I know a secret
which presents itself with
grace.
Bringing out delicate curves
to lure
forward the intricacies
of form
shape
and illusion.
I know a secret.
I’ll share it with you.
snow coming off the garage roof
3014 Madison Way
Anchorage, Alaska
February 13, 2012
Hanging on by a thread…
before,
the price is right.
but it needs some length.
After
and since you’re only 14,
let’s cover up a bit more.
All ready!
Small places
quiet spaces.
Empty faces
upon my return.
Sitting tight
waiting with all
my might
to turn empty faces
Back toward those
small places.
Bricks and mortar,
each one in the assigned place.
Deceptive in appearance,
turning ’round a different face.
Bricks and mortar,
lining up to bring about.
Coming in…going out
some of a lifetime is left to shout.
I enjoyed doing this and wish it could have been developed more…
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There are bugs among us…
pushing against the glass
to drop and wait
Not clever enough
to take a place in line.
and
stay hidden
among the Greens.
They didn’t
notice the new growth
dormant
from last winter,
or detect
the camouflage,
to stay unseen.
so they remain
small
and never stand out
to experience
the joy of being the
one to survive.
with
Uniqueness
intact.
A loss…
when I didn’t even know the thoughts existed.
Gone now, I can’t think the same any more.
Who knew? I ask myself,
turning inside out and outside in
was simply something I use to be able to do?
A loss…
so I will settle for less than perfect and take
the final step away.
To say, it’s good enough
To put it in the mail
and send it on its way.
small, braided rug for Burton’s birthday.
A little wonky, without the outside butted edge.
A braid…
Bend and twist,
Stretch and twirl.
Curl and cinch,
frayed into a pinch.
twining, plaiting, braiding.
Sewn.
(Burton’s birthday gift in the making)
I have no talent…
of which to display,
In gathering of show
for voices.
In motions undone
for dance.
Bending and sculpting
leaving a statement to display.
I have no talent…
of which to share,
For winning accolades
of persuasion when sheltered with
those beyond repair.
I have no talent…
Moving among those warehoused,
Speaking to those still silent,
Pushing those motionless
past an edge smooth with
countless rubbings back and forth.
I have no talent…
Yet
I am the reason those with talent…
May shine.
Perfectionists…
never get it perfect…
we poke, we prod.
we pull, we yank.
we have magical thinking,
and think…
that just by thinking
what is in our mind…
will magically appear…
And sometimes…
It does!
She says I have it wrong…
But they’ve been that way
For ever so long.
I’ve had them there
And they’ve been wrong all along.
The colors reminding me of such a happy face.
I didn’t see until just now when you said,
“That house is on its side,
Like it’s going to bed.”
I don’t think I’ll change it
since I’m fond of the look
And some day when she’s famous
We’ll make it the cover of her book.
(Kim’s 1st grade paintings, 2003)
She still plays…
only now it’s called costumes.
To flitter, float or become a fairy.
To gloom, glom and become a ghoul.
To twinkle, sparkle and become it all
on her way…
To becoming so very…
Real.
Math is simply
the creation of order.
Not that it makes sense to me.
So,
If I take an imposed order
and recreate a different order
am I still limited by old concepts and formats?
Or,
Is Math a Creative Expression of
Order?
an anchorage 