirouette
on and off the page
in disarray, ignoring my angst,
so intent on their philandering
that I remain sprawled across
my bed, a lover left to settle
for no ending beyond
the last page.

Linda Watskin
Day 18 Poetic Asides prompt

The Gift of Praise

2011-04-17T15:07:00.000-07:00

Sing for Me
Dance for Me
Preach for Me
—Pastor Abiot Moyo

the preacher wants you off the
street comer, don't loiter
God's waiting for you
to unwrap your gift
suppose it's not what
you hoped for
your voice jumps off notes
speaking in public
facing an audience
dancing barefoot,
the preacher wants you
out of your seat, out of the
audience, he wants you
to find your gift,
maybe it's to keep lighting a candle
cupping a hand around the flame
no one's left out
someone's staining a pew
someone's adding salt to soup
someone's setting a table
someone's opening a door
someone's telling a story
someone's listening hard
someone's nodding
someone's tapping
someone's praying
someone's swaying
someone's kneeling
the preacher wants you
to unwrap your gift

Hannah, Wife of Thaddeus

2011-04-16T12:39:00.000-07:00

On this rocky land where light
slips behind pines
Thaddeus placed layers of rocks
He measured out boundaries
until his name
carved into granite
rested in Jehovah’s house

A sheet of rice paper
taped on his stone,
rubbed with crayon
draws forth Thaddeus

His date of death
Years of life
His children’s names
a winged cherub
the call for the last trumpet sound

His wife Hannah’s slate
is by his side
three children died before they lived
Ephraim, Phoebe, Josiah
Seven children grew beyond
these stone walls

At Ninety-Two

2011-04-15T15:40:00.000-07:00

remembering is hard work,
hard as maples felled
clearing a mountain road,
hard as rocks sheltering
the house they share
with wild blackberries for neighbors.

In her garden
with only the beets showing
she digs into black soil,
recalls her children
waiting for ripe tomatoes.

She remembers
they troubled over
which trees to axe,
dying was always hard work.

Linda Watskin 2011
Day 15 Poetic Asides prompt

It's All About Breathing

2011-04-14T17:38:00.000-07:00

It's not true that when I left
the walls lapsed into silence,
that tall grass stood sentry,
that birds ceased prattling
and shadows idled in the air
before spreading out,
stumbling
over roots

I looked back,
caught the cadence of leaving
descend upon hedges,
a Japanese Red Maple,
slick arroyos
and tangled vines.

I stepped into a bone
white field,
ready for seeding.

Linda Watskin 2011
Day 14

The Not Quite Erotic Poem For a Past Lover

2011-04-13T16:25:00.000-07:00

In anthologies love poems are serious,
lovers wear anguish, despair wraps around
the groin of a rejected lover
Adjectives recline on the beloved's breasts
and stare at dangling legs

On the other hand
there are poems which treat love
as a cowl with a drawstring
Here the lover ruminates upon nude figures
in a water fountain
Controls balance and shift

You shifted and I lost balance
breaking roots above the dirt line
I wore giant rhododendrons
I siphoned words
I wore your touch like a sequined gown
at a dancehall on Friday night

Linda Watskin 2011
Day 13 Poetic Asides prompt

My Grandmother

2011-04-12T16:05:00.000-07:00

She skinned potatoes
into slivers, watched them dance
in a frypan

Linda Watskin
Day 12 Poetic Asides prompt

Maybe You Will Take a Chance

2011-04-11T12:53:00.000-07:00

Maybe if I drove three towns away
to continue your ice skating lessons
when our local rink closed, maybe
if you understood time constraints

But maybe at twelve your view of time
knew no constraints
Maybe if I found the fit
of home less confining
or listened to the unsaid words
that settled in the empty places

Maybe the skein we wove together,
full of snarls and thumb sized knots
could be pulled and yanked,
smoothed, burnished
until the strands lay flat

Maybe the beginnings,
the once upon a time,
the roots, can be dug up
and new words planted

But maybe you don't want to take a chance

Linda Watskin 2011
Day 11 Poetic Asides prompt

Never

2011-04-10T16:17:00.000-07:00

Never think anything is forever

I've seen a snake leave its skin
on a handful of grass
Leaving is natural,
the way of seasons,
of circles
mirroring the past, of
ice on the rim of a lake

Linda Watskin 2011
Day 10 Poetic Asides prompt

5:34pm

2011-04-09T15:01:00.000-07:00

9:45 am
Coffee and a bagel with chive cream cheese
while reading a book that dragged through
a litany of family losses until I put it down
and talked to a neighbor about the Red Sox

Maybe they are poised to take off on a winning streak

10:50am
Dropped my car off at my local mechanic's house
where he moonlights on weekends

The red intrusion light won't stop blinking

11:30am
A long walk past people wearing shirtsleeves
anxious to get on with spring. My long sleeve shirt sticks
and reminds me that it gets warmer with each passing hour.

1:00pm
The Red Sox game begins and I am hopeful.

1:40 pm
Walked to the library and borrowed two more books.

One a mystery and the other a non- fiction account of two
families—in Urušalimum
I try to make sense of that strip of land.

More family losses

3:00pm

They are losing

4:00pm
Picked up my car.

The timing was off. It's reset

The timing is off. That explains it all.

Their bat speeds can't catch up.
Their pitches are out of synch.

Perhaps we can go back in time,
erase what doesn't work, didn't work.

4:30pm
They lost.

No mystery, no divided land.

Linda Watskin 2011
Day 9 Poetic Asides prompt

A Celebration of Dreams

2011-04-08T16:13:00.000-07:00

In the silence of my mind's eye
prophetic landscapes flow
until daylight roams
to the boundaries of words.

A doxology in praise of moon nipples.

Nightingales sing hymns
and comets lick black linen night.
A butterfly pursues and plummets
deep into a culvert
to carve graffiti.

A reply in the silence of my mind's eye.

In sleep I listen to words
polished until timeworn.
Soon moonstones lengthen their vines
and ricochet a night botany.

In myth's memory I rise in dreams
to walk past cockleburs
catching on my cuffs.
Keeping my distance I join
in a fugue for flower-eaters,
forage for cinnamon fern,
keep vigil until all that is left
is day and exposure to biography.

Linda Watskin
Day 8 Poetic Asides prompt

Tea Ceremony

2011-04-07T16:16:00.000-07:00

What if I brewed wild rose tea
in large mugs big enough to hold time
We can talk of fragrances, of aromas

Mountain cranberry
scattered on summit rocks
Kelp at low tide when the wind
carries the scent of mollusks, salt, and abalone shells
Chicken braised in an iron skillet
Broccoli steamed in your red enamel pot
Your kitchen wall out of focus

What if my senses become watercolor washes
and filter the tea's aroma into dream sequences

What if I read your fortune

Linda Watskin. 2011
Day 7 Poetic Asides Prompt

Don't Forget to Spray

2011-04-06T17:17:00.001-07:00

Our instructor Nan upended her backpack—

scudding along the table—
three ounce cups,
a canvas bag of watercolor paints,
a roll of paper towels,
masking tape,
a spray bottle,
two containers for water,
several brushes and a color wheel

Welcome to the Pouring Watercolor workshop

I wanted to discover spontaneity.

Did I envision myself a follower of Jackson Pollack
with my paint erupting from plastic cups
creating dazzling drips navigating across paper?

You'll use a lot of paint
Wet your paper on both sides.

I drowned 140 lb watercolor paper
under a heavy dousing of water
taped it down to a board and
placed squares of cheesecloth,
scraps of lace, wire mesh, and
buttons on the paper,
avoided hard lines,
feigning an instinct for composition.

Nan demonstrated the act of pouring.
A communion service with pigments
as sacred mystery.

Today you pour and tomorrow
we'll work with the paintings.
There will be surprises.

Use your spray bottle,
move the paint, let it find a path.

I sprayed Alizarin Crimson beyond
the lace, around a metallic button,
over two feathers until it stopped
short of an edge—
afraid of moving beyond boundaries,
content to remain within the frame.

Linda Watskin 2011
Day 6 Poetic Asides Prompt

Loosen the Knot

2011-04-05T13:25:00.000-07:00

Not the power to remember,
but it's opposite,the power to forget
is a necessary condition for our existence.
Shalom Asch

Some days when a mist
grays the sky, when trees
lose their shape,
when pine needles adhere
to rocks as if they intend
to cover their hardness
or soften a rigid exterior
I confront your hardness of heart,
this Gordian Knot, resistant,
callous to the balm of time.

When lowering clouds absorb
whatever clings to the ground,
when vision, murky and unsure
of itself loses its place, when your feet
remain hidden beneath the fog
will you open the door?

Linda Watskin 2011
Day 5 Poetic Asides Prompt

The Starbucks Coffee Aficionado

2011-04-04T14:55:00.000-07:00

He arrives with his laptop in a black case,
and explores the room for a table close to an outlet.
Today he must wend his long cord behind
an upholstered chair and a newspaper caddy
before plugging in. He opens the case
like a peddler displaying his wares,
and removes an Apple laptop—then places a cell phone down.

He orders a Venti Caffè Latte, extra hot, " with just a dollop of foam"
and a slice of Mallorca Sweet Bread— "on a plate".

He holds his phone with one hand and scrolls with the other hand.
The sweet bread waits while he asks someone if they can meet.

When the phone call ends he takes out blue Skullcandy
earbuds, plugs them into his IPhone. Now he's serious—
he types, stops, ponders, sips his drink, nibbles a corner of the Mallorca,
and writes something on a notepad. He's oblivious
to increased traffic and Starbuck's indie rock band blasting overhead.

Linda Watskin ©2011
Day 4 Poetic Asides Prompt

The Detritus

2011-04-03T16:06:00.000-07:00

My half- finished paintings,
partly organized vacation slides,
folders of fermenting ideas,
drawers crammed with pens,
bottles of Levinger's inks, manilla
folders labeled: articles of satiric interest,
story ideas claimed from yesterday's news,
research notes for an article on the first
teacher strike in New York City.

My books arranged by present interest:
Daily Life in Ancient Egypt leaning against
Color: A Natural History of the Palette

My layers of meaning?

If I'm not here will it all be declared
indulgence or the persistence of living?

Linda Watskin
Day 3 Poetic Asides Prompt

Postcard From Bryce

2011-04-02T14:26:00.000-07:00

Fairyland Trail
Kodachrome

Hi
We hiked as the sun
rose over hoodoos, igniting
forms in a landscape
carved by erosion, and
exploding with shapes
in raucous orange, red and ochre--
a variegated fantasy land,
a make believe playground.

Linda Watskin ©2011
Day 2 Poetic Asides Prompt

Directions to a Friend

2011-04-01T11:46:00.000-07:00

" ...and behold a ladder set up on the earth,
and the top of it reached to heaven."
—Genesis 28:12,

To get to Old Rag Mountain drive past Peola Mills,
past Nethers Post Office, past white shadbush niched in ledges,
past black locust invading meadows crowded by sassafras,
past poke milkweed the color of your shirt.

Climb when white trillium spreads across hillsides.

With a whittling knife made from a branch of softwood
I whittled Jacob's Ladder out of red spruce
and hooked a hammock from Stony Man to Hawksbill.

Sleep when you tire of scrambling over boulders
stop to look at mountain laurel, butterfly weeds,
and cracks eroded by glacial ice.

When your breath catches
and you taste salt—rest,
recall how we parsed words.
Stand near the precipice,
caught between land and flight.

Remember how we climbed and scrambled,
our knees scraped on lichen.
We spoke of building a house in the hills
until a lowering sun muted our words.

Now you write to say you are building a house
in the heart of the heart of the hills

Select hardwoods.

Linda Watskin ©2011
Day 1 Poetic Asides Prompt

Lamentation

2011-03-25T04:58:00.000-07:00

"A cry is heard in Ramah
—deep anguish and bitter weeping.
Rachel weeps for her children,
refusing to be comforted—
for her children are gone."
— Jeremiah 31:15

You are lost

asleep

and I know that I can not
find you.

I wait.

Tonight whispers

strangers camouflaged
flawed, and lost

Sun has bleached
the flowers
on your bedspread

While I hold court

stuffed animals
wait

When you fall asleep

I whisper

I sit beside your bed

touch the blanket

and sing a lullaby,
love flows
cajoles

Tonight
the moonlight touches you

flowers spill out

honeysuckle
cornflowers

and flood the room

I gather a bouquet

an armful of

Waiting For the Unexpected

2011-03-18T15:41:00.000-07:00

clay pots fired in ashes and red heat
crack their glazes
blackened lines spread erratic patterns

slender herons pose on one leg

chalk white gauze
dipped in plaster
gains form

when draped around an armature

impatiently
insects scratch
against wire mesh
stretched taut within a wood frame
and seek entrance

a place to break through

this morning I looked
out of a train window
and stared at water colored sidewalks

a jigsaw of unfamiliar streets

we edged into a station
thickened with people
I held onto my pole and recited the day
from the curve of your back to the graffiti

self-contained on station walls

—Linda Watskin

Upon Reading a Math Book Late at Night

2011-03-11T04:39:00.000-08:00

Halfway into dawn
when the line between light and dark
hovers before plunging into day
I contemplate happenstance.
Unlike numbers
I live in the vicinity
of coincidence.

Page after page patterns,
letters wordless in their equations
emerge as symbols.

On page thirty-four the equation
cy + dx = cd characterizes
the ‘lineness’ of a line,
capturing the essence
like a line of poetry
unskeins and translates love.

Absorbed by questions
of position and space
a Greek mathematician
grappled with
a pyramid’s volume.

He approximated a stack
of tapered square plates,
seeking volume as if he could hold
formlessness with linear markings.

I kick the imagined plates,
skewing a pyramid off-center
and compose an epilogue
to Egyptian laborers dragging stone.

Celebrate

2011-03-08T14:27:00.000-08:00

After the Winter

2011-02-25T09:01:00.000-08:00

Un dia de estos?
—Gabriel Garcia Marquez.

I shall see
the stands of spruce
and rock cliffs
that hold the ocean in place

rockweed floating like the dark hair
of stone sea sculptures

pond bullfrogs
strumming notes of praise

full moon lotus leaves
catching the sun,
waiting to flower

a pond’s necklace
of lupine, pickerelweed
and cat tails.

the sunlight dance of fireflies

switchback trails to the canyon floor
a still life in time

a descent through a river’s sculpture
and earth’s timetable

sure-footed bighorn sheep

pillars of rock,
some with given names—
others waiting

the rising sun
casting fire
over the canyon hoodoos

the narrow road picking its way
through a dry wash

blue sky reining in flash floods

a trail strewn
with pock-marked lava balls,
—a moonscape over sandstone

serpentine patterns
on a sandstone trail
through a canyon

our days revolving
from sun to stars to sun
once again

Prologue

2011-02-17T20:27:00.000-08:00

I grow to my age
dreaming of women
who test landscapes
brittle with risk

Women who celebrate
their bodies
straining to limits
like archers
drawing taut bows

Women whose hands
hold granite mountains,
their feet on ledges
fingertips holing stone

Women who know
the suck of loneliness
in solitude

A Day to Give Thanks

2011-02-11T14:04:00.000-08:00

When the weather turned its back
unloading more snow
When the water found its way inside
I talked to the clouds, to the wind
When a man with a lilt
removed the walls, positioned dryers
I talked to the man whose words
journeyed from Haiti to Lowell

I am a poor man, he said
born poor, will die poor
but I'm rich, I have God.
I tell my boss Sunday is my day,
God gave me this day,
to sing praise.

When he left with his ladder,
a tool box and a bottle of water
I went upstairs and stood
outside the closet
When I heard the roar of two green
machines inhaling the water
I said thank you

2011-02-08T10:54:00.000-08:00

walk into the mist
find a tree you knew in spring
clad in white

Seating Arrangement

2011-02-07T17:36:00.000-08:00

high tea delayed,
canapés waiting
for guests to arrive
on sleighs

A Letter to My Ice Dams

2011-02-04T05:08:00.000-08:00

You grind me down, drip by drip
wet spots spread, darkening
the closet. You're resistant to my pleas,
oblivious, remote, and insistent
on coming inside. Find a remote
place to spread, somewhere outside—
bask in the sun, float over rocks,
moisten blades of grass—just cease
your drip. I can't handle your intrusion.

2011-02-02T13:57:00.000-08:00

ice rain on snow
sculpts crenulation cleavage
on mountain ranges

River of Stones—Day Thirty-one

2011-01-31T18:31:00.001-08:00

they stood on the roof
hammering away at ice,
only ropes held by
someone out of view
tethered them
held them tight
so they could sleep
in their own bed tonight

River of Stones—Day Thirty

2011-01-30T13:46:00.000-08:00

shovels are scarce,
ice melt jugs vanish,
scrapers are sparse,
Yaktrax,
to keep you
upright
on ice
sold out,
roof rakes
can't be found,
and the wait
begins
for
the
next
storm