Poetry.

Yesterday I worked all day, continuing to add pattern and color to the canvas I began and then last night I slept like a baby.  Today, I will add some symbols that I dreamt of but will also be writing.  In the past I had the great privilege of studying with a wonderful local poet, Cecilia Frey, and also have had poems published.  But, even more so than my painting, or maybe because I have already shared my paintings in many, many exhibits, I find it difficult to share my poetry publicly.  So, to challenge myself, and to open my soul even more, I have been writing poems in conjunction with this series of paintings I've been working on.  I may read a few at the opening and thought I'd share something in progress today:

My Paddle Sings

I miss the song my paddle sings
as it dips
and
drips,
dips
and
drips
in the cool
black
northern water

'I saw!'
Raven cries
as
he flies
over boreal forest

'I see,' I think. 
I see.

My home is this land
north of 56
where
Timber Wolf talks to Moon
and
Black Bear turns to watch
with amber eyes.

'Yes,' I think. 
Yes.

This is the song my paddle sings.