Sunday, June 30, 2013

And Here I Am Again



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Tiny feather from the head of a Whooping Crane. (Grus americana). Part of the captive flock at Patuxent Wildlife Research Center.





The intellectual measures
   with precision
the arc between meter and rhythm
   between metaphor and imagery.

Each word slotted carefully before grouting.
Each word tossed into a spinning wheeled thesaurus
    to extricate its precise meaning.
Each word marked by relative rarity amongst it brethren,
a jury/a peerage of one,
cleaving to itself in mighty accord.

Scalpel-like, it clears away
   detritus by filleting the core from the extraneous,
a blastocyst
ravaging art
for the sake of the mental equivalent
     of a headboard knot dance,

It is now alone.


copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2013

Posted for Poets United

Tuesday, June 25, 2013

Singing Between the Beats



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Soulality|Naomi Johnson]









In indolence
   of time’s
      dance
upon the face
   of my clock,

its movement
   precise.
Its breath extended,

   to hold open
the moment
   Between
       Beats,

when the air vibrates
  without
      the push of purpose
and where the music

   fills its potential
      without the tension of precision

(a slowing
   through opening)

(my body,
   the instrument;
sound and air,
   its vehicles).


copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2013

Posted for dVerse


I wrote this in an attempt to describe the feeling of both purpose and letting go as I sing in between the beats--between the notes---singing is what I do most of the time--It is a career and a passion--and yet I struggle to find words to describe it

Friday, June 21, 2013

The Pull of Summer






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Mary Cassatt
Summertime
in the public domain in the United States




She had felt the pull for weeks
Every morning on rising,
The sky called her name
Uttering syllables on its blue currents.

Each afternoon,
The light flaked off
Steamed concrete
A miasma beheld.

Each evening,
When her porch
Held the blue light of dusk
Just a little longer.

She gave into it unexpectedly on a Tuesday afternoon.
Schedule cleared for the day,
A lemonade in hand,
She napped a bit.
And while dozing,
A bee landed on the rim of her glass.
And that was all that was needed
To tip her over
Into summer.


copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2013

Posted for Poets United Pantry

Monday, June 10, 2013

When My Muse is MIA





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: Målning av den tjeckiska konstnären Toyen, år 1963. Inspirerad av Berninis skulptur föreställande Apollo och Dafne
Lena Kronberg






She teases
Dancing sylph-like
Out at the periphery of gossamer walls
And weeping curtains
Painting in deep blues and luminous purples
Colors intent on activating
Her third eye

I see her

A curl falls upon the soft curve of her ear
As she tilts her head just so
In the hope of catching my eye

I see her

In the wind I hear her soft humming
A tune I fail to recognize
But I suspect it is one
She thinks will lure me
Into her world of gossamer thread
waiting to be pulled

I see her

She pauses for a moment
Lifting her fingers
Moistened with honeyed water
And marks a trail for me
Across the reeded floor
Spots of colored water
Marking a benediction of sorts

And in this amber half-light
I find the way to her
To be not unlike a labyrinthian maze
Designed to obscure

I sit alone with crimson tears
Lining my page with tattered words
Once again.

copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2013

linked to dVerse Poets OLN

Friday, June 7, 2013

How Writing Has Been Lately


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Malene Thyssen
 The wake after the ferry to Fanø, Denmark




Time to write
5 pm rolls around
Pencil poised
Something nudges
And words start
Words, pictures—a lack of translation
Disjunct
Lack of grounding
Free fall
Stuff starts
Stuff
Words
Unrelated, unreal
Tangential

Stuff, words, partial words
Crap, cross out
Begin again

Poised
Nudge
Go with the stuff
words drift onto page
stuff—stuff
crap and more crap
so much crap
I can’t believe it
a moment
relapse

poised
go
oh catch a wave and go
there in the curl
a bit of glimmer
some poetry maybe
who knows
ride it out
it feels right
go before it can dissolve
crash
waves end you know
peak and crash
I hate the crash

Back to crap I see
Notebooks full of it
Crash
Crap
So much alike at the end


copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2013

Monday, June 3, 2013

A Flower's Gift




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Psyche Opening The Door into Cupid's Garden
John William Waterhouse 1904
In the public domain in the United States



Whither marks the passing of this day?
Its limned edges folding in upon themselves,
A golden harness of thought’s lightest dreams
Sylph-like in their curtained dances
Bloom along the day’s lined pathways.

Each flower,
A chance
Again to seamlessly draw in
The motion of god’s breath
Beneath feet clad only
In the sandals of hope.


copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2013


Hello all and Happy Tuesday. It is time for dVerse