I was accepted as the ‘Artist of the Quarter’ at The Journal – an online literary magazine. I had applied as both a poet and an artist and was accepted in some sense, for both, because of the poetry in my painting. Here’s the link to the issue that contains my interview, though it is accessible from the front page also.
I haven’t posted any sonnets for a while. I also write non-sonnets! Here’s a fun one to make a Monday morning a bit lighter.
I’d rather be with someone.
I’d rather be with someone who’s a laugh a minute than a dollar a second.
I’d rather be with someone who’s good in bed than god at the bank.
I’d rather be with someone who’d prefer to watch the sun go down than the dollar rise.
I’d rather be with someone who tries to make me happy than who’d try to buy me happiness.
I’d rather be with someone who’s a good kisser than a good spender.
I’d rather be with someone who’d prefer to keep me warm at night than buy me a mansion in the sun.
I’d rather be with someone who’ll dance with me than bring me diamonds.
I’d rather be with someone who’s good company than who’d buy me a company.
I’d rather be with someone who’s got a good heart than a good portfolio.
I’d rather be with someone who’s my honey pie than my sugar daddy.
I’d rather be with someone who’s an equal than an equals.
I’d rather be with someone who’s well read than wealthy.
I’d rather be with someone who’s likable than loaded.
I’d rather be with someone who’s intelligent than in clover.
I’d rather be with someone who’ll say I need a face-lift because he wants to make me smile.
I’d rather be with someone who’ll take me to the ball game than buy the team.
I’d rather be with someone who’ll rent us a row boat than buy a yacht.
I’d rather be with someone who’s still values our relationship when we’re broke.
I’d rather be with someone who’s real than rich.
I don’t want to be with someone who’s valued in millions, I want to be with someone who’s priceless.
This is the second time I’ve had the pleasure of showing work at the Yucca Valley Presbyterian Church. My mixed media paintings will be in the small meeting room and in the sanctuary during all of September.
Kim Clements is the curator, and Nancy Miehle of the Chaparral Artist was there and helped me set up the show. While I was there I smelled gas coming from the stove in the kitchen. The handyman was summoned and we could feel and hear that the oven was on a little, so he shut the gas off at the mains because we couldn’t move the huge stove to look for the leak. Hopefully I’ve staved off a disaster.
I’ll often do two commissions so the client can choose which might work.
This is the first time that both did – and the client had the space for both.
It ended up being a great little grouping in this Sunnyvale home. The two top ones are the new additions to the collection. Both have poetry in them too!
I realized that I had not posted this sonnet, despite the fact that it was inspired by the experience of a fellow blogger. Rhi had gone for a very important interview and had asked for some accommodations to help with the difficulties with environment unfamiliarity due to autism. They guessed at how they needed to overcome her difficulties and did not succeed too much. Perhaps as a consequence, neither did she at securing the job. I recommend you read her blog entry before you read the sonnet.
A day in your moccasins
We able-bodied try to understand
the difficulties of the body bent
into a chair, or missing foot or hand
by hobbling ourselves, with the intent
of walking in your shoes – or wheels – or world
of silence. We can don masks, hold a cane,
experience the perspective of hands curled
to uselessnes by age’s creeping pain.
This path we walked can help us build a bridge
across the chasms that hold back those not whole;
and yet one group we still leave on the edge
unable to feel how you’re untypical.
We can’t take steps inside a spectrum mind.
Only see footprints in the sand you left behind.
“Heartrise” is one for the raising of the saddened soul – the words are written first on a lower heart, then on a couple higher ones. It was one that I thought was appropriate for the competition “Gateway to Imagination” for which it is entered. I won’t find out if it is accepted until late August, though.
Sometimes I think poets go through all the circumstances themselves so they can write about things from a personal perspective.
Outside of prejudice, a place that’s learned
like old wives’ tales, absorbed at parent’s knee
to recognize the ones that should be spurned,
no why, just that’s the way that it should be.
Inside of prejudice, that face is turned,
for reasons I can’t fathom, away from me,
til whispers, giggles stop when I get near
and conversation turns to other things.
I know I am the joke I cannot hear
and my imagination then takes wings
and rises on the heat of latent fear,
the wind that is despair, and all it brings.
Outside of prejudice can see no wrong.
Inside of prejudice I don’t belong.