Archive for the My Poetry/prose Category

Monday Morning Musings…

Posted in My Poetry/prose on June 15, 2009 by boychick1

woman-back

I want to live

right

there, right there.

Where the moonlight
comes in

to

kiss

your back. Yes right there.

-j.smith (and yes it’s a rerun but it was a long weekend and I am quite tired…more later on)

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I Wear You On My Soul

Posted in My Art, My Poetry/prose with tags , on May 29, 2009 by boychick1

I’m teaching myself to paint and to paint with encaustics.  Encaustic painting is essentially painting with wax – the medium is a combination of purified beeswax and damar resin.  I am experimenting with a mixed media of oil paint, pigment sticks, oil pastels and graphite.  This is a work in progress titled “I Wear You On My Soul” – going to begin to combine some of my poetry/prose in the paintings & drawings.  And planning to begin to incorporate photography too.

So here are some of the steps as I’m working.  This is the underpainting done with oil paints, then I have added the text with graphite.

DSCN0228_2

Beginning to add layers of clear medium and colored wax.  I color my own wax by mixing oil paint into the encaustic medium.

DSCN0230_2

Continuing to add depth to the surface by carving into it, rubbing pigment sticks into the carved areas, rubbing it off, more pigments …I love the process of addition and subtraction.  That destruction creates something new, different, better – it mimics for me the way we all tumble and stumble through life in a constant state of transformation.

DSCN0234

And this is the prose/poem that is underneath all that stuff going on in the addtional layers on top.

I Wear You On My Soul,   j. smith

I believe in me. In love. Risk. Puppy Kisses. A sky full of stars. Words. Poetry. That not even the rain has such small hands. Music. Music. Music. Saying I love you, often. The arch of neck thrown back. Oh yes. Oh yes. Books – their power to transport you, to transform you. Words. Being authentic and then changing everything you believe in. Fear and going there first. Falling apart, breaking open and not bothering to put oneself back together again. Wide open you are bigger and better than before. Being fragile. Being strong. Second chances. And then third, fourth, fifth. I believe in imperfections. That questions are more important than answers. That happiness is something you are – not a set of things that happen to you. In the laughter of birds. The chirping of children. Flowers. Roses. The scent of roses and their thorny branches heavy with hips in the fall. My lips as they traveled down your back, an audible gasp as I reached a hip. Rollover. Burying your face in the fur of a great dog’s back. Home. Family. Friends. Love. Always love. Ideas. Expression. Living out loud. Laughing. Crying and finding yet one more tear to shed. An endless well. Your eyes an endless well. The sun on my face. The wind in my hair. Flowers. The bold spring flowers that are the first ones to push their faces up to the sky. Life. Walks on the beach. Passion. Impulsiveness. In growing down. Art. Gratitude. Kindness. I believe in you, I wear you on my soul.

Hands Grasping The Wind

Posted in My Poetry/prose with tags on May 12, 2009 by boychick1

830Our hands hold
beauty one moment,
such an exquisite sense
of loss the next.

Grasping
the wind on our fingers.

Life
too excruciating,
too lovely,
not to endure.

We
lean into the wind
arms outstretched,
with the hope
to feel
it all again,
slip over our fingers.

All
over again
slip.

Sculpture by Sassona Norton

My heart beat – up, UP

Posted in My Poetry/prose with tags on April 7, 2009 by boychick1

andrea_caughtinbetween

My Heart Beat up, UP

I thought
your smile
would carry me   l  o n  g  er
than it did.

Still,
I will always
remember,
the weight
of your head on my chest.

My heart
beat
up, UP
for you.

Were you listening
to how it struggled in love.

 

Give it up – what do you think?  Share where you write in your comments and we’ll do some linky love with the blog roll.

I Wear You On My Soul.

Posted in My Poetry/prose on March 25, 2009 by boychick1


I wear a Dillon Rogers bracelet – it reads “Believe”. So I am thinking about what I believe in this morning.

I believe in me. In love. Risk. Puppy Kisses. A sky full of stars. Words. Poetry. That not even the rain has such small hands. Music. Music. Music. Saying I love you, often. The arch of neck thrown back. Oh yes. Oh yes. Books – their power to transport you, to transform you. Words. Being authentic and then changing everything you believe in. Fear and going there first. Falling apart, breaking open and not bothering to put oneself back together again. Wide open you are bigger and better than before. Being fragile. Being strong. Second chances. And then third, fourth, fifth. I believe in imperfections. That questions are more important than answers. That happiness is something you are – not a set of things that happen to you. In the laughter of birds. The chirping of children. Flowers. Roses. The scent of roses and their thorny branches heavy with hips in the fall. My lips as they traveled down your back, an audible gasp as I reached a hip. Rollover. Burying your face in the fur of a great dog’s back. Home. Family. Friends. Love. Always love. Ideas. Expression. Living out loud. Laughing. Crying and finding yet one more tear to shed. An endless well. Your eyes an endless well. The sun on my face. The wind in my hair. Flowers. The bold spring flowers that are the first ones to push their faces up to the sky. Life. Walks on the beach. Passion. Impulsiveness. In growing down. Art. Gratitude. Kindness. I believe in you, I wear you on my soul.

There Was No Apple In The Garden…

Posted in My Poetry/prose on March 24, 2009 by boychick1

There was no apple in the garden – it was a peach.

Fuzzy, soft, and still warm from the sun. And you held it in your hand and as you turned it over, the flesh seemed to yield. That beautiful rosy skin that was blushing like a young girl. The fragrance was of long, easy, summer days. As you took that first bite, you were surprised at the strength, the skin that yielded but did not break. Yet you had to bite down, you had to know and as you pierced inside, you stopped. Startled at the rush, the delicious juice, that was only beginning to run down your chin.

And you knew you would not turn back, you had to plunge forward, forward …into the peaches, peaches, fragrant, heat of summer.

There was no apple in the garden. A peach is passion, a peach is love-
delicious, exotic, sweet, juicy. Like love there is no graceful way to negotiate the terrain – it will be delicious, passionate, an aromatic, awkward, sticky, mess. And the juice will touch you and leave you forever stained.

Write A Story

Posted in My Poetry/prose on March 24, 2009 by boychick1


Write a story on my back she said –

and with finger
and mouth

you travel
such delicate terrain
looking
for a way

inside.