Art Journal – Aries Ingress

Mixed media collage. Various magazine images, tissue paper, permanent marker.

Rough and unpolished, you can see every little blemish in this one – but I really liked the composition, so there’s that! Realizing that I used a lot of pink images I’d been saving up, and paired the pink with red. My mother always told me pink and red clashed, so this is my revenge. <grin>

Aries Ingress

Puerto Rico, still Preciosa.

“…Y así le grito al villano yo sería borincano aunque naciera en la luna ” -Juan Antonio Corretjer

(“and so I shout to the villain: I would still be Puerto Rican if I was born on the moon”)

Omar Z Robles

OZRG1264 Carla Sofía Curet

“Preciosa te llaman lo bardos que cantan tu historia, no importa el tirano te trate con negra maldad…” – Rafael Hernández

I just made it back from visiting my home country of Puerto Rico. It is the first time I get to visit since hurricane María swept through, almost exactly 5 months after. It was an incredibly emotional and difficult trip. I found myself fighting the tears more times than I can recall. Five months after the hurricane and my island, my people, my family still carry open wounds from that horrendous day.

During my visit I gathered so many terrifying stories from my friends and relatives about their experiences during and after the hurricane. They told me about how they stayed up all night holding doors and windows for hours as the wind was about to burst into their homes. About how the extreme heat wave…

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Poetry and Art Wonders from Candia

I just found this blog called Candia Comes Clean, and it is a journal after my own heart. Her writing is excellent, which you’ll be able to see in the attached poem from her post entitled News from Nowhere. She’s also got quite the talent for sketching and images. This piece, a sad beauty about lovers parting, is a treat. Enjoy!

via News From Nowhere

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Plant photo by Michele Montserrat

Manikin photo from Pexels

What I Call a Miracle

What I Call A Miracle

Bent over, hobbling,
each step a new kind of pain
dark and bone-deep,
like the scraping metal of a spoon in an empty bowl,
like the crush of the crowd
stumbling over the homeless body in the street.

This world will steal the purple joy from my heart, if I let it.

But then I feel the sun warm on my face.
This will break the spell,
and the bad dream recedes.
The landscape rolling,
a healing flowing
from rivers,
known and unknown –
St. Croix, Mississippi,
and the swimming pool of my childhood home.

Despair blown away with delight,
remembering the way I felt,
eager and free
wind blowing in my hair
eyes streaming in sun and happiness,
gazing over the cottonwoods
laid out in endless sighing green.

This is what I call a miracle.

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Door photo by Michele Montserrat, 2016.

Rolling Forest – stock photo image from Pexels.

Untitled

For a moment
you could see the movement of air, just there,
unseen but for the dust
drifting in shining stream, revealed in windowlight.
Feel the invisible rich haze,
silent walzing mote formation –
a playmate for the drafting air,
as they kiss, joined, whirling together,
moving in brightness
then disappearing in shadow.pexels-photo-164018.jpeg

Some light verse…

Lighthearted, just short of a tine

a muse came gently, between me and mine,

as there I stood between shelved books

titled in genres favored by kooks –

Fantasy, Horror, and Graphic novels galore!

More than that, I can say no more

for as there I stood, in booklust tarried

the shelves tipped over, and now I’m buried.