Choose Your Muse

Miss Miso

2012-01-04T16:24:00.000-08:00

Meditating on catnip

Regarding tonight's menu

Sleep, perchance to dream...

Miso shared our lives for 19-1/2 years. Her health had begun failing for the past year, and she died in September. One minute, I held her in my arms, the next, she wasn't with us. Everything should stop for just that one moment but Life simply goes on. The frantic drivers blare their horns, crowds sun and run and giggle on the beach, hordes of movie-goers pack theaters and Holiday revelers shoot off fireworks to a New Year: all are oblivious that this small light is gone from our world. The house is terribly quiet and empty now. Sometimes, she saunters into my dreams. Occasionally, I think I see her out of a corner of my eye, padding into the kitchen or curled up in the corner by the heat register. She was a cuddly lap kitty, and filled our home with a special warmth.

... digital day dreaming

2010-08-01T12:38:00.000-07:00

During my recent period of enforced idelness, I've spent a bit of time going through my computer files and paintings. I rediscovered a few pieces I'd forgotten about.


"OM" acrylic/canvas

"Om" came through in a bout of anger and frustration, yet, is now a focal point of relaxation and calm.

"Ornithology" acrylic/canvas

I labored over the piece, "Ornithology," for months in early 2006. I am fascinated with the process of glazing to achieve shading and depth, and how a painting is revealed with each thin, nearly transparent layer.

"Blue Mandala" acrylic/canvas

Circles and circular movement are recurring themes in my work. "Mandala" loosely translated from Sanskrit means "circle" and in some spiritual thought, represents the center and beginning of all creation.

Notes on painting and art

2010-07-31T10:55:00.000-07:00

...on process and painting "Touch Wood":

This will always be an action painting to me. Not in the art history sense, but in the sense of something alive, something that evolved into its current state.

I worked on this piece intermittently for an entire day-- this little 8x10 that was supposed to be an easy exercise. I watched it grow and change as the day advanced; at one point, it seemed near completion. The colors were beautiful, all soft-focus and placid-- a very different work.

Then, with one stroke, I destroyed that feeling. I panicked and almost threw the painting in the trash.

But, this tree would not allow me to do so. I had to keep going, to find a new answer. I had to give up my own plans and let the piece dictate each brush stroke.

Despite my flawed technique, this work now speaks to a deep place within me.

Concerning the Spiritual in Art

Touch Wood

2010-07-30T18:36:00.000-07:00

Touch wood:

I seek safety -- to be whole, and to heal

Slowly my haven emerges
bright & strong
for one moment of perfect clarity
then
clouds waft in,
staining my inner landscape with fear and doubt

the tree stands
but the horizon grows dark & heavy

the air
a humid blanket of damp foliage
sits atop a still lake reflecting dull silver

one slow breath

the tree stands

i hold on

2010-07-18T17:10:00.000-07:00

071110

I feel the echo of you, once solid
now
We move in different dimensions,
circling new priorities

You have joined the ghosts of my past.
I have retreated into a sepia-toned shadow on your hard drive.

Who are we now to each other?

Necessary Losses: The Loves, Illusions, Dependencies, and Impossible Expectations That All of Us Have to Give Up in Order to Grow

Kleio

2010-02-13T14:59:00.000-08:00

My computer screen hums.
I scan the electric landscape, and out of the corner of my eye I catch a thread,
a shadow of the ghost of my father.
He is shrouded behind the curtain of my mother's heartbreak.
He is there but not there--a name I carry in my heart but elusive.

My father's family--silent, invisible--have never known me nor I them.
Whether by intention or ignorance, it's the same effect:
we are strangers sharing bits of genetic code and DNA.

I try, but have not broken my mother's injunction of secrecy,
frightened by unnamed dark things buried under rocky silence decades old.
I try, but have not escaped the necessary lies she hides behind.
What monstrous truth could still be sharp enough,
still reach deeply enough through the years to shred our current peace?
Can her past really hurt me now?

Inspiring Creativity: An Anthology of Powerful Insights and Practical Ideas to Guide You to Successful Creating

Calliope

2010-02-13T14:48:00.000-08:00

eldest daughter and wife of war
sing to me
blind me with lust
fire my spirit

golden throated goddess
whisper to me
free my voice
and open my heart

Over The Top

2010-01-11T15:59:00.000-08:00

Over, under, through
The setting sun chases violet clouds across the twilight sky
Spreading out a blanket of stars
As the Earth prepares for sleep with a sigh

Over, under, through
We roll along canyons of concrete
Encased in our metal and glass carapaces...
Seeking comfort and warmth as darkness blankets the landscape

Sleepwalking and blind,
Oblivious to the hum of night,
We eat
We drink
We sit in digital dreams,
Overcome and under a spell of our own making, through the nocturnal mist.

2009-04-26T18:34:00.000-07:00

042509
BON VOYAGE

Off you go into the East--
Peace Corps-two-year-stint. Cheers--
toasts and travel-friendly presents at the pub.
we'll keep pictures of smiling faces and beer.
our hopes and dreams and
the-selves-we've-never-been go with you:
off into the East
to teach
to help and
to learn the ways of a wider world.

The Hard Way: Stories of Danger, Survival, and the Soul of Adventure

2009-04-26T18:19:00.000-07:00

042209
WORK OUT

Morning!
Time to feed the cat,
nuke a cup of tea and
pull on shoes and sweats.

I set the timer
add a little incline and start walking the walk.

Yes,
it's beautiful outside
but in here my rubber concourse keeps me
on track.

Step by step
I wake.

042309
TOO MUCH INFORMATION

Why did I tell you?
Apparently,
honesty's price is pain.

Confession is good for the soul
unburdened, but
what of the soul of the confessor? I
was unsettled, defensive. You were
stricken, betrayed.

Love you
I did, but
love was not enough to extinguish the burning
restlessness inside me. I
always wanted more. To be
more.
To do
more. To
feel more.

I was not the woman
we both wanted me to be. You
were not the man I needed. Our love
broke--
stretched
far beyond romantic nostalgia.

042409
PCH

the highway beckons.
wind whispers, now roars and
the road ahead sings with speed. I'm giddy
with the promise of forward motion, drunk
with anticipation of mysteries around the next bend.
asphalt
calls to a deep restlessness inside of me, a siren song
luring me
onward,
outward.
and off-course.

more April09 poetry-each-days.....

2009-04-26T18:13:00.000-07:00

041809
GATHERING

visiting the family, I
sit quiet amidst
the cacophony of excited voices. The
clashing threads of conversation run
around one another
-- a rising tide
of sound rolling in and out like a wave. Sibling
rivalries seep out from under adult veneers as
I remember
childhood dinner tables--a race
to the last breadstick.

041909
IMPLOSION

hot flash
teeth gnash
I suddenly cannot breathe
every muscle clenched
clamped down to contain

you just don't think
don't consider others
don't see your impact
yet deny
this is so

and so
there is no recourse
no words to clarify
to rectify
to purify the damage

and so
there is no place for this fire
except down
inside

042009
THIS MOMENT

Every morning you
wake up breathing
you're ahead of the game.
in dreams you fly,
inhale and lean into the breath at the perfect angle
and you catch an updraft.
is this what geese await as they prepare for migration?
breathe
and in the space between in and
out--
live.
just breathe
and grasp a new beginning.

042109
SEASIDE

fog rolls in damp, cold
sits heavily on the sand
hungry gulls circle

ABOUT HAIKU
a single image
distilled
fashioned by form
a verbal elegance
a mystery
a snapshot of this moment

.... poetry snippets, snatches, and notions

2009-04-18T01:03:00.000-07:00

4-17-09
ALL I WANT IS MY VIOLET KIMONO

Wrap me in a violet silk kimono backed with
my deep blood-orange-red creativity chop coiling
‘round my spine, feeding me
steady energetic streams of light. Today
I am a warrior.

ALL I WANT IS THE BLUE HOUSE

A breath catches in my throat
when I see you are available--your blue
shingles, white trim and open windows beckon me, call
to my soul to fill you with
people
and
art
and creative energy. Be
Mine! Be real in my life, manifest
materially in my life now. I
see the paintings on your walls, feel
the candle light warmth and hear
laughter spilling from your open door on a summer night. I gaze out the attic window to the ocean on a blustery
winter's morning--
happily planning our next celebration.

4-16-09
PURPLE

purple passion
keep me sane in a black and white world
a flash of luxury amid mundane chores

jacaranda trees drop your lilac petals
trickle down and fill my heart
keep me awash in art

violet night enfold me in warm darkness
keep me cloaked in deepest velvet

As we sleepwalk through the charcoal landscape
keep one eye open on the bruised horizon

Words tumble out of my brain

2009-04-15T23:14:00.001-07:00

041409
LOVE

my love is kind, holding
me close against the darkness

my love is patient, listening
sympathetic as I rant and tear and sputter

my love is silly, teasing
me shyly as if we are on our first date

my love is brave, exploring
with me rueful and surprised at our life's aging

my love
let the last thing you hear me say to be
I love you
my smart, sweet, sexy, crazy, musical love

ANTI LOVE
a bitter taste you left --
if I see you on the street, I'll
cross to the other side. You
are my stupid ex,
Liar!
a cheater, yet
did we simply back away from the truth
stumbling blindly apart together?

041509
MEDICATIONS IN AN EMERGENCY

Quick, pour me a shot of
something strong and keep it coming again and again and
it's tequila I think that does it best, the
blotto black-out numbness. I don't want to feel
anymore
if it takes an extra-large pepperoni
pizza to stuff this rage back down into
the abyss, then so
be it.
No, maybe a fast, just drink black
coffee, grainy and bitter. Today I
wish I smoked
-- long cool menthol sticks of fire between my fingers, exhaled frigid wisps trailing in front
of my glassy eyes --
it would give me something to do with my hands
besides
biting my nails.

(Original title "Meditations in an Emergency" by Frank O'Hara)

PAD Apr09 #10-- FRIDAY

2009-04-11T00:40:00.000-07:00

Friday

It is Friday
We sit at a restaurant and think
Through the meal I wonder
How the meal is much like a life.

It begins
We enter a little unsure
Through the meal there's laughter
How the meal is much like a life

It is over
After eating we sit and digest
And remember the great food we've eaten
When its over we just have to go

Through the week we work and we play together
The week is much like a life
And it is Friday.

By Jim Rasfeld

Friday

5 o'clock and it's begun--week's end.

Time for a movie; time for a drink
Time to see your lover and time to uncover your true self.

And it's time to loosen up and play
at least for the next two days,

By Stacey Rasfeld

Memory's Past

2009-04-09T23:22:00.000-07:00

remember
your room, four o'clock:
we lay in dim afterglow
dreaming of our future life.

remember
Highland Park, summer:
we sat in grassy twilight
drinking dry white wine.

remember
jazz club, off-night:
we sang through spotlit smoke
breathing in sparkling applause.

remember
your car, after hours:
we kissed under crisp starlight
dancing close then away.

remember
Crystal Cave, weekend:
we drove by dead reckoning
holding hands underground.

I close my eyes and I'm
dizzy
with heat.

I open my eyes and I'm
in bed
clutching the cat.

Waking: A Memoir of Trauma and Transcendence

Routine

2009-04-08T22:45:00.000-07:00

Today's prompt from the Writer's Digest Poem-A-Day April Challenge got my husband into the act. Both our posts follow.

MORNING

day in, day out
the cat wakes me, looking for breakfast.
as soon as the sun is up, as soon as
she sees my eyelids twitch, she begins her refrain:
meorwr! a raspy scrape of complaint.
I give in: I
get up,
go into the bathroom,
take a pill, then
stumble into the kitchen.
she follows from room to room, impatiently
herding me toward her empty dinner plate and
stagnant water dish.
what do we want today-- the blue can or the orange?
she considers, eyes fixed, ready to pounce on my first wrong move.
I know my job: open the can, spoon out the mush, set down the plate.
fresh water.
one small caress as she licks the glass clean,
her smacking pleasure filling the room as I make tea and prepare for the day.

By Stacey

ROUTINE

routine, routine, routine,
routine, routine, routine,
routine, routine, FUN!
routine, routine, routine.

by Jim

Poem A Day #7 - Clean/Dirty poem

2009-04-07T22:53:00.000-07:00

Happy Tuesday night

-- the duality of today's poetry challenge prompt (clean/dirty) really hit home for me.

I've never been very domestic, and FINALLY have hired a maid to come in and clean. Guess what? They days she comes in, I end up doing laundry, going through paperwork, and generally doing all the chores around the house that I've been putting off. It's as if my mom is back in charge (and I mean, my MOM-from-when-I-was-12-years-old) and I've got to get my act in gear!

and so, we have:

Clean / dirty / clean

tidy up, straighten up, sweep -- just
look at this endless list!

When you get to the end, you have to go back to the beginning again.

Last night's spaghetti pots sit soaking in the sink while
the once-white stove top bears bright orange tomato rings-around-the-burner.

Stoop to scoop up piles of smelly socks into the washer; they'll be
"all-temp-a-cheer-clean" until Sunday's soccer game grounds
sweat and new grass stains back into the soft absorbent cotton.

You make your bed each morning only to toss and turn and crumple the quilts each night.

An endless loop-de-loop: you
vacuum dust bunnies and
straighten couch cushions because
company's coming, then
spend the next morning clearing empty beer bottles and
scrubbing pizza stains out of the carpet.

The joke's on us-- we disinfect by day and
invite chaos to dinner each night.

The Missing

2009-04-06T22:29:00.000-07:00

It's almost taboo to discuss, but sometimes, it feels like those who have died are simply on vacation or living in another city. It's unreal to believe that the sun still sparkles on the water, cars still clog the freeways and people still line up for a mocha latte when our loved ones can't.

Are they in a better place? At the very least, the pain and confusion is over. And we are left with the beauty shared while they were here.
.......................................................................
there are holes in every life, standing
empty like blank pages in a scrapbook

soft dreams of those who did not wake
murmur through our memories
but we only catch snatches of the conversation

ghosts move just beyond our field of vision:
we used to share every secret, every
steamy stolen night, every
sunny walk along the lakefront, every
frozen pay phone drunk dial --
now who can you call crying at midnight?

goodbyes pile up inside
baggage left unsaid and unresolved
and yet, if you wake up breathing, you win
another morning, another
beginning, another chance
for the next hello.

another April day, another April poem... why? well, why not?

2009-04-05T23:48:00.000-07:00

April Poem-A-Day Challenge #5: a landmark.

During this challenge, I'm finding myself obsessed with the topic all day and spitting out lines and images in a rush just before going to sleep at night.

From Point Vicente Lighthouse

A low moan sighs in rhythmic pulses
outward from this brown spit of land
--a warning of rocks submerged.

Waves crash and rumble
in a tumble of surf along the cove as
pelicans dive and wheel and glide above the churning water.

A stream of visitors
raise binoculars and telephoto lenses aloft
peering for a flash of silver fin or sudden spout.

be there whales passing here?
their migration route from south to north
pods
mothers
calves
stop to scoop up krill and linger in the warm current.

there be whales passing here
skimming underneath the shining surface
and we hold our breath
in awed witness to their graceful dance.

April is Poetry Month- join the Poem-A-Day Challenge!

2009-04-05T00:36:00.000-07:00

I've taken on the challenge to write a poem a day for this month, writing from daily prompts set by Robert Lee Brewer (Writer's Digest.com blogs).

Join in at: http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides/April+PAD+Challenge+2009+Rules++Blahblahblah.aspx

So far, I'm keeping up-- Wish me luck!

BTW, here's what I've come up with so far:

April 1: Origin Dance

Catch a swirling starburst mix
add heat, water and light
and somewhere / everywhere an end to night

Breathe an open sigh into clay made flesh
add a stolen rib
and duality emerges

We fumble towards self awareness
striding through the shadows with blind will
and grope for one another
flesh into flesh

We come from clay and water and air
we strive and work and sweat
from microbe to meteor, we spend our short span of days
then to the spinning stars we return

April 2: Unknowing

one
unguarded word
two torn tickets
simply killed our love
instantly, permanently, ruthlessly, with prejudice
don't look back, at your peril
even to know the whole trashy truth

April 3: the problem with sugar

sticky and luscious sweets--
I'm addicted to these:
jelly beans (orange, yellow and green),
red licorice, gum balls and pralines.
peanut butter kisses beckon and
and chocolate raisins tease

but alas
my girth grows bulge by bulge
as my sweet tooth I indulge

April 4: miso

My black & white scared-y cat
takes her time around corners.
She likes to sleep in a cavern of quilts on the bed
and will sit on my hand while I watch tv
if I rub her belly.

She used to be fat,
but now her cheeks are severe
and her little paunch sways back & forth
as she sashays across the carpet.
Every morning,
she rubs her nose against the floor register
and lays along the warm vent awaiting breakfast--
her impatient cry my persistent alarm clock.

The color of history

2008-07-31T23:54:00.000-07:00

Clio holds her scroll and tablet:
blue gray and parchment pale.
She weaves her tales of facts and fictions,
but patterns blare to no avail.
How must She weep in frustration
to see our blind assertions--
Our right, their wrong,
our certitutudes and aspersions!
Still patient, She searches for an open mind,
a willing heart,
a questing spirit,
then breathes her spark aloft.
In darkest night, to those who answer
She beckons to the Light.

....... daily steps.................

2008-03-27T13:43:00.000-07:00

So many "To-Do"s - so little time.

How many mornings do I wish I could just stay in my art room all day? Instead, I get on the treadmill, take a shower and go to work. I'm very lucky-- I have an art room, a shower, a job to go to. But the pull of paint is so strong it's almost sexual.

And yet, at night, when I do have time, do I run into my studio again and paint? No, there's "Top Chef" and "Medium" and "That 70's Show"......... oh my!

And so, I get up one more weekday morning and go to my paintbox. I take a small set of w/c pencils and notebook with me everywhere. I make little postcards to send to friends long overdue a phone call or email. I leave my w/c paints and my journal open and ready on my desk.

And then I take a little step. And then another and another.

Maybe that's the "secret" of living a creative life, of being a working artist: take the action you can NOW, and then take the next and the next and the next. Be the "Nike" commercial--- just do it.

Crime Drama?

2007-09-10T13:48:00.000-07:00

Last week, someone pushed through my friend's back door doggie door and burglarized her home. The thieves took a few easily portable "moneymakers": laptop, jewelery. They also left the double gate open, allowing her little dog to get out.
Luckily, the dog had been implanted with a microchip, and the chip company alerted my friend.
Luckily, the thieves didn't vandalize the house.
But what a violation! Did someone case out the house, create a disguise or diversion? It's scary to go back into your house, the place that's supposed to be a safe haven, and realize a stranger can waltz in at will.
What rationalization makes it seem OK to break into another's house and take stuff (...money for drugs or The "I-can't-help-myself" defense? Boredom (the "it's just for kicks-we're not hurting anyone" justification)? Making bones for gang initiation (striking out against the "oppressors")?
What mind set does one have to have to wake up in the morning and plan to rob someone's (or many someones') home?
I understand being worried about money. I was raised in a single-mother household; we had our share of 5-day eviction notices and moving around. Our idea of shopping for fall school clothes was a trip to the Goodwill.
But my mom always worked hard.
I don't understand the mindset of breaking into someone's house for a laptop!

The Dynamics of Friendship?

2007-09-06T10:38:00.000-07:00

My cell phone rings—it’s Maggie. I hesitate, and then hit, “Ignore.”

I feel nasty, but I just don’t want to deal with a lecture on my allergies or diet right now. What makes some people so certain in their knowledge and beliefs? Why does every conversation have to be a sermon or lecture?

Me? I’ve seen shades of gray all my life. Annoyed as I get with my friend, I often listen, not getting a word in edgewise, because I know her heart’s in the right place. I know she loves me, cares for me, and wants me to be the best me I can be. But, Oy!

The reality is, I am overweight. I don’t exercise often enough and I could certainly make better food choices. Sometimes though, I just don’t care.

I’m not a vegetarian, raw foodie, vegan. I love eating in restaurants. I don’t care if dairy and cheese are “bad” for me; I love the variety of tastes and textures available. The ability to pay for my meal, any cuisine I care to try, on a whim, is one luxury I revel in.

In fact, I’m sitting in my favorite family-owned Italian joint as I write these words. I feel cradled inside a deep red, faux-leather booth. But today, instead of my usual salad and pizza, I’ve tried the Stracciatella soup & salad,

Yummy! The stracciatella is a fragrant, steaming bowl of chicken broth, swimming with egg and spinach, and it looks like Italian Egg Drop Soup. It’s deliciously light and creamy. I think I have a new favorite dish. (And this from the Pasta Queen!)

Maybe I can make good food choices on my own. And maybe, someday, I’ll trust my own choices. Maybe some day, I’ll be assertive enough, confident enough, and honest enough to let Maggie know that I can make my own choices.

Does everything boil down to trust?

Can I trust my friendship with Maggie enough to disagree with her? Enough to tell her, lovingly, diplomatically, firmly to SHUSH? Is there room for graceful disagreement in our friendship? My greatest fear, the fear that keeps me quiet, is that the answer is no.

Confrontation and disagreement have never been my strong suit, not from my earliest interactions with Mom. And that maternal dynamic haunts my relationships with my (several) strong-willed, opinionated, big-hearted, domineering women friends.

I am so used to swallowing my disagreement and avoiding conflict that I’m not even certain of what I think some (most?) days. My mind becomes a blank. I feel as though I’ve been caught violating curfew or shoplifting.

Where do my friends find the courage to voice their opinions so strongly? Or doth they protest too much? Does the volume and strength of their rhetoric hide the play of their own childhood dynamics? Were they never heard, never listened to, never acknowledged? Did they have to be perfect, were they pressured to know the right answer to every question? Were they devalued and dismissed so often they rose up in fierce revolt?

In my mother’s case, I KNOW she was berated, subtly and overtly. I know that as a girl/woman in a deeply ethnic and misogynist Polish family in the 1950’s, my street-smart, passionate mother never had a chance to be anything but the black sheep in that flock.

An old saying goes that a woman marries her father. Maybe I have simply made friends with my mother over and over again.

Maybe someday, I’ll find the self-confidence to tell them all to (lovingly, diplomatically, firmly) just, “SHUSH.”

weak end

2006-10-27T17:31:00.000-07:00

Friday sundown seduction, a treasure box of possibility: this night can be anything.

two days whisper promises of adventure, passion, luck and wonder

lazy mornings pass into tv movie afternoon pizzas and red wine

laundry, shopping, homework pile up in the corner snickering wickedly

just one more episode of "Top Chef"!

exhausted burning eyelids slam shut

bleep!

monday explodes with a growl