Mud Pies and Bones: Writing and Art
- Monument, Colorado, United States
- December 20
- The Cleaner
- I am a published poet and exhibited artist living in the shadow of the small, but lovely Mount Herman, a part of the majesty of the Rocky Mountains. I raise children, tend gardens, cook, write, clean, sculpt, read.....................................................................................
MY RECENT POSTS
- Adventures in Art
July 18, 2014 04:18PM
- Portrait of a Thistle in Four
June 24, 2014 09:50AM
- Prickly Pear Cactus Bloom in
June 14, 2014 02:39PM
- Song for Brick
June 05, 2014 05:26PM
- New Spaces - New Art
May 28, 2014 09:03AM
MY RECENT COMMENTS
- “Very nice bit of writing
July 18, 2014 05:49PM
- “I love this.
is life with little kids. It
is kind of fun. Kind
July 18, 2014 05:46PM
- “Love this! I've been
through towns north of Boston
of Vermont. Is
July 18, 2014 05:30PM
- “@ Daniel, only the
leaves are poky. Thistle has
uses, but I don't
June 25, 2014 10:00AM
- “Can't really focus on
this with a child in one ear,
like and agree with
June 25, 2014 09:52AM
Lucy Simpson's Links
There is so much in life that feels out of control right now: my husband has taken a job of love that means less money, but much more happiness, my son's hormonal, thirteen-year-old Asberger rages and my daugter's hormonal rages, my own peri-menopausal hot sweats, a different hot than the usual… Read full post »
"Her gleamin silks, the taperin
O her ringed fingers, and her feathers
Move dimly like a dream wi'in
While endless faith aboot them gethers."
Hugh MacDiamid, (excerpt from A Drunk Man Looks at the Thistle, 1926)
Unlike the poet above, I was not drunk when my family and I came across a crowd of wild… Read full post »
Sticky, waxy petals in the midst of inhospitable thorns. I sat on a prickly pear cactus last year. Was pulling thorns out of my cheeks for days.
The nucleus curled like a sea creature, the stamen like fronds of wheat grass.
&nb… Read full post »
(for love of Tennessee)
You were meant to hold
up the foundation.
May you never sober
in your crumbling self.
Brick, your Daddy's
trying to help you:
see that a rail car and life
are the same thing,
that love and unbottoned trousers
are no different.
You go down into that magnolia
scented/… Read full post »
Creating new art - terracotta mask in progress
Girl in Hat - Drawing in Progress
Me with a Garden Mask in Progress - photo taken by my loving man Read full post »
(Italicized lines from Etiquette for Every Day by Mrs. Humphrey, 1904, pg 76, The Hatless Man by Sarah Kortum)
A man with a trivial nose should
not wear a large moustache.
If the nose be small as a tiny thread
bobbin, forget it entirely.
Persisting in this facial hair/… Read full post »
Wildflower - Original photograph and Adobe Photoshop
I am continuing to teach myself Adobe Photoshop.
Orange is my favorite color - these are the flowers I bought for the Easter table - not many people like orange - I see this color and I i… Read full post »
by LUCY SIMPSON
Henry walks in
and out of plaster rooms,
with rectangular windows
ablaze, past gilded onion-domes
in the autumn pelting rain,
on cobblestone streets
with stones exposed
like bald cats. He juggles
six balls at… Read full post »
Asters in Negative
Rope Fraying in Water
Two Forms Embracing Read full post »
I am thinking of Sister Frances today in the light of almost spring. I am hoping she freed herself before she died and she was old when she taught me Social Studies in seventh and eighth grades, gray hair tucked neatly under the fold of her blue cap. She… Read full post »
Seated Woman - I see many little flaws in this piece, but there are a few things right. I love the process of sculpting, the cool wet clay in my hands, the adding of clay, the subtracting of clay. This is my first figure sculpture. My teacher, the model and… Read full post »
Art Teacher from the Fifth Dimension
His ragged eyes,
scuttle about the classroom,
where he teaches aesthetics.
At an easel, he holds charcoal,
dirtying pure white,
waggling his round,
He does not share the plate of cookies
the nice student brought.
He does not… Read full post »
Winter Warmth - we walked into town
Wisdom Tea House - My daughter and I drank tea here, basking in
Drainage - I was struck by how neatly these three drainage pipes lined up and how beautifully they shone in the light - like something sacred, rathe… Read full post »
Rubber Tree Leaf
The Old Wagon Wheel
Ice and Dry Grasses
Waves of Wood
Read full post »
“They flutter their wings in yearning and sing, “Come closer, my love.” Rabindranth Tagore
Do not judge me
… Read full post »
Contemplative Angel, by Lucy Simpson - graphite on paper Read full post »
The German cuckoo cants the blue hours.
I sit at the Formica table, moored to it,
pondering the connection between Formica
and formica ants, while I finger
a glass swan figurine.
My tuxedo cat stretches against my thighs.
Dada sleeps on the sofa,
spindly legs stretched ou/… Read full post »
Self portrait - pixelated.
The navigation voice pronounced it as 'Santa Fu,' which made me think of holy pho. We drove down 25, all the family loaded into the car, listening to Neil Gaiman books, the only audio books everyone can agree on, the whole way through dry scrub, past Trinidad at the… Read full post »
I perhaps get this fire from my mother's family, an Aunt who was pro-Castro and a mother, who, though vehemently Catholic, didn't believe in the authority of clergy, over one's own conscience. As it is, I have trouble with authority figures who misuse their power.
It started at… Read full post »
Save Them All
I am lifting up the train
I am lifting up the train
I am saving my father
I am saving everyone
on board the nightmares
I am saving the driver
the reoccurring image
of the awful reaching
of my human father's hands
I put the… Read full post »
As I sit at the table with the other students, I think of how I never really learned to draw. I took art in high-school, but felt very discouraged. My teacher was a very nice woman, who would gently correct me every time I glanced down at my paper. A few… Read full post »
Old Mother Sugar-Shack
First they nibbled the sugar-cane
its bright red and white against dingy snow.
The sun haloed the girl's head
as she busted out a syrup pane.
It cracked as she squealed.
They did not see me,
insubstantial as I am,
coated in sweet light.
Long dead kin warned/… Read full post »
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