Category Archives: Different Worlds

D-Picted (X-Rated)

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                                                                               D-Picted (X-Rated)

I was taking my daily sunset walk on the beach at La Manzanilla, Mexico when I came upon this idyllic scene. He was sipping a margarita and staring out to sea as the water ebbed and flowed—never reaching higher than his chair bottom. Of course, I had to comment.

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“Is the view good enough for you?” I queried, with a noticeable lack of originality.

“Do you want to see for yourself?” he asked. He quickly rose from his chair and motioned for me to take his place, taking my camera from my hand as he handed me his Margarita.

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He told me to look his way as he turned the tide by taking a picture of me, and so I didn’t see at first a part of the landscape obvious in this next picture.

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But as often happens in an evening tide, that object quickly washed ashore to enter my picture,

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and quickly dominate it.

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The End

(I promise.  This was not a staged incident.  It happened exactly as I describe it with no prompting by me.  I love getting out in the world.  No imagined story ever duplicates what happens in real life!!)

The Prompt: Edge of the Frame—We often capture strangers in photos we take in public. Open your photo library, and stop at the first picture that features a person you don’t know. Now tell the story of that person.

Special Note to viewers of my blog:  Please also see the next posting “Sur-Prize” to enter a contest celebrating my 10,000th viewing.

Away

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Away

Written in the morning, long before the day
sneaks in like an intruder, intent to have its say,
words born in the nighttime flower on their own,
bursting into bloom as soon as seeds are sown.

Truth is there behind us before it ever shows—
in words before they’re spoken, in wind before it blows.
Once recognized, I free these words to flow over the world—
off on their own to have a life wherever they’re unfurled.

Sent swiftly to their different spheres to live a life apart
from one who followed after, like a horse without its cart—
I like to set my words loose to canter on their own,
to feed upon wild grass that also roots where it has blown.

The Prompt: After an especially long and exhausting drive or flight, a grueling week at work, or a mind-numbing exam period — what’s the one thing you do to feel human again?

Reading

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This post has been removed as a stipulation for submitting it in a poetry contest.

The Prompt: Middle Seat—It turns out that your neighbor on the plane/bus/train (or the person sitting at the next table at the coffee shop) is a very, very chatty tourist. Do you try to switch seats, go for a non-committal brief small talk, or make this person your new best friend?

 

Old Friends

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I was running from the time I woke up this morning until about 10:15 tonight. My guests have now gone and I’ve had 45 minutes to work on this prompt. It certainly isn’t my favorite, but I felt compelled to finish the assignment, lest it be the first day since April 1 that I failed to post! So, for what it is worth, here’s my near-answer to today’s prompt!!! Please note that much as you might feel you see yourself in this poem, the characters are purely fictional!!!

Today’s Prompt: Long Exposure—Among the people you’ve known for a long time, who is the person who’s changed the most over the years? Was the change for the better?

Old Friends

Our world turns and all of us
without much fanfare or much fuss
change constantly from day to day
in such a subtle sort of way,
we barely notice we have changed
until we find we are estranged
from those once near who now are far,
reaching for a different star.

While once we shared the usual aim
of husband, family or fame,
each thinks the other achieved less
though neither one could ever guess
that each achieved just what she wanted
sailing through her life unhaunted
by regrets of what she’s missed:
the shore unclaimed, the cheek unkissed.
One scored the ring and husband first.
The other sought to quench her thirst
for travel and remained unmarried
satisfying interests varied
from what most others chose to do—
each year her world began anew.

No little hand in hers, no need
to clothe and comfort, wash and feed
anyone except herself.
She sat alone upon the shelf
of life, unchoosing and unchosen—
well-preserved and slightly frozen.

The other birthed, lifted and carried
in a life both full and harried.
With kids and husband in her home,
she was rarely there alone.
Kept busy by her obligations
to neighbors, friends and her relations,
her life proceeded till near its end,
she chanced to come upon her friend
from long ago and tarried there
while both of them let down their hair.

Each found the place where she belonged
and neither feels unduly wronged.
One found her place in family—
contented in their company.
The other is quick to aver
she found her place inside of her.

Obscured Fourth

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Obscured Fourth

In Mexico, it is the rainy season
and so the rain falls down.
The dogs refuse to leave their beds.
They curl instead, and I do, too,
listening to the steady drip of rain from tejas
and Pasiano’s more massive splashes
as he scoops water from the tub
which never empties,
constantly replenished
by the rains.

Now hot water streams
from pipes into the hot tub.
Mineral water heated by volcanic fire
steams as it meets cool water falling
from above and the cool air that carries it.

It is still morning, but even tonight I’ll find
no fireworks in Mexico on the Fourth of July,
for independence was not granted evenly around this world.
And I who love the fertile darkness of night,
but also love surprises
that the fireworks bring,
must patiently wait for independence to find
this new country I found 13 years ago.

No rains ever mar her independence
on September 16.
The rainy season over,
all necks will crane in the churchyard crush
to see the wild castillo
and its corona spinning, spinning
to lift off into the air above—
independence held back until finally
it cannot help but rise
to freedom.

Note: September 16 is Grito de Dolores (Mexico’s Independence Day)

The Prompt: It’s Your Party—Since many are marking their country’s “birthday” in the US today, we wanted to ask: How do you celebrate yours? Are you all for a big bash, or more of a low-key birthday boy/girl?

Medium Rare

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Okay.  Finished!!! The picture is the last thing you’ll see.

The Prompt today is: Rare Medium. Describe a typical day in your life — but do it in a form or in a medium you’ve rarely — if ever – used before. If you’re a photoblogger, write a poem. If you’re a poet, write an open letter. If you’re a travel blogger, write a rant. (These are all examples — choose whatever form you feel like trying out!)

This is a hard one for me because I do poetry or prose or art or photography or rants every day, so what is left?  I guess I’ll have to resort to one of the things I am the worst at: drawing.  This I do not do well, but I will try.  Come back in a few hours and you’ll see the result.

I traveled for 15 hours yesterday so bear with me, but please do come back!!! (Gnashing teeth because I really do want to write a poem so badly.  Will right win out or will norm?????)

Three hours later:

Things I had forgotten before I drew this horrible picture

—How hard it is to draw a straight line.

—How hard it is to draw a curved line

—How hard it is to draw a crooked line.

—That  an 8.5X11 inch drawing was going to be reduced to a point where it is hard to make out detail. Come to think of it, this might be an advantage.  Never mind.

—Why I gave up drawing long long ago

—How humbling it is to display something you do poorly for the world to see.

—That it is actually kind of fun to color

—That it is very very hard to color near the edge of a page.

—That art of any kind, no matter how poor the end result, causes you to enter into a time warp.

Four hours later:

Now that I have my sketch scanned, converted to jpeg, straightened and ready to go, my blog absolutely refuses to accept it. I think perhaps I’m not meant to share my lack of sketching prowess with the world. I’ll try one more time, and then give up.

Half hour later: Okay, I’ll try twice and then give up. Rescanning the picture.

Ten minutes later:  Why is it taking so long to scan this picture when it normally takes a minute or less????

Okay, here it is.  Once I actually saw it on the blog, I decided to move it from first position to last.  Remember. I cannot do 2 dimensional art.  I disavow any responsibility for or pride in the below image:

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Those are my three kids–Squeak, Frida and Diego.  Squeak is a cat and Frida and Diego are dogs.  Yes, I really did have to kill a scorpion I found in a drawer first thing this morning.  Yes, that is a volcano in the background. (It is saying, “Look at Me.”)  Not possible to read in this small version. No, I do not have any groceries in my house.  No, my studio is not really this messy.  It is 100 times worse!  No, I am not Alice in Wonderland.  The “Drink Me” glass contains a smoothie.  Thankfully, I’d left one in the freezer as I had none of the proper ingredients. Yes, once knew how to draw perspective but I haven’t the patience for it anymore.

This is absolutely the last drawing of mine you will ever see on this blog!!!!!

 

 

Coiled

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 Image

Coiled

She is a quiet girl with hair and clothes in disarray
to match her cluttered room.
She sleeps a lot,
her naked cat atop her chest
in the sweater she has knitted to cover
its shorn coat.

The two of them
sleep in their basement room,
kin to each other.
When the girl awakens,
she paints and draws
and recently,
twists wire into coils and coils
comforting in their regularity
within their wild irregularity.

She takes these straightest of things:
wires extruded mile on mile
then rounded over spools, layer on layer,
and winds them smaller,
then forms these regular coils
into spirals around a cold glass heart.

Fire shines from the coolness when brought to light,
like the girl, emerging, climbing up the steps
and opening the door.

Her hair wild around her
taken from the dreadlocks
that confined it for so long.
The girl emerging,
growing like a wild bromeliad
that gets its nourishment from air.
She breathes, she stretches
and the coils of her unwind
slowly slowly into her life.

Daily Prompt: Right to Brag. Tell us about something you (or a person close to you)
have done recently (or not so recently) that has made you really, unabashedly proud.

 

World Like a White Stomach

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World like a White Stomach, Red Optional

My world is not round
and so it does not move in circles
like your world.
It is so small I stand above it, my head in space,
while a two-colored rainbow stretches out in my wake—
a straight line which is an echo
of my unbent trajectory into the universe.
Three navels has my world
for the three births it delivers us to:
into this world, within and out of it.
Each is an adventure more easily seen
in a straight world where everything
is not always repeating itself.
Here, fish swim out of the water.
Birds more commonly walk.
And in the distance, we see colors
not of our world.
Stop and go.
The green of earth.
The red that is only an option as we look away,
searching for the million worlds beyond.

The Daily Post Prompt: One day, your favorite piece of art — a famous painting or sculpture, the graffiti next door — comes to life. What happens next?