Sunday, March 29, 2009


You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the praries and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting--
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

Wild Geese by Mary Oliver

Saturday, March 28, 2009

River Rat

I paint the river
as your breath
your voice
as the world saying goodbye
a tribute to you
The fishing was good, dad
you pulled up your first
Dolly Varden
at dawn your smile
I wanted them all on your line
magic fish
your eyes scanned the water
with wonder.
We shared that silver
it was yours as much as mine
I hooked it
you brought it in
It told me
you were dying
I looked away my eyes full
aware always aware I'd remember
I still cry dad,
still have that bit of twisted line
that held the fish on.

By the Corbyhawk herself

Friday, March 27, 2009

Heart 3 Head 1
There is only one me, you can look for a replacement but you will not find one. I am absolutely unique in the universe, there is no one quite like me.

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

heart and mind

The mind is tired of no

Tell your heart not to love him
not to race with passion
as it sees him
Renegade organ
I see through your blood reflection
that colors all things.
No you cannot get closer
and hope he will fold you
in his arms.
Blind heart
empty chambers of ruin
the world lays open
as dark as lost hope
the heart renews itself
the fools errand of change
you are constantly stung
stop wishes, stop dreams
heart you cannot lead me
I do not see any clear path
to his elusive destination
heart endlessly you drag me in circles
while he stands silent in the center
Every word is not an open innuendo
he has your number
and he will never call

The heart is tired of no

I give you life
in every glance
I crave his lips, his skin
the dusting of silver
at his temples
I make you crave more
then mediocrity
my hope a surge of joy
that paints the world with
the possibility of him
do not feel bad to feel
mind you cower in the corner
afraid to speak
loving him does not fail him
a puritan life with a seeker's passion
I am the window
that colors your dreams
Even when you sleep
I beat on without ceremony
I will not fail you
all life is ash

-in need of some edits but by the Corbyhawk

Monday, March 23, 2009

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.

Edna St. Vincent Millay

-I am ever sad and ever older
no one wants in
no one calls
the doorway is empty
no arms lift me up
no cheery voice calls my name
utters it like a prayer
no glimpses of heaven
no more dreams of joy
no more wishes of love
I am ever sad and ever broken
my heart slipped by and does not answer.

Sunday, March 22, 2009

In the beginning of the dream she died, his love. She was walking with a friend when a bomb went off. We walked over that space together, where she had been before she disappeared. The residents watched us, it was like a town square. He grabbed me, he was a tall man with dark curly hair and whispered his laments for her in my ear in some strange language as he grasped me to him. He loved her still but I stood there with him, wishing he loved me. I was my usual tall self, as tall as he was. We wandered through some very messy and seemingly abandoned rooms full of old clothes and other random household things. I followed him. We then were riding in a bus through the streets of this old European city. The buildings were gothic in style and towered above us flanked by giant trees. We went into a store where a woman stood behind a counter. It seemed like a tent, yellowish interior. I reached around to a small bird that was sitting on a nest. It was grey and downy. I reached to get it on my hand but it would not jump up. The bird's nest and everything in the store started swinging. The products fell onto the floor so I followed the man out. Then suddenly it was dark out and he and I were riding down a muddy farm road. He told me that he believed that heaven was in this world and I agreed. I said I wished I could run through a forest of the giant ancient trees like it once was. He said but we have had to have the fields and farms to support the animals so that we could thrive. I agreed glad that he was sharing with me and then I woke up. I am left wondering at this strange dream of a world and person I do not know.

Saturday, March 21, 2009

Birds are in decline, get more information about it here at the state of the birds report for the United States.
I won't lie today sucked too, fights crazy sad dreams, ugh.

Friday, March 20, 2009

You have been worrying too much about what other people need and not enough about your own desires. As from today you need to turn that on its head and worry only about what is best for you personally. Is that selfish? Maybe, but so what?

My birthday horoscope for today from the New York Times

That about sums it up but generally my birthday sucked
I don't harbor any big hopes for this year. I am kind of done with hope, it leads only to heart crushing disappointment time and time again.

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

snow geese

I am sorry I have been very busy with work and rather uninspiring lately. I should not say it but I dream it... I should not dream it, but I do.... I should not but to say that I do not would be lying... I want to reach right through everything and run my fingers over his cheek, down to his lips...
yep my muse still gets me and I am always looking forward to a potential run in....

Saturday, March 14, 2009

As I paint him he appears and then disappears. For a moment I am struck by the recognition of creating the face I have seen my entire life and then it is gone again. Like a dance, I patiently paint the steps until it is right, it has to be right, perfectly so. This is the legacy I can leave, a catching of one singular moment of his life. It was the day I realized he was leaving me forever, but then he is here behind me, admiring the work. I have seen this painting for ages, lifetimes , and I am still unsure of what he gazes at. What does he see that makes just a hint of a smile? This is as much from memory as life, from all the times before he died that I sketched him. I paint his skin pink and flush with life, not yellow, not sick. He is well here although he is softly dying, like a whisper we could not hear. Even now I ache for missing him, his protection, his love for me that never ended, even now. He will attend his show, here in this painting I will give him a voice there. I am an artist's daughter. Someone helped me get here today, someone I love. Thank you...for reminding me.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

two swans with a goose

Wait here and feed your soul while I am gone
on comfort and good hope; I will not leave you
to wander in this underworld alone...

...and I stay on in doubt with yes and no
dividing all my heart to hope and fear...

Dante Alighieri -Inferno

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Ok, back from work tonight only to find this article about taking out nature terms in children's dictionaries. Read and wonder here.

Monday, March 09, 2009

flying off

No coward's eye should light by my consenting!
Evil may be endured when our days pass
in mourning, heavy-hearted, hard beset,
if only sleep reign over nighttime, blanketing
the world's good and evil from our eyes.
But not for me: dreams too my demon sends me.
Tonight the image of my lord came by
as I remember him with troops. O strange
exultation! I thought him real, and not a dream.

Homer the Odyssey

and I am done with the dark cover of guilt. I will not feel it anymore, I feel how I feel and that is that....
Courtesy of Birdchick blog amazing photos of gulls stealing ice cream.

Sunday, March 08, 2009

Tundra swans in the fog

In this way I study my life.
It is,
I think today,
like a dusty glass vase.

A little water,
a few flowers would be good,
I think;
but do nothing, Love is far away.
Incomprehensible sunlight falls on my hand.

From Respite by Jane Hirshfield

Saturday, March 07, 2009

So have a snowy owl

I am horribly dull lately, so sorry no new exciting post. I am stewing in a good way, sort of in-between ideas, about to make some necessary major life changes. So be patient my good readers I will hopefully be posting something of interest soon...

Thursday, March 05, 2009

I swear I heard him call my name today. I was remembering as I walked over the brick walkway, how hundreds of times I have gone there. I was thinking about how much I loved it there and how my past and future selves could merge, that maybe somewhere there was a hidden alcove of joy in me. I clung to it as I walked, the first I have felt in so long. I could sense that spring was coming and I wanted to fall on my knees and weep at the beauty of it. This long sad winter can end, it must end as all seasons do. I have been gathering my strength in being alone with my sadness, it has been so good for me. I do not have to answer to anyone, be anything for anyone, just go to work come home and do what I feel like doing. So I walked and remembered, for a second I thought I heard him, so I turned but no one was there.

Wednesday, March 04, 2009

The Black Vulture

Aloof upon the day's immeasured dome,
He holds unshared the silence of the sky.
Far down his bleak, relentless eyes descry
The eagle's empire and the falcon's home--
Far down, the galleons of sunset roam;
His hazards on the sea of morning lie;
Serene, he hears the broken tempest sigh
Where cold sierras gleam like scattered foam.

And least of all he holds the human swarm--
Unwitting now that envious men prepare
To make their dream and its fulfillment one,
When, poised above the cauldrons of the storm,
Their hearts, contemptuous of death, shall dare
His roads between the thunder and the sun.

George Sterling

Tuesday, March 03, 2009

I SING the Body electric;
The armies of those I love engirth me, and I engirth them;
They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them,
And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the Soul.
Was it doubted that those who corrupt their own bodies conceal themselves; 5
And if those who defile the living are as bad as they who defile the dead?
And if the body does not do as much as the Soul?
And if the body were not the Soul, what is the Soul?

Walt Whitman

Monday, March 02, 2009

hmmm had to post this to have my posts show up

Rough-legged Hawk

The air this morning,
blowing between fog and drizzle,

is like a white dog in the snow
who scents a white bear in the snow
who is not there.

Deeper than seeing,
deeper than hearing,
they stand and glare, one at the other.

So many listen lost, in every weather.

The mind has mountains,
Hopkins write, against his sadness.

The dog held the bear at bay, that day.

Jane Hirschfield Dog and Bear

Sunday, March 01, 2009

It is a love story
the old fashioned kind
the complexity of wanting all of you
but letting go when needed
paring it down to the basic elements
of shape and color
a necessary change in approach
to render the feeling right
and I love you
so I draw a simple line
one that continues to your page
and bursts forth in a thousand shapes and colors
that light up your face
enough perhaps small joy
just to know you smile
think of me then
I draw up my brush
to paint something new
I will always be here
even when you fade from view
I carry your memory
and the hope of some other life
where I can touch you as my own

no matter how much I want it, no one comes
so I cry alone on the floor of my studio
and pick myself up
wipe off my face
and go on
no one holds me here
there is no spirit angel to guide me
just a collection of paintings
and a stained carpet
my forever is an illusion
remembered in paint a dying language
insignificant and unyielding
it is not a real future
it is not a warm embrace
a loving smile with a kiss
just so
no the house is silent
like the end of one heartbeat before the next one
It is not a mystery they alone stand to comfort me
I have given them my time not friends,
not to love,
the world goes on but somehow today
I cannot
now even they are gone from me
how can I translate their meaning
the brush falls from my hands
and streaks the canvas
like my tears
I can no longer paint pretty dreams