Canvas, glass, wood, books— I should have let it all burn. Scattered, eclectic inanimates without sense or reason. The books were a nightmare, you said, as well as the picture you'd painted of an apple split down the middle to reveal its star— I thought you wouldn’t know there is a star in the center of an apple unless you were shown a thing like that, or maybe if you were distracted: looking out the kitchen window with fruit and knife in hand, the gladiolas more vibrant then that last time you remembered seeing them. You forget that you were about to peel the skin and without realizing—
you sliced it. And
just like a child, you stared at the star you created, its almond-shaped points like tiny mouths, eyes, or something other than half an apple balanced proudly on your palm until the adult in you whispers: It’s already begun to brown, and you toss it into the garbage to be burnt with the rest of the trash.
W o w. So much to like, I wouldn't know where to start. Love the sound play re "scattered, eclectic inanimates," but it is the way you paint from an easel of meticulously selected images that. . .W O W. . . 'Pea' <3
Those who 'see' should not have to bear the burden of those who cannot, or will not see. This is a beautiful write. When we lose the vision and the passion... negativity takes over, and things take on an entirely different meaning altogether. -- Jeff
... And something like glass shatters inside EVERY time that happens, so painful (to me, at least) to observe, and hard to live with in an on-going basis for those who are perhaps more spiritual/artistic in their temperament. But at least the wonderment and realisation WAS there, if only momentarily. Revelation is exactly that, I guess. We can only ever receive that which has been revealed to us and that to which our eyes have been opened. Poignant and insightful, Maria, thank you. LOL Kate xx
An exquisite mixed-media portrait of emotion and troubled spiritual intimacy. Your vision takes us gently into the meat of the metaphysical matter and makes clear the error of our too-human ways while simultaneously hinting at better possibilities and choices. One becomes richer for spending time absorbing and meditating upon these brilliant lines.
deep thought provoking words here that speak of things that are a mystery within a mystery. This is a great write that leaves vibrant images in the readers minds but also questions.
This is magnificent. Expounding on one pure moment of clarity and the juxtaposition of man and nature sharing that moment, ultimately revealing something hidden about both of us. Very compelling.
Peace,
B
Reviewed by Kate Clifford (Reader)
Reviewed on June 29, 2005
So sad when one forgets to enjoy the thrill of the moment. Fantastic write.
From the author of Jupiter Remembered and Until It’s Time: Embracing Life In Our Later Years comes Petals of Love: Poetry of a Woman’s Soul – a heartfelt collection spanning more than thirty-five years. Through tender reflections, these poems offer g
Still Living on my Feet is the follow up to Tichaona Chinyelu’s first book, In the Whirlwind, which was rooted in a sense of hard-hitting revolutionary black love. However, in this sophomore effort, Tichaona brings the revolutionary essence from deep
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Maybe I'm wrong, but I read this is as a very touching allegory of a breakup... of a romance which never should have been...
Well done...
Doc
Paul;-)
Peter
Thanks for sharing Mame!!
Love Tinka
This is quite a lesson in life. Always a pleasure reading your work. You've got me thinking, and that's good. Your Friend, Paul.
Reindeer
powerfully penned, Maria ...
Felix
TRASK
This is magnificent. Expounding on one pure moment of clarity and the juxtaposition of man and nature sharing that moment, ultimately revealing something hidden about both of us. Very compelling.
Peace,
B