Posts Tagged ‘Flight’

ICY MORNING

January 12, 2014

Inner Harbor Transformed 046 (1024x768) (2)

Last week’s visit from the ice queen

hovers like a dream.

Here on the Mississippi Gulf,

we rarely get such drops in temperature.

(Today the early chill is softened by a generous sun.)

So to be greeted in the morning two days running

by the frigid beauty of her majesty’s passing

is like a miracle

that later one may doubt.

Pier Posts on An Icy Morning 024 (1024x768) (2)

Even photographs –

evidential as they are

of my brave venture with my camera

and my frozen fingers –

are dream-like in the after-viewing.

It has taken several days for me to truly see

the images as my reflected feelings;

to bring them forward and to claim them

as my personal response to ice,

to sun and shadow on ice,

and to exquisite cold.

Ice with Tree Shadow 022 (1024x768) (2)

Numb as they were,

my fingers must have been

completely sensitive to what I felt.

Extremes are evident:

the urge to fully engage,

the urge to flee from the intensity…

seek comfort in the heated confines

of a human dwelling.

I chose to stay and shiver

in the fleeting ecstasy of my belonging.

Icy Reflection 053 (758x1024) (2)

To gaze in awkward amazement

into winter’s challenging eye

until she let me go.

Ice Magic 030 (1024x767) (2)Branch Held by Ice 025 (1024x741) (2)I saw her magical design

within her abstract patterns.

I saw and felt the power

of her grip,

admiring broken shards

that still held fast.

I knew the beauty

of her harsh effect

upon the natural world.

Huddled Against The Cold 056 (1024x767) (3)

I wondered further into Inner Harbor,

to find a flock of pelicans in huddled stillness…

below the bridge.

By then I could not feel my hands,

yet when they chose to fly

from my encroachment,

I swung my body,

raised my camera,

caught their ascent above the ice.

Workshop windows, Clouds, and Ice on Inner Harbor 064 (1024x906)

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Words On The Wing

May 16, 2011

The title of this post is the title of a series of poems written a couple of years ago as I was recovering from surgery, but I find that it applies very well to where I find myself right now. I am preparing for my part in a program at The Ogden Museum in New Orleans to take place one week from today on May 22. The program is in conjunction with an exhibit featuring Walter Anderson’s art and my part is called A Legacy of Wings. I shall perform several of the poems, all of which have been inspired by birds and/or flight. One of the poems begins “I have always been drawn to things that fly.” This is not too surprising a statement for a woman who has danced her way through life, nor for the daughter of an artist whose favorite subject matter for painting was birds. But writing these poems – seeing them as a means of letting my words take flight – was extraordinarily liberating. I have integrated these poems into other performances: reciting and dancing my way to completion, but this time the words may fly farther. Emboldened by recent voice lessons, I intend to sing the poems.

This drawing illustrates one of the poems that I hope to sing. It was inspired by the collision of an Indigo Bunting with one of the highly reflective windows of my house. It is emotionally and vocally challenging but is probably the deepest and most meaningful to me.

Narcissus And The Angel

Stunned to stillness

yet my heart still beats a delicate tom-tom in my breast,

breath and blood still do their lively dance.

How could it be that I lay still as death

indigo blue of feathers staining spring-green grasses?

Wings are limp

yet I fly toward myself.

Repeatedly the bird I fly to meet

flies toward me blinding me with beauty.

One moment rapt with gladness flying fast.

Now I lay motionless

still seeing and responding to enticement.

The merriment of my own species carries on

as I lie here suspended in my folly.

Now something moves

approaching heavily yet carefully.

Earth shifts beneath my body.

Merry singing has gone silent.

A colossal presence.

Voice speaking softly.

I do not recognize the sounds;

the tone bespeaks the language of the heart.

So when I sense my smallness cradled

close to a rhythmic beat so like my own

I feel the promise of persistent life

and I am trusting.

It is a soothing transport through familiar air

a setting down upon a surface that is tree

yet not quite tree.

Once more alone

not quite alone

I am calm and safely basking

in the warmth of sun.

Never have I felt more patient

never more surprised

to feel a stirring greater than

the stir of feathers in a breeze.

Then sudden rush of life’s return!

Then swift ascent above the trees!

And flying with me is the one I flew to meet.