WomanWyrds

It's hard to know...

sometimes, when you've been published. I was googling (is that a verb?) and came across a reference to my inclusion in the Cranberry Tree Press anthology. News to me, but glad to hear it.

We've been away: here are my husband and I sitting in front of the fountain at Trafalgar Square, London, before going into the National Art Gallery there. Bernie commented that our National Gallery is better. For the collection, I agree: we have more contemporary art, sculpture, and First Nations stuff...but I must admit I sat in front of the Monet display in London for a long time, enjoying my favourite impressionist. There, I penned some short reflections, not worth submitting to publishers (although I am always surprised at what publishers like and don't like...so I just keep sending out poems and getting surprises, sometimes good ones). Anyway, this would be the best place to share my thoughts-in-front-of-Monet, I guess.

in front of Monets

light falls on lilies in water.

the flowers, the artist long dead,
the bridge an arc above
light falling on lilies in water

long left behind.

does Monet still paint?

do lilies bloom again?



Iris sea of aqua light
Air is water
The breath of mauve
This happy turn to green

The bottom white corner
White canvas
Place of departure, or arrival.
Which way does the brush stroke?

Hidden in the depths
A little black paint
Can never be as visible
Or green, as blue as this:
still, there, it endures
and draws the dark eye of light.

This is how to paint
Willows: near an arced bridge
Under light, over water.

Any other dome
In any other water place
Could not be Venice

the hard muscle of remorse
melts to a bluegreen sea
in sight of watery paintings
so wet i can't feel weary
but fill my gaze upon
these salty memories
made fresh in meditations.

the soft light of sky
the gleam and glimmer
something worth feeling
below, in the drowning
swim of air, still light.

posted by Heather Cardin @ 10:31 AM