Posts Tagged ‘poem’

Reflections: image+ word – Arts Council of Kern’s new exhibit opens tomorrow


Tomorrow Reflections: image + word opens at the Younger Gallery, sponsored by the Arts Council of Kern.  I have seven photos and two poems in the show and I can’t wait to see it hung!  I love the concept.  So for today’s Art Every Day Month post, I’m giving a little preview of the show with a photo of mine and poem by Nick Belardes.

Journey of the Brown Beetle  by Nick Belardes

Flip it over!

No! That’s mean.

Ay! Cabron!

Let’s just watch it crawl, dimwit.

To the highway?

Even across the highway.

To the barrio?

No way! Not the Barrio. Johnny One Eye will eat it.

Where then? To the desert?

Of course to the desert.

Past the dog bones?

Through the rattlesnake graveyard.

That’s a scary place. Indian spirits.

And up Miner’s Hill.

Into the valley?

And all those shrubs in Jesus Valley.

Where the old saints live?

Where they suck the cactus.

And that old hermit who drinks Coors like grandma?

And wears the same makeup.

Wow! He’s strange.

Most of the Saints are.

It will never make it.

It will die when it gets there.

Then can we flip it over?

No. Let it dry up where it stops.

But the shell will break.

No it won’t. It will last forever.

A brown shell in the desert?




#CED2010: Cabin in Winter: Almost Snowed Out


Cabin in winter cocooned in snow,

Visiting brings it to life.

Inside heat melts outside snow

Creating new creaks and sounds.

Would’ve been scared as a kid.

Settling in, finding a rhythm

To being alone in the woods.

Wandering mind loses focus,

Don’t care, not concerned.

After all, it’s only me.

Cocooning in snow, waking the cabin

With books, canvas and paints.

Crashing through silence, ideas tumble.

Thoughts focus in images and words.

Sleepiness scares them away.

Alone in the woods, finding a rhythm

To thinking and writing with paint.

Everything quiets, urgency flees

To return on another’s day.

Today, it’s only me.

I love being at the cabin alone.  But I almost didn’t make it.  We knew there had been four feet of snow last week (we’re at elevation 6,200 ft.) but the guy in charge of our “snow plow collective” said the road had been plowed a few days ago.  Maybe he was dreaming.  Anyway, my husband drove me up because I knew we’d need the chains and I don’t seem to be able to get them on.  So we got most of the way, and here was the “plowed” road.

Time for chains.

We still couldn’t get up – first the snow tires failed us, next the chains.  We could just leave the car there and carry everything to the cabin – SO MUCH because I take all my art stuff!  And food.  But we did it.  I did the first trip only.

There was the stair rail, but where were the stairs?  Under four feet of soft snow.  We became trail breakers, sinking in past my knees with each step.  At one point I fell down and sunk so far into snow that I figured I’d just stay there until snowmelt.  But no, finally I maneuvered myself flat on my stomach and figured out a way up.  Camera hanging from my neck the whole time.

So that’s why I did the first trip only.  By now, I was willing to call my husband my sainted husband.

Without the stabilicers I wouldn’t have made it at all.  These are ice shoes with crampon things on the bottom and they strap over your shoes with velcro.  I won’t set foot in the snow and ice without them.

Even if the road had been somewhat plowed, our lower driveway sure hadn’t.  We have four foot high flexible things with reflectors on the top, mainly so I can stay on the driveway as I back down and not go off the edge.  Can you spot one?

We made it.  Mark left to go back to Bakersfield and he’ll get me on Saturday.  I won’t be setting foot outside the cabin except to the balcony – maybe.  But everything worked.  Internet is spotty but working.  Water works.  Hot water works.  And furnace works, even if it did take several hours to get from 39 degrees inside to 68.

It was pretty darn cold so I sat snuggled in a blanket and caught up on my newspaper reading, finally getting enough energy to make dinner.  As far as I can tell, I’m the only one up here.  That’s what prompted Cabin in Snow, the poem I started with.  I was almost snowed out.