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WRITING THE WALLS II, 3rd December 2016

HUDSON VALLEY CENTER FOR CONTEMPORARY ART

1701 Main Street, Peekskill, NY (NEXT TO BEVERAGE WORLD)

WORD

Get the Last Word In 3 December 2016 2:00 pm

How to Promote Your Art: Word Artist Panel III

2 – 3:30 PM

Join us for a continuing artist discussion on how to promote your work effectively! The panelists will share their personal strategies for getting their work into the public eye, entering exhibitions, and securing gallery representation. Marc Straus (Marc Straus Gallery) will moderate.

Participating Artists: Thielking and Brunett, Lance Johnson, Mati Bracha, Basha Ruth Nelson, and others.

Later, join us for a special presentation and reading of Writing the Walls II, from 4 – 6 PM.

Writing the Walls II celebrates our 7th word/image reading of art-inspired poetry. We welcome you to join us on our poetic journey through the WORD exhibit, led by Mara Mills, and poets Alicia Morgan, Bob Zaslow, Ceci Iacobuzio, Coni Koepfinger, Donna Barkman, Gene Tashoff, Julie Nord, Karen Marmer, Kathleen Caputo, Les Von Losberg, Liz Burke, Loretta Oleck, MaryAnn McCarra-Fitzpatrick, Merle Molofsky, Michael Seri, Moira-Jo Thielking, Patricia Horn O’Brien, Robert Miss, Ruth Handel, Star Blossom Goddess, Susan Schfflein, Tony Howorth, and Catherine Wald will read selected works.

Writing the Walls II is funded by a NYSCA grant.

A reception will follow. Members free, General admission $5, Seniors $4, Students/Children $2

http://www.hvcca.org/

Untitled I, II, and III

http://mccarra--poetry.blogspot.com/

UNTITLED I

take me in your arms again as another spring is born from winter

place your lips on mine and overhead the birds shall sing a song fit to break the heart

furrow-fields, lines straight, without error, all too ready for planting, dew-damped, fading into the distance, a horizon opened up until infinite, beyond all our poor calculations

how long will it take for the seeds to sprout? Only a skilled farmer knows, winking and peeking at the sun as it rises and sets, other propitious signs well-known to him, his visage fairer than any other

and buds burst along the branches, newly green, tight-folded, waiting to be plucked

.....................

UNTITLED II

the woman says: do not try to make me small; I am the colossus who straddles the earth and engenders all that is good, mother of all the world, grown out of the sea, though no pillar of salt ground down to grace your table

no doll to be tucked into your coatpocket, or a book of matches struck, one by one, their brightness lying, extinguished, on the landing, dimmed forever to a smudge of ash

mother of all, subject to none, rising above the lines of littered phrases meant to trammel her in. No. She eludes these nets of sarcasm, scar-casm, gleaming ivorygold, sinuous, sailing off to better waters

...........................

UNTITLED III

do not mourn me when I am gone. Know that I am with you yet in every sprig of green you find beneath your boot

each squawk of birdnoise, each crack of thunder, flame of lightning, sudden wind stirring up the leaves to dance in brittle circles

only tell the bees, so that they will not decamp from their hives, that I have gone, and let them know of those who will voice the customary funereal words,

walking, stiff-suited, noose-tied, in dark clothes, pinch-shod, mouthing forced formalities through the fug of flowers, so distant from the sweeter noise of buzzing hives under the summer sun

The latest Tweets from MaryAnn McCarra (@MaryAnnMcCarra). poet. writer. blogger [email protected]. Peekskill, New York

Charnel

scraping the plates, the

heaped bones into the

charnel of a bin, kitchen

meat-fragrant, redolent of

blood burnt over a steady

flame and she thinks of

him and his dear bones,

that finest of frameworks

and how she (once)

pressed her lips to his

still, there are greens to

be chopped with a blade,

silver steady, pressed

against the board, the

ribbons adorning a blue

bowl, crowning the cool

china like a triumphal

wreath, waiting for a

fine seasoning

as she would season your

brow with kisses, peppering

his cheeks until she was

hungry no more.....

and still, the pitchers to

be filled and the linen

cloths, these winding sheets,

to be pressed and put

away

oh my dear, my darling one,

do not abandon me!