Portland by night

There is nothing quite so lovely as a town of walkers. Into the evening the intimate parts of NW Portland becomes lit up and businesses stay open until 9pm or later. The city market is a favorite of mine.

Creatively inspired

Creative inspiration?

It must be divine
because
I cannot explain
where it comes
from…

Inspiration,
the view
outside my window

I observe color harmonies,
textures, silhouettes,
and patterns of clouds.

Almost every evening
a new gallery opening appears
in the sky.

In these moments
I marvel at
this beautiful planet
and think how lucky I am
to see as I do.

Sometimes I take pictures
but mostly I try
to absorb the feeling
and memorize details.

I wonder how much
enters into my work,
but mostly
it is not planned.

Art supplies
and tools
inspire me.

I wander the art supply store
noticing everything.

I linger over industrial tools
to see what possible marks
they can make.

In solitude
I lose myself
in my task
to find
joy

Moving Day

Yep, moving day…

Fire

I am searching
for
a fire in my heart

I know it’s there
But
I can’t see it

A smoldering heat
to
stir it up

I want to burn
with
creative desire

An illumination of the spirit

Fire

I am searching for a fire in my heart. I know it’s there. But I can’t see it. It is like a smoldering heat. But I want to stir it up. I want to pulse with a burning desire. A fire of the spirit.

Spiritual clutter

Can I donate my spiritual clutter
and get a tax break?
Is there a shelf at the Goodwill
for discarded ideas?
Is there a velvet display case
with a key?

Can I give it away to the sky
on a windy day?
Can I bury it in the garden
under the tomatoes?
Will next year’s crop be blood red,
the color of my distress?

Can I change by simply
willing it?
Can the universe make room
for a new me?
But how can I
let go…

Poolside reflections

A home movie clicks
Color and silence

My mom holds me up
as I kick around

Dark braids pinned
to the top of my head

Dad films
Laughter and splashing

I see a sunny day
But only on the wall

I can’t remember this

The faded film
remembers for me

-Luna

For Darryl

May your journey to the field of rushes, the stars and beyond
be an awakening of great joy!

May the Goddess take your gentle hand and lead to the weighing of the heart
where it is found light as a feather

Hear my prayer O rider of the eternal night
Dear one of the sweet lady Heather.

May universal energy embrace you, caress your tears and show you
a new beginning.

A love story

When the solar winds cease to blow
I will be there
For you

When the rings of Saturn absorb into itself
My love will transcend time and space
For you

As the universe expands
So does my love
For you

When no one remembers our name
The angels in the hall of records
Will yearn for our love

When we are nothing but star stuff
My essence will know you
And love you all over again

A Myth of Devotion

by Louise Gluck

When Hades decided he loved this girl
he built for her a duplicate of earth,
everything the same, down to the meadow,
but with a bed added.

Everything the same, including sunlight,
because it would be hard on a young girl
to go so quickly from bright light to utter darkness

Gradually, he thought, he’d introduce the night,
first as the shadows of fluttering leaves.
Then moon, then stars. Then no moon, no stars.
Let Persephone get used to it slowly.
In the end, he thought, she’d find it comforting.

A replica of earth
except there was love here.
Doesn’t everyone want love?

He waited many years,
building a world, watching
Persephone in the meadow.
Persephone, a smeller, a taster.
If you have one appetite, he thought,
you have them all.

Doesn’t everyone want to feel in the night
the beloved body, compass, polestar,
to hear the quiet breathing that says
I am alive, that means also
you are alive, because you hear me,
you are here with me. And when one turns,
the other turns–

That’s what he felt, the lord of darkness,
looking at the world he had
constructed for Persephone. It never crossed his mind
that there’d be no more smelling here,
certainly no more eating.

Guilt? Terror? The fear of love?
These things he couldn’t imagine;
no lover ever imagines them.

He dreams, he wonders what to call this place.
First he thinks: The New Hell. Then: The Garden.
In the end, he decides to name it
Persephone’s Girlhood.

A soft light rising above the level meadow,
behind the bed. He takes her in his arms.
He wants to say I love you, nothing can hurt you

but he thinks
this is a lie, so he says in the end
you’re dead, nothing can hurt you
which seems to him
a more promising beginning, more true.