I thought my garden would be growing full
but I’m just gathering soil.
— gathering soil —
I scrape it from my wandering boots,
gather the dust from the streets,
sieve the filth from the air
— gather it together —
Then breath my dreams into it,
lightly whisper my spells upon it,
cleanse it worthy of my garden.
— and —
Here it is my life one third gone,
but I’m still gathering soil.
— gathering soil —
For the garden I thought
would be strongly growing,
brilliantly flowering by now.
— … 2011 —
At twice twenty five with one third ahead,
the wandering remains,
even as my garden bears fruit,
— still gathering soil, gathering soil —
With Tina James for Bart James, Louisville
Monthly Archives: September 2011
FEAR
The trees, the trees,
oh so very tall.
But lightning could strike,
and then they’d fall.
Our house, our house?
just cut down them all!
On Art and Communication
Driven by a need to link with the present or future, with communication constrained only by subjective rules, an artist listens to their id, their ego, and creates any number of tapestries which express being, and by desire influence other antennae.