Art Illustration + Poems

Eleanor Airway

Blue calcite the night, soothe over the weary mind.
Sensing the illumination in my center core, like the singularity of the stars in this starry-painted sky.
As the summer days are approaching, will I miss you now?

The landscapes are grids,
borders to protect the invasive neediness.
At the edges of my gallant horses,
Like my own towering crib.
But the clouds have shifted and can carry
my jejune voice afar;
To kiss your waving aura.

My unpitched heart caught in a fable.
Dance around the feather totem.
Climb the crystal bamboo tower;
To turn the night light on.
Since the golden goddess went to shine on infallible faces.

Living in dreamscapes, wondering if you’ll return to me.
Perhaps as a heat death?

Art and Poem: NaRa

Advertisements
Standard
Ceramics + Writing, dreams

Sleeping With Malachite (Part 2)

His mind softly touches my,
Exuberant ladder of dreams.

He is wrapped in a blanket
Of my layered terra.

Like a destined sleepwalker
He came right through.
But with care,
For my scared
Velvety ivory dog.
He even brushes
My bronzy beauties.

He gathers all
My thought patterns around.
Even one of my owl friends
Joins the funeral circle.

Who died?
Wait. What?
That’s me, wrapped
Like an egyptian mummy,
With malachite.

How could I have died?
A woeful projection
Hears me and explains,
“Drown in a lake of cadmium red.”

He shakes me awake
“Just another nightmare.”, I say
“But you were laughing
Not crying.”
He says.

I reply,
“Oh my unconscious lost my life.”
But with a more serious tone,
“I was under my fate.”

 

img_6503Poem & Art: Naomi Ruth W. Photograph : Erwin Blumefeld

 

Standard
Ceramics + Writing, dreams

Sleeping with Malachite (part 1)

The owls are perching
On the ladders of my dreams again.
Heavy oppression,
Vacuuming the brilliance out of me.

My flint feeted girl grasping
Her inner world.
Where bells rung,
To set the horses galloping
Through green dust infinity.

What incubus?
Has dropped in my belly of layered terra;
With picks to pluck out
My dream felt exuberance.

To be awaken at 3:00 a.m.
With vacant swan girl stare.
Swathed in ivory guilt.
Did I forget?
The owls are my friends.
Above, with watchful hearts,
They strung up stripes of malachite.

Poem & Ceramic Art: Naomi Ruth W.

img_6468

Standard