Day In Corn Field

CORNFIELD

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between the cobs
secrets held tightly
rows upon rows
little bodies in cocoons
no pink or yellow bows

my world is a cornfield
of endless paths

one – you chose
two – you walk
three – you discover
four – you question
five – you doubt
six – you look back
seven – you rethink
eight – you adjust
nine – you fail
ten – you contemplate
eleven – you decline
twelve – your at the end
my world is like a corn field

the sky is full of the ancients
you might have seen their faces in the sky
as they were drifting by
maybe you have heard one calling
could it have been a crow’s cry

life is full of questions
never do I feel satisfied
when one path I decide to walk
the other passes by

I stand and watch the moments
that mimics me to a fault
then sit in my square of stalks laid bare
where secrets are kept in a vault

still I hear the whispers
chasing me around
sometimes they make me giggle
but often they make me frown

the sun feels warm
and makes me feel secure
secrets of the cornfield
I must forever endure

dark sky draws near
blue figure begins to appear
sound of cracking on cascading stalks
not a whisper heard as they walk
they frighten me for idle fun
I hear the footprints, I don’t run
frozen to the ground, I can hear them come

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like shadows they move through each other
flying like a butterfly
still, sit and wonder
why cornfield children don’t cry

they sleep alone
perched onto the stalk which is their home
leaves layered all around
golden hair falling down

I call to whispering shadow
to stand in front of me
for I would like to dance a waltz
and have a cup of tea

shadows in the field
was that you calling me?
or was it just the crows 
flying up into the tree

I will walk upon your row of rows
till the north wind blows
forever to sleep upon your chest
hold you till eternal rest

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This day I sat, all day in the middle clearing of a cornfield. After some time creating photo poems I began to write. I wanted to see how sitting and experiencing the solitude would change my writing. Observing my reactions to the solitude. With the sun and clouds moving overhead, it was the wind that held me most. The wind whispering in the rows deep. Then like flying birds, it would rise and join the sky.
I was surprised that I became frightened as the wind would jump about for my mind interrupted it as ‘ghosts gathering’. owwwwuuuu
Till in the end, I sort of accepted where I was. As the sun came down my friends called over the tops of the corn tassels. Coffee was brewed!
I was quite content to leave the field and all its whispers.
All and all I think it was a good experiment and one that I will do again, in a different isolated place.
There is also a mini video on YouTube, though I was not able to add a link.

 

 

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Sitting
elbows weighing heavily on the wooden table
chin
bearing down in the palms of my hands
breathing
irregular
chest
held captive by
words, thoughts, images, sounds

Where
are the waves crashing against the ancient rock
the ocean, filled with memories of time
where
is the cello that moans with the wind
quenching my parched heart

I fill my ears with notes of Glass
the tapping of ivory keys
vibrate through my skin

my skin
my skin
that has been holding a million tears
holding, like some golden treasure
an illusion that I have created
a place that I run to when the world feels foreign

Glass fingers keep tapping
causing my heart to swell, expand, expose itself
music eclipses sorrow
holding and slowing time
I pause 
allowing my breath to penetrate
my heart to go quiet
allowing myself to feel the rhythm

One note
a continuance of notes
all are the blood that nourishes
my mind and heart
it can be heard everywhere
it can also be seen
as it touches  a leaf on a tree
or skips along the water’s surface
music
the motivation of life

september 12 2017

 

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One Year Of Blog

Today I finished editing my poems from Dear Diary. It is the first edit and I removed 30 pages. Re-reading over 90 pages has been exhausting. Nearly every poem brought me back to its origin of thought. Re-living those days effects you I just don’t quite know how it will end. 

As the weeks come and go I find myself further and further away from the open wounds. I also find myself in the middle of a tall forest and wondering what to do next. Since Newfoundland I have wanted to sleep, more then usual 🙂 which is a lot.  Nothing left to say on this one year day.

Haven’t Made Any Sense Yet

Being by the great ocean seems to be what I needed. I did come with so many intensions, so many things that I was going to do. To do.. To Do ..To Do… Do Do Do
[quote from Across the Universe Movie]
I was so mentally prepared……..Or so I thought.
I had scheduled a couple of days to orient myself…………Clearly not enough.
I filled a suitcase with paints, canvas, markers………….What I really could use are pastels.
I planned on borrowing a bike no less…………….What was I thinking?  Who was I attempting to impress? Myself?
Possibly. It did not happen. 
I have walked and taken more pictures then even I could have imagined. I am picking things up and bringing them home. I have started one painting but clearly it will not get finished. I have gessoed three canvases and have drawn on one. I seem to be able to spend an amazing amount of time looking. I can sit or stand by the ocean and watch every new wave come in. Noticing how everyone is different. There are days when the count of four will bring the biggest wave then it starts again.

Other days its five or six. 

What I have found is that the ocean seems to be breathing. Some breaths are long and deep others short and sharp.
Have I come here to breath? Have I forgotten how to breath? This word has become my most thought about word and most written since I’ve come here. Today I was wondering if I was over stimulated. Too much of a good thing? Could result in doing nothing. So I found refuge, back to my camera.
Photographing things I have picked up in the X-ray method. There is balance, calm, integrity, art in doing this. For me anyway.
I have come to think out here that my ‘self’ my inner being or self has gotten diminished. Not completely for sure and many will think what is she saying she seems to have quite the extrovert personality. You are right on those counts but it’s something different that I am trying to find here.
Purpose? Focus? Goal? Project? Show? New Series? Two years!!!!!! God I can’t believe it’s been that long!
Is this the general path of Widowhood? I see so many that can get going. They seem fine.
So for your viewing pleasure I will include some of my experiments. I’ve talked long enough. Cheers!