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A lovely brunch was had.
Louis gave me a ride (woohoo!) and we chatted with many, many people. Saw Robin and Maurine (from my choir) and Danika, just to name a few. :-)
Louis suggested that I submit some of my work to Bywords - they're local and could do with more submissions. I say: Sure. Why the hell not? :-)
Had a chat with Robin about coming back to the Artsy Community and how, after you've been away from it for a while, you forget how good it feels to be in it.
I said "It's like coming back into my ocean".
She gets it.
She's slipping back into the arts herself these days, after years of walking the edges, keeping her feet from drying off completely, but not fully immersing herself.
She misses it as much as I do[1].
We ran out of gas on the way home (the gauge is very weird, I have to say. :-P)
I have written poetry:
*~*~*~*~*
The tank drained too fast and
we coasted
stopping
at the end of a disappearing lane.
The four-ways blink
in warning or apology
as cars rush by the window.
It's funny.
When you're moving,
you forget
how much impact is contained in
two tonnes of screaming metal.
It seems so normal.
But stalled on the verge,
you realize:
the road itself is
trembling
at their passage.
*~*~*~*~*
Birch trees, leafing, under
heavy, dark clouds,
A watch tower beyond them
(where are we?)
The sky hints at thunder.
Rough wind tugs at the grass,
bends the branches.
Rain is coming.
I look up,
expectant,
from books and paper
Ready to see you,
gas-can in hand,
coming over the hill
A rainstorm at your heels.
*~*~*~*~*
We could have both gone.
We could have abandoned it
by the roadside,
lights blinking
on-off, on-off,
forlornly.
No-one would have stopped.
The steel is rusted,
obvious despite the judicious application of black paint, and
inside, the skeleton is exposed (metal bone under torn upholstery and plastic skin).
The doors stick, even on good days.
No one will steal this car.
*~*~*~*~*
Storm light slants through the clouds,
too bright and tinged with lightning.
A crow wheels, talons wild, at the roadside,
snapping up crackers - are they crackers? - in her beak.
Her wings flap,
climbing the air,
A narrow miss with a four-by-four, an SUV,
And she wheels again,
Back into the woods.
I - sitting in the front passenger seat of a car the won't start - follow
with my eyes.
When I turn back,
I see you.
An awkward grin on your face,
and two litres of gas
swinging
in your hand
like a lunch pail.
*~*~*~*~*
Do the crows talk about us?
Do they gossip (of course) about
the latest
crazy Thing
that those humans are doing?
("Some animals use tools, just like we do," they comment to each other.
"But never the tools of other animals.")
Or do they merely comment on our presence.
("God, they're everywhere."
"Like cockroaches.")
*~*~*~*~*
Time to do laundry and decide on dinner. :-)
- TTFN,
- Amazon. :-)
[1] We went to the same arts high school. It's been a while, for both of us, since we were so completely immersed in that kind of an environment.
Louis gave me a ride (woohoo!) and we chatted with many, many people. Saw Robin and Maurine (from my choir) and Danika, just to name a few. :-)
Louis suggested that I submit some of my work to Bywords - they're local and could do with more submissions. I say: Sure. Why the hell not? :-)
Had a chat with Robin about coming back to the Artsy Community and how, after you've been away from it for a while, you forget how good it feels to be in it.
I said "It's like coming back into my ocean".
She gets it.
She's slipping back into the arts herself these days, after years of walking the edges, keeping her feet from drying off completely, but not fully immersing herself.
She misses it as much as I do[1].
We ran out of gas on the way home (the gauge is very weird, I have to say. :-P)
I have written poetry:
*~*~*~*~*
The tank drained too fast and
we coasted
stopping
at the end of a disappearing lane.
The four-ways blink
in warning or apology
as cars rush by the window.
It's funny.
When you're moving,
you forget
how much impact is contained in
two tonnes of screaming metal.
It seems so normal.
But stalled on the verge,
you realize:
the road itself is
trembling
at their passage.
*~*~*~*~*
Birch trees, leafing, under
heavy, dark clouds,
A watch tower beyond them
(where are we?)
The sky hints at thunder.
Rough wind tugs at the grass,
bends the branches.
Rain is coming.
I look up,
expectant,
from books and paper
Ready to see you,
gas-can in hand,
coming over the hill
A rainstorm at your heels.
*~*~*~*~*
We could have both gone.
We could have abandoned it
by the roadside,
lights blinking
on-off, on-off,
forlornly.
No-one would have stopped.
The steel is rusted,
obvious despite the judicious application of black paint, and
inside, the skeleton is exposed (metal bone under torn upholstery and plastic skin).
The doors stick, even on good days.
No one will steal this car.
*~*~*~*~*
Storm light slants through the clouds,
too bright and tinged with lightning.
A crow wheels, talons wild, at the roadside,
snapping up crackers - are they crackers? - in her beak.
Her wings flap,
climbing the air,
A narrow miss with a four-by-four, an SUV,
And she wheels again,
Back into the woods.
I - sitting in the front passenger seat of a car the won't start - follow
with my eyes.
When I turn back,
I see you.
An awkward grin on your face,
and two litres of gas
swinging
in your hand
like a lunch pail.
*~*~*~*~*
Do the crows talk about us?
Do they gossip (of course) about
the latest
crazy Thing
that those humans are doing?
("Some animals use tools, just like we do," they comment to each other.
"But never the tools of other animals.")
Or do they merely comment on our presence.
("God, they're everywhere."
"Like cockroaches.")
*~*~*~*~*
Time to do laundry and decide on dinner. :-)
- TTFN,
- Amazon. :-)
[1] We went to the same arts high school. It's been a while, for both of us, since we were so completely immersed in that kind of an environment.
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