Posts Tagged ‘matrix’

cloudless sky
breezes blowing away
the sun light
making brightness cool

i stand
on pebbled path
saturated in these waves, this radiation
from our close star

sun ticks off its timely orbit
each step moves me in space
and time
diurnal walk
i orbit this path
days and weeks and years

these days are so long now
new leaves glow yellow
feasting on the light
saving up –  even as individuals they must fade
and die

i carry myself
each foot-fall
articulate and purposeful
knowing this; the measure of each foot-fall
the march of my time

yet for a moment
looking inward
i stumble – caught unaware


radiant energy all around


tall grass waves and beckons
wild daises have contorted stems
fat robin hops then flies with no great care or effort
lonely bird calls in the distance
ferns unfold as from Jurassic forests
wild dill grown five feet – plate sized white spidery flowers spill over
blackberries’ tangled thorns threaten to take over
fire weeds’ magenta blossoms flames in a pyramid of blooms
wild cherry and crabapple trees have twisting limbs

we watched a grouse there once

wild roses show off their hips
elk have left paths and their pellets
fir trees, alder, and birch are silhouetted black against cerulan sky
– airplane above! six cylinders shout
electrical wires on wood poles – still tall, once live fir trees
dandelions yellow blossoms and white geometric orbs expanding
releasing parachuted seeds


this whole path a rail-road bed now un-railed
concrete bridge with chain link fences
stream flowing currents making patterns
trout swim constantly rising for food
in shallow water fish and shadow move as one
or in still sections chocked with
duck weed, green algae murky oily water
blue dragon flies, yellow iris

some beer cans sully the scene

sun starts to burn my arms

salmon berries ripe for eating
fox gloves spires with purple purses detailed with dots
wild flowers unnamed and unknown speak to my senses
ivory morning glories spirals unfold each day
axial forces of twining stems choke neighboring shrubs
thistle down fluffy flower and spiked spire
and a small dead weasel grimacing teeth

a vulture with very large wings flies slowly away

feet grounded
this trail and this track and this time
my fingers stretched out like the veins of a leaf
reaching into the light

lymph and sap
warm blood in birds
cold in the fishes
all of us chemical engines
elements and light energy



i am this – this is me

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The longer I listen
The more I hear


Filling up the



Foreground middle and


Painting a picture

seen sound
Strokes of solos’ song
Each individual’s cry
part of a whole

Each to each
class and category
Variety, kind and type all

Call out to the

Noon summer now

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Summer day morning

Looking in the river

Which is the shadow

Which is the trout

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not thinking
on the edge of automatic
no noetic wisdom
tired from days decisions
a simple step slipped
into a kick

meeting metal leg of
pressed plywood Eames Chair
prize of my parents early marriage
recently departed mother
sixty years ago
her first paycheck as a teacher
spent with spirit on modern art

with my new smart phone
just purchased
the cause of my distraction
i take a picture of
my purple broken toe
blue streaked tendons
and send it
wavering  its way on a world wide web
and instantly
assemble the image
in an inbox

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no reflection

is clear

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I am very excited that the author of A Twisted Pair has quoted me in the post – Be here now – particularly since I hadn’t remembered writing the comment he quoted and it sounded pretty good – I had one of those, gee, did I write that moments?

But as an artist who has been working almost thirty years for a very limited audience I have been delighted to find others out here in a creative and nourishing nexus.

I am reminded of a professor I had in graduate school in the early 1990s – Teachers’ College, Columbia University.  I was improbably working on (but destined not to finish, thankfully) a Phd in math education. He had returned to teaching after working as an experimental mathematician for Bell Labs and he had done a lot of work on multidimensional geometry. He talked a lot about modeling geometric solids that had more than three connections in space from their vertices – any number, n dimensional! It ended up having a big impact on how phone traffic is routed.

This was all before the internet was much – but I suppose it was a vision as to how it works now – a connection, to a connection, to a connection – almost a living network of nerve cells.

And so we blog. But not to boost our ego, but to lose it in our work, in the game, as we are reminded by A Twisted Pair’s post – out here in the vastness of the internet….

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summer is a wave

leaves and flowers
burgeon and diminish

we  grasp the
tangent to the curve
and think the instant can be held straight
for the season

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Elastic hair tie
Cat toy

Whose house is it

Plant stands
Crash down

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A note on event time –
I had always heard about event time as an opposite to ‘clock time’. Whereas people with watches see time as absolute and measured in ticks, more indigenous and tribal people who live with clocks, more in touch with the seasons and rhythms of the earth perceive time and even space quite differently.

But on googling it now – I don’t get much on it – but I don’t think I made up the idea or the term … (although if I blog here and no one else has did I? Another funny time question.)

I know I started thinking about it when I spent a lot of time some years ago looking at African Sculpture and art from the Pacific Islands at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in NYC. With huge hands, but short arms, large feet, sexual organs and faces, but small legs and torsos it was as if space itself was compressed and expanded in direct proportion of the perceived importance, of the body parts.

I know I read somewhere that this tribal sense of time and space differed from our ‘clock-time’ a good deal. It was based on events.

I wondered what it would be like to live in a society where a wooden figure became a ‘Fetish’ object – the holder of prayers and thoughts and ideas by the ever-increasing number of nails pounded into it over time. (I wonder about this as well when I see staples on wooden light posts in the city – the layers of interwoven wire – all which is left of years of posts, messages now gone. Only the metal staple remains as a ghost of the idea a thread-bear payer flag.

Looking now online, I do find this article from the NY Times on-line with Martin Heidegger’s idea that time is defined by what fills it up …
I also notice these ideas in Cubism – particularly Picasso, David Hockney’s photo montages and in Chuck Close’s work where the whole is definitely made up of tiny particles of perceptions – in other words segments of time – and not always of equal duration according to a clock.

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