poemimage

The visual & the poetic.

Tag: symbolism

When it happens you will know.

You navigate the sacred & you navigate the profane.

You navigate transient & symbolic worlds.

You navigate the fire extinguishers of culture.

You navigate the hypnotizing sucrose of media.

You navigate the razzle-dazzle of illusion in a surrealistic

disordering of the senses.

You navigate translucent nourishment within

the blood & dreams of your ancestors.

In all of this you are certain.

When it happens you will know.

You are surrounded by shadows.

Shadows lead to this moment.

A moment determining the future.

In nourishment you navigate.

In navigation you are nourished.

In all of this you are certain.

When it happens you will know.

In no way do I claim copyright over original resource

materials used for purposes of commentary & used

in combinations to generate new images.

One Very Sunny Day An Egg Enveloped My Shadow

photo S. McCabe

One very sunny day an egg shall envelop my shadow. An eagle shall be overhead, perhaps a bit to the east or west, lowering into the updraft, on the hunt & returning to the nest satisfied.

A robin swooping into shade swallows a delicately tangled necklace of humming insects. A heron drapes her wing upon a sloping stone & swallows magnetic frogs who prophesize.

A hen clucking like a sticky typewriter key repeats the sound of curvilinear incantations, unceasing, between echoes of breath, sleep & a sudden kerfuffle.

Photo S. McCabe

Egg, tell me how we shall begin.

Photo S. McCabe

Egg, tell me how we shall accomplish our mission.

Photo S. McCabe

One very sunny day an egg enveloped my shadow. I was minding my own business. I felt my blood in the sun-blood of my ancestors.

I felt them go ashore. I felt them carve and chisel enveloped by shadows. I felt them carry fire. I felt them carry a weighted promise.

Photo S. McCabe

Egg, tell me who & what, alchemically one very sunny day, you shall become in traveling a distant path to yourself: An eagle, a fluent ballerina, or a sun-flecked tidal wave. An astronaut, cosmonaut or vimani pilot. A Spanish painter rising like cream in early Modernism.

Or the hen caught up in a sudden kerfuffle. Or the heron draping elegant ink-like feathers. Or the barrel-chested north wind whiplashing trees. An opera singer who resounds triumphantly or a trumpeter swan harkening. A blue parakeet, nodding his fuzzy head, asleep & dreaming.

Or a sea turtle diving in the dark. The Ice Age thawing, a solar flare consuming or a fairy-tale princess personifying an archetype. A sphinx-like barn owl in the rafters, a barn swallow exiting a hole, or an amber bale of hay. A cosmic chant vibrating hearts. Fire-flame in a bowl. In a deep cauldron.

The language of trees. Dotted zigzags on grey stone carved with a chisel. A dotted triple spiral carved with a chisel. A feather wafting into a mist. A deer-god in a yoga position. The full moon fully incandescent. An escapee escaping hollow & corrupt civilizational madness. A druid-like hero, positioned in the now, opening portals to before. I promise I will tell nobody.

Photo S. McCabe

Egg, tell me where & when we shall meet again.

Photo S. McCabe

One very sunny day an egg enveloped my shadow & all shadows.

Photo S. McCabe

One very sunny day an egg enveloped salt & the volatile, shadows of the mighty & ancient world, honey & vinegar, shadows of this world in the light of this world, goats hanging in a market & geraniums in shade, clandestine meetings, the animated shadows we imagine spilling forward, the final page of a novel steeped in symbolism, shadows of a future dread we pledge to circumvent, sacrificing & shattering our personal selves to preserve, as guardians, the original innocent nourishment of joy & play, for all children & childhood, unfolding like the age-old unseen.

For the original brilliant sun. For the mechanics and gears of illumination, opposite to opaque – yet weighted with antiquity. Like an ancient accordion book, one very sunny day, unfolding & evolving.

Egg, show me those secret markings you made on the trees.

I don’t know how this egg came to be (unfortunately) on the sidewalk but the encounter stayed with me. This posting developed over a couple of weeks. First I put up ‘scene of the crime’ photographs along with the first draft of a poem. Then I edited the poem, with changes to the text visible in almost ‘real time.’ Then I created digital (Photoshop) manipulations of the photos using colour. Then it dawned on me to check a symbol dictionary for meanings associated with this entity and shape.

In The Book of Symbols: Reflections on Archetypal Images I read: ‘The egg is the mysterious ‘center’ around which unconscious energies move in spiral-like evolutions, gradually bringing the vital substance to light…’ If the egg had not been on the sidewalk (with yolk & egg white spilled out the cracked shell & spread across the concrete) I doubt I would have thought of an egg at that moment. Thus, my imagination turned synchronicity into images & text. One might also say sound. The egg, there and then in loss, became a poetic vessel for hope & empathy.

A Kiss

What one might do with words.

What words might do with one.

When one echoes, ‘Bluebird in Disguise

canyon to canyon,

& traces of Cubism disguise the bluebird in a small painting

& one traverses the howling wasteland, to and fro,

criss-crossing a porous sieve – remembering how to protect

who & what one is becoming,

who & what one is becoming,

who & what one is becoming,

& simultaneously, a rivery motion

there – beside the blacktopped road,

in shades of tinted depth, beyond the gully,

the face of the forest whispering a kiss

in gut-feelings a kiss

in language a kiss

In danger a kiss.

A white-magic kiss.

A mother & child kiss.

A kiss at the wishing well.

A moonlight-upon-ferns kiss.

An elusive kiss.

A kiss clawing through sediment.

A kiss brushing your hair.

A kiss breathing your name.

A kiss chanting forbidden knowldege.

A kiss in animal shadows.

The kiss of ecstatic verse.

The kiss of the crystal star.

A kiss of realization.

A kiss following crucifixion.

In stone a kiss. In wood a kiss.

In sundrops the symbol of a kiss.

A kiss in premonition.

Bluebird in Disguise, 2023 – 9″ X 12″ – mixed media on paper

That Old Song

Remember that old song about a tomato,

You say: toe-MAH-toe

I say: toe-MAY-toe…

Except I didn’t say tomato at all.

I said frequencies come into view roaring like a whip-poor-will.

To within hearing range.

Within broadcasting range.

Within a marvelous & manifesting zone.

Except I didn’t say tone. I said zone.

Investigate the marvelous:

Track back to

a pulsing frequency

imagined as gossamer,

like that clear syrup you poured on pancakes,

in the air & not even sticky.

Except I didn’t say ode. I said code.

Remember that old song about a tomato,

You say: toe-MAH-toe

I say: toe-MAY-toe…

Except I didn’t say tomato at all.

I said alchemical frequencies.

Dialing landlines into clay.

Calibrate a fine-tuning.

I heard the eyelid open.

How does one hear from such a distance

if there is such a distance.

Track vibrations to their source

to evolving devolution

to devolving evolution.

Morphing into law or code.

Law or code tracked to a source

follow a firefly spiraling.

The source of the code fomenting sound.

A whip-poor-will swooping in a gyre, invisible to the bird of prey.

Remember that old song about a tomato,

You say: toe-MAH-toe

I say: toe-MAY-toe...

Except I didn’t say tomato at all.

I said thrum:

Amber-golden honeybees

pollinate the sun.

I said hum:

Rapid eye-movement beep.

Divining rod-flicker beep.

Levitating hypnopompic sun-stone beep.

Translucent wing-sheath

humming.

I bought a boomerang.

Silence! Hush!

Let you and me (one of us the fool) embroider a spoon large as a tapestry.

To spoof high officials with mock Greek Tragedy: How to Spoonfeed Honey.

To perform the pagaentry with sardonic flourish and redeeming severity.

Except I didn’t say money. I said honey.

I practice hooking my wrist.

At the market, behind seven hanging skins, I bought a boomerang inscribed with carving.

Expect

OM.

Beep

OM.

Amber-golden sun-stream OM

beeping hum, beeping thrum...

I purchase drops of oil annointing the boomerang.

A tacked up handbill publicizes theatrical spectacle of the highest form.

To sound

OM

spanning divinity to infinity.

Eyelid ascending…

A whip-poor-will descending

glides into the window light,

scratches at the stone of night.

OM sounding gyres, OM sounding omphalos

infinitely divine.

Infinity sounding

OM,

One eyelid open,

fingertip

shiatsu beneath the soil.

A silence of soil

in divine science, divine omen

infinitely OM.

A thrumming bluebird, thrumming gnat, thrumming comet,

(infinitely divine)

thrumming the speed of sound tearing a hole in shrouded time.

I conceal the boomerang within the folds of my Turin robe: echo of the divine.

Echo of the divine – tear a hole in time,

hurling, aimed into the mission,

sailing to omniscient vision

& to return

& to return.

In Turin return to shrouded silence,

raise the eyelid,

visualize OM.

In absent space, in disintegration

visualize OM.

OM onward OM in hallucinations of the heart.

Investigate the manifesting:

Track back to

a pulsing frequency

imagined as gossamer,

like that clear syrup you poured on pancakes,

in the air & not even sticky.

Remember that old song about a tomato,

You say: toe-MAH-toe

I say: toe-MAY-toe…

Except I didn’t say tomato at all.

Beneath the eyelid all is silent.

Silent night.

Tomato, summer 2022
Photograph in Wikipedia I digitally rendered for purposes of non-commercial commentary.

Philip S. Callahan, Ph.D, influenced this poem, if I may call it a poem, with his unique research, discoveries, and ideas about sound & transmission related to the Irish round towers.

I Went Down to the Mall

I went down to the mall.

They said they wanted somebody who spoke an extinct language.

They asked me which one I spoke.

I said I forgot.

They said that’s okay.

We might have something for you anyway.

They asked me if I was familiar

with the concept

of reincarnation.

this is…synchronicity

This is a painted mask.

This is also a painted mask.

This is a complimentary cookie in a wax paper bag stapled to a brown paper bag.

I posted a few days ago about the cow in the time machine

a few minutes later

I sat outside a cafe on a bench waiting for take-out food.

I read about a cow in the book I grabbed on the way out

then again on the previous page

then I looked to see the title of the chapter.

This is…synchronicity.

When the Abstract Expressionists

When the Abstract Expressionists

went to the moon

and discovered

the Expressionists

had left an egg

rolling to a standstill

for them to discover.

*

*

*

The egg comes from a painting of mine.

The bird imagery comes from digital experimentation.

The idea about the Abstract Expressionists

and Expressionists

and moon travel (involving an egg)

came in a humorous flash.

Nine Whales (or three)

9″ X 12″ works on watercolour paper from 2021. I’m not sure why the whales (in groupings of three) are looking at the iconographic images (on a shroud?) within eggs or stones. I discovered about thirty blueish smaller paintings on paper I did during the second lockdown.

Slowly but surely…like a turtle

Today:

Couple of days ago:

Today:

Today:

Couple of days ago:

Onward!

Posted by u/4K_Jay
2 years ago

GIF Experiments: 29 (Goodbye, a painting)

I said ‘goodbye’ to a painting this week. Sprayed it with four sweeps of archival varnish half an hour between on a warmish day and packaged it the next. I wanted to write the title on the back but couldn’t find it. So I just started calling the painting ‘Goodbye.’

The canvases with blues I’ve done the last couple years psyched me for using blues on the 5′ X 33′ roll (scroll) of Italian paper I began in late April. That work is now 70% complete. There is no chance of forgetting the title because I rework it often. One word is Druidica.

As for Photoshop 5 and troubles with ‘scratch discs’ – if I save a simple GIF to Web & Devices at the first warning the program won’t shut down on me. But no large files and nothing tricky! So it goes.