I appreciate the creative process of assembling words much in the same way I do the assemblage of objects. I enjoy the rhythmic balance of beat and verbal imagery combined with thought provoking, heartfelt truths and the line of communication it casts out for making an emotional connection.
In 2013 I created an inspired series called "Her Words" dedicated to my dear friend and brilliant poet Silvi Alcivar of The Poetry Store.
For this piece, a deconstructed cuckoo clock was collaged completely on 3 sides in a composed "skin" of meticulously cut-out words from several books that I arranged into a deliberate narrative poem of my own titled: “Her Words Gave Home to My Heart” as transcribed below:
She had her mystery Typewriter knowing everything in-worded black sweat
Unplug sincere Wind from The glisten applied to your eyelids
One letter, one word Never solves itself.
Each letter luminous
a world dream
Poets pulled from its rollers praying & preying the in between in the passage sea, the light
Be reinforced against poetry’s fists.
Let me be with my pieces
Needle thru cloth
closures & openings turns each page
her body Splinters my brain into cluster of Words in knowing metaphor
way out yes,
death by layers sometimes the more lovely
Keep night company
They remain fragments.
Sewing jokes into One line at a Time u held in a poet until doubt letter formed a shark cartilage
Visions woke me up
slick slippery perfume & all of the hummingbirds Sing to her as she turns the pages.
a Poet I knew even what I didn’t
she had a plan
sew pieces together
I Grieved & Raged
Open the book and it turns into wings. poetry
she stands in front of the splatters of text in space.
I thought I knew
Question my poem
asking questions leads to more Words
dark eyes Protect each key stuck in our distinct pain chains
Sectioned flesh looks back through blood mouths, so precise
motion through a monocle & those who grieve Night the canopy our poem
a hummable tune art rides on.
Song against dark. O mere words,
but sing the blues soft guitars
Pull long veils down majestic hallways
what’s unsaid you can barely speak Praises, sorrows, joys unknown
deeply The page is in pieces focused on each remaining moment
what’s to be said Fragments & whispers have big eyes for death
Worm into words which too small & adhere to life
once-upon-a-time lemming typewriters Enter this white room it’s kaleidoscopic
& Everything beyond the margins of a bird which refuses to fly or speak Rimbaud
Each word the word hung from each word
trace it like a shooting star wingless and mulched roses.
How To the end spoke
The watch whose hands fall off high pitched sing Laughing against knowledge swallow song
My poem is bits & splinters
I plant it within Page after page of my book To see A coin deep in Writes thru time
Darkness allows me dark overcoat pocket
face to face by death’s mystery before they turn into cold awakening
everything was Poetry Ready for distraction in the dark Into dawn
Scattered like stars Now at the end of the line of all traits, straight
the letters assigned as words
what anything means or meant gets lost
Remainder and skeleton of my soul is restless.
I return from a past that never entered itself to the shining things in the end no more
My blood mixes with plaster
A patchwork poem - My poem is pieces
Allow me these fragments on a page or in a museum in the end forever
Art’s desire to get it all said Reminds me of a poem from despair
Assembling words already caught haunt me.
I seek it in black poem more approachable Upside down looking for a home.
but vocabulary because of music that loops a mystery around love & imagination.
All are my poem
Art’s struggle to sing it all now dying unties that to naked open beings under a half-shell drenched in all her extravagant ways of forgiveness
loss by loss the great cosmic imaginary vein
Vision requires love’s attention but yet write the notes of poems and they can be anything Forever captured to sing afterwards
I saw it in my words, saw its wings move heart left over the desk I work on.
Who hears the poem sing, Snowfall
but it’s what’s not there within glass windows disconnected
push against the edge of romance spreading Letters, numbers, codes
Memory Arise, touch eyes open angel wing’s tongues over my head, over my bed with ink.
turn into blood, sing splinters from dreams.
poems are elusive. they know they can’t look back in and see the sea, a stranger beneath moonlight Alive with song and content with elephants.
words work best and lead to everything unsaid.
I'm an orphan - my skin darkens into night
I was a Poet free-falling where once fearful first seen in a phone booth there
Let me stay with you a while.
thin skins black with language to tame my rage arising.
Her haunted words to read triumphing Truth.
So much confession torn between enjoyable spirals then we vanish in photographs sensing Death and what do you say?
she multiplies extraordinary & lights of the ordinary word to become swallowing stars.
Poetry you’ll see Nostalgia
The past that changes Brown eyed Hunger for love so hidden in this feast of dueting poetry
small detail gathering first thoughts on a thread of words in her eyes