My First Mixed Media Canvas… With Video!

I’ve been keeping an art journal for about 18 months now. I love working with mixed media. I never really considered myself much of an Artist. I’m more of an artist. Art is something I do for me. I have fun with it. I play with glue, colors, images, etc. My favorite artist Bob Ross said, “There are no mistakes. Only happy accidents.” My art is full of these happy accidents as you will see. When I write fiction or poetry, my inner critic loves to stick her nose in and make rude comments. When I make art, she is quiet. I guess it’s because I admit to being a writer and a poet, but not an artist.  

** In the video, you’ll see me using Mod Podge (my favorite!) to attach pieces of dyed paper towels. For those wondering how I got the wonderful colors on the paper towels – it was a happy accident! When I dyed eggs with my kids at Easter, we used shaving cream and food coloring. These were the paper towels we used to wipe the excess “mess” from the eggs. I thought the paper towels had such pretty swirls of color, I had to save them. I’m glad I did!

 

For Mom

Reblogged from Poetry, Prose, Art and Creativity:

I was placed for adoption when I was born. I was in foster care for the first five months of my life before being adopted by a wonderful couple and raised as their own. My mom is amazing and I wouldn't change a thing about having her in my life. At Mother's Day, I am always reminded that I wasn't born to this lady.

Read more… 222 more words

Reblogging my poem written for all of the mother figures in my life...

I Come From the Air

In Susan G. Wooldridge’s book poemcrazy, she suggests that we write about where we come from. As I thought about her prompt today, I figured it out… I come from the air.

I’m a Gemini, Babe

So you should beware!

On a butterfly wing

I come from the air

If you listen closely

You can hear me sing

I come from the air

On a butterfly wing

I sparkle and shine

With a certain flair

On a butterfly wing

I come from the air

Capricious and stubborn

My mood prone to swing

I come from the air

On a butterfly wing

Keep up with me, Love

And fly if you dare

On a butterfly wing

I come from the air

Fly with me, Dear

And stir my heart’s string

I come from the air

On a butterfly wing

Above the clouds

Life’s joys we’ll share

On a butterfly wing

I come from the air

You never can tell

what tomorrow may bring

I come from the air

On a butterfly wing

Lines? What lines?

Crayon Art by Christian Faur – click image to view more

Use every crayon

In the box and make your life

a colorful place.

Draw your own picture

But leave some room for yourself

To take a deep breath.

Coloring outside

The lines also means simply

Leaving some white space.

Get Over It

I am certain that there is no disappointment worse than when we let ourselves down. I experienced this very feeling on Sunday. I made plans. Due to some health issues, my body had other ideas. Now, a day and a half later, I’m beginning the process of making peace with myself. And, for me, it always begins with writing about it.

Art by seonna hong

Condemnation

drastic, desperate

damning, disapproving, denouncing

disgusted, disappointed, atoned, appealed

advocating, absolving, acquitting

Exoneration

For Mom

I was placed for adoption when I was born. I was in foster care for the first five months of my life before being adopted by a wonderful couple and raised as their own. My mom is amazing and I wouldn’t change a thing about having her in my life. At Mother’s Day, I am always reminded that I wasn’t born to this lady. Instead, she chose to be my mother. I am amazed and eternally grateful. At this time, I also think of my biological mother and wonder who she is, how she is doing, etc. I also think of my foster-mother with gratitude. And I think of my own children and how incredibly blessed I am to be their Mom.

Egg

Fertilized

Then incubated

Nine months to grow in the womb

Labor and delivery

A new life is born

An infant

Cries

Genes

Chromosomes

Shared with a baby

Hair color, eye color, height

Giving birth is enough

Supreme sacrifice

Pray someone

Adopts

Care

 Needs are met

For just a short while

A temporary placement

Until a home can be found

Food, clothing, shelter

A bookmark

Home

Barren

Full of love

Wanting a baby

Needing to be a mother

Accepting another’s child

Love her like your own

Hold her small

Hand

Born

To be Mom

Even to this child

Your love unconditional

Help her become a woman

Guide her baby steps

Watch her grow

Up

Girl

Abandoned

Then the chosen one

Matures knowing she is loved

Becomes a mother herself

She loves her babies

As she learned

Love

Birth

Adoption

Nurturing and growth

Passing to her life’s lessons

Now her children benefit

For what you gave her

Will become

Theirs

On Being Bipolar

Welcome to Mental Health Awareness month! I don’t know if I’ll stick with that as my theme for the month, but since it is a part of my everyday existence, I do know it will be a recurring theme at the least. Today I took on the challenge of writing a Terza Rima Sonnet. 

I wake up each morning hoping and wanting

A day that’s better than the day before it,

But the pain in my body is quite daunting.

I gave my all and I don’t want to admit

This illness controls the way I spend my days.

I feel beaten down but I refuse to quit.

I fight my way through the temperamental haze.

Sometimes the medicine doesn’t suffice.

I wait impatiently for a manic phase.

To live without mood swings would really be nice.

To know that my brain might just cooperate

Instead each day I awake and roll the dice.

For another day I’ll just have to wait

And hope and pray the depression will abate.

Discoveries in Poetry

Here we are at the end of another National Poetry Writing Month! I can hardly believe that it’s over. There has been so much joy, sadness, pain, and healing shared by so many this month. It has been an honor to have found myself among such a unique community of poets, each with a special voice and interesting stories to tell. Keep writing! Keep reading! Keep inspiring! I know that I hope to…

April dawns,

Poets unite, and begin to write.

A fresh start, a new commitment…

Daily practice yields the fruit

Of fresh poems

Plucked from the Muse’s tree.

Words are baked and blogged

For others to share.

To offer a serving of one’s own heart

To the masses is a loving sacrifice,

Freely given in the hopes of

Something more.

Tab after tab after tab of followed poets

Pop open on the screen.

Words have been birthed, mixed,

Shaken and stirred,

Cried and bled,

For the sheer joy of creation;

To inspire or provoke;

Or perhaps just

To release the words

Into the universe.

Sun sets on April -

The challenge was met,

Attempted but fallen short,

Or simply ignored.

Poems bled into current events

And we cried together,

Mourned together,

Were angered together.

Your poems touched me,

Moved me, inspired me

To want more,

To be more,

To do more.

Poetic marathoners pause,

Take a breath.

Feel the joy

Or the pain

Of having written.

Apply whatever balm you need

To soothe the aching muse…

And write again tomorrow.

Ferme la Porte, or Close the Door

Today’s prompt at the NaPoWriMo website sent me back in time to my high school and college days. Oh, how I wish I had kept up my French! It is true that if you don’t use it, you lose it. I’ve lost a great deal, but sometimes I surprise myself at what I do remember. Once I had the first line, the rest of the poem demanded to be written in French. And it wanted to rhyme. My sincerest apologies to any native speakers who may come across this post. I confess to resorting to the use of Google Translate. 

Image by http://hikingartist.com/

Ferme la porte du placard, s’il te plait.

Aide-moi garder les squelettes à l’intérieur.

J’ai peur de ce que d’autres peuvent penser

S’ils savaient la vérité.

Close the closet door please.

Help me keep the skeletons inside.

I am afraid of what others may think

If they knew the truth.

Blitz for Boston

Honestly, I’m still struggling with my own emotions as they relate to the recent events in Boston. I was drawn today to write a blitz poem as a way to begin to process my own feelings. I don’t know if I like this poem or not. I don’t know if you, my reader, will like this poem or not. Sometimes I have to allow myself not to care if I (or you) like what I write. I just have to write. 

Boston magazine’s cover for May 2013

Boston marathon

Boston bombing

Bombing the city

Bombing the avenue

Avenue of dreams

Avenue of escape

Escape to the movies

Escape from reality

Reality TV

Reality bites

Bites the dust

Bites the bullet

Bullet to the head

Bullet proof

Proof of residency

Proof of God

God bless America

God bless the broken road

Road signs

Road trip

Trip down memory lane

Trip of a lifetime

Lifetime is not enough

Lifetime learning

Learning to live

Learning the truth

Truth or consequences

Truth or dare

Dare to dream

Dare to be different

Different strokes

Different world

World peace

World news

News of the weird

News of the day

Day of discovery

Day of the dead

Dead or alive

Dead man down

Down to the river

Down to earth

Earth to the moon

Earth angel

Angel in disguise

Angel of mercy

Mercy and grace

Mercy has a human face

Face

Grace