By:
On:
With: 0 Comments

Notes

Written 7 February 2020 in Payne County, Oklahoma.

Brian Fuchs, “Scissor-tailed Flycatcher” from Scissor-tailed Flycatcher (Scissortail Press, 2020)


By:
On:
With: 0 Comments

Well folks, I had high hopes for FLAMINGO WEEK.  Sadly, I was sick for much of it, and the beginning of the week involved an unexpected trip to Edmond and then a day of getting a new tire.  So, I just got a little behind what I had meant to accomplish, including blog posts I had wanted to do… this is why I try to get them done in advance.  That is fine though.  It was more a day of flamingo art than anything, and my Tumblr enjoyed a strong infusion of flamingo images for the week.

Since I’ve been under the weather, I have intentionally done nothing all week.  I have a habit of doing too much and prolonging my illnesses, and I didn’t want to do that this time.  So, I slept and drank fluids.  And sulked a little.  But the worst of it came and went quickly, and I’m really excited to get moving on a few projects I’ve been working toward.

I have some collages I have been working on, which I hope I can make more progress on soon.  I also have been working on a new series for this blog, and I certainly hope people like it.  I should have that going in the next day or two.

Dad’s birthday is Friday, and I’m not sure what exactly to do for him.  I had intended to order a gift, but failed to do that!  I’ll figure it out.  Maybe he’d like to go out to eat someplace.  I just don’t know.

I have several things to work on this week.  It was over 100º this week, so the 90º feel like a break.  I need to finish up planning for my Sunshine Garden (which I will do a post on with details soon), and continue picking up debris in the driveway.  I’m not up to the collapsed burn barrel, which is just a mess to try and clean up.  Once I get past that mess, then I am into large items to deal with.  Most of those things are now trash, but some of the things are worth saving and I need to figure out where to put those things.

 

Here are a few things that ended up on my Tumblr this week

By:
On:
With: 1 Comment

Birds

The scheming magpies’ plan must’ve worked;
summer failed to arrive in this grey and spiraling urbanity.
Anchorage feels naked, empty
without the carpet of ice and snow crunching below.
I was aware of it when lupines and wild roses
heralded the arrival of what should have been June.
I was keenly aware of the missing white when
flowers conceded, accepting the cruelty of warmthlessness.
This city is wet now, as the great lion arrives.
Saddened by this dreary failure, the cat weeps,
drizzles pulling themselves from a sky
that has married itself with concrete.
The world darkens, turning grey and distant.
All hope escapes of summer, of warmth.
It’ll return to Alaska now, familiar cold eventually driving
away those smaller birds and welcoming the giant cousins,
the benevolent and ominous ravens, keepers of my soul.
In the merriment of an metropolitan buffet,
they’ll shoo the clouds, revealing the sun,
still hanging where they’d first placed it.

7.27.2008

What do I think of this poem? I almost feel like I was trying too hard. I’m still blocked and the words are not coming in waves. They take effort, like these, to release. I nearly like it, but may need to scrap an animal reference.

Featured Image Art: vintage illustration of a magpie

By:
On:
With: 0 Comments

Hymn III: Birds & Vapor

Before knowledge, peace existed.
Innocent children don’t long for the touch of others.
I’m reflecting on bird calls,
sorting out in my mind the ones that seem familiar
from the ones that are new.
Except for the mockingbirds —
their song has changed as much as I have.
I can barely tell the difference between
childish pursuits and adult desires.
Except for skin.

I find myself a poor litmus test of what I want,
what I remember wanting.
Whispers in my ear from the past — or is it the future?
I’m forgetting things I thought were important.
I don’t remember the smell of skin pressed against
my face as I sleep.
I’m trying to remember how close I can get to the sun
without tumbling to the ground.
Have I reached that limit?
The men are turning to vapor, mists deposited in a wizard’s pensieve
filled with what I choose to remember as unbridled passion.
I’m searching through windows for faces,
for quiet morning sun spilling in through panes,
spotlighting the drifts of dust as they dance
like a great flock of tiny birds.

It feels like he’s still standing there, if he was ever standing there,
eating cherries on the front porch,
spitting the pits out into the garden.
I am thinking about fruity cereal.
I am thinking about the taste of cherries lingering in his mouth and the taste of mulberries lingering on mine.
I am thinking about birds and music and sex and dust.
I am thinking about the faces, the many overlooked faces.
I am thinking about vaporizing.

Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling,
calling for you and for me;
see, on the portals he’s waiting and watching,
watching for you and for me.


Notes

Written 2 November 2001 in Tulsa, Oklahoma.

Brian Fuchs, “Hymn III: Birds & Vapor” from Okie Dokie (Scissortail Press, 2019)

Published in Social Distances (Scissortail Press, 2020)