© 2009 Photo by Sue Miller
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Shop on Picacho (Las Cruces, NM) - The Gen
© 2009 Photo by Sue Miller
© 2009 Photo by Sue Miller
The Gen is a costume rental place.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Old Adobe Building
© 2009 Photo by Sue Miller
I think I stepped
through this door once
over thirty years ago;
a friend's parents owned
this Old Mesilla building
catty corner across
from the old Post Office.
How silent it stands
leaning and weathered,
huge cracks between
each mud brick,
large rough gaps
around the small window
secured by bars and grate,
and rat holes
by this shabby wooden door.
I wonder if spirits
of locals and tourists
from those bygone days
still wander inside
shopping for trendy items;
and what about
years before,
what they wore
in the 40s, 50s and 60s.
Mesilla Tree #1
© 2009 Photo by Sue Miller
x
pitiful
wicked
worn and hungry
deserted,
desiccated,
like the cracked,
delapidated
aged, sandy
mud-brick building
behind you
unkempt
as the yard
around you,
I see
a wise old wizard
with electrified hair
under that stiff,
pleated, tattered robe
parched bark,
as wiggling snakes,
or welded twigs
wicked
worn and hungry
deserted,
desiccated,
like the cracked,
delapidated
aged, sandy
mud-brick building
behind you
unkempt
as the yard
around you,
I see
a wise old wizard
with electrified hair
under that stiff,
pleated, tattered robe
parched bark,
as wiggling snakes,
or welded twigs
that climb like weeds
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Friday, January 30, 2009
Monday, January 26, 2009
Beadwork
Strands of beads.
Need three hands
holding this thing
plus three more hands
holding that thing,
slide my thumbnail
under a split ring
to hold it open
long enough to force
a loop through it,
but my thumbnail slips.
I scream.
Strands "recoil" here,
strands "twap" there,
some "twuang,"
some "toing"
everywhere.
Need two more hands
to hold beads,
strands, clips,
loops, rings,
wire, pliers,
STY-
RO-
FOAM.
G-r-r-r!
GET ON THERE!
AAAACK!
Need three hands
holding this thing
plus three more hands
holding that thing,
slide my thumbnail
under a split ring
to hold it open
long enough to force
a loop through it,
but my thumbnail slips.
I scream.
Strands "recoil" here,
strands "twap" there,
some "twuang,"
some "toing"
everywhere.
Need two more hands
to hold beads,
strands, clips,
loops, rings,
wire, pliers,
STY-
RO-
FOAM.
G-r-r-r!
GET ON THERE!
AAAACK!
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Reflections
My mind in a pause – a reflection of my eyes
ripples between twirled ice, forced around
in circles by my drinking straw as ice taps,
clanks against a dented glass half full.
I stare at building lights and streetlights
through an A-shaped window, reflections
of Nopalito's interior superimposed
on nighttime's world. Cars pass on Missouri
as phantoms liquefy into the road.
Ceiling light transposes itself, centered
on a streetlight. A wall near the cash register,
with a plant and chili ristra, emerges, growing
out of parked cars. A wall vent floats
on a black sky. Skewed coffee cups
and red glasses dance over commercial coffee
makers and soda machines as my waiter's reflection
circulates like fan blade shadows around tables
and chairs while he serves his customers.
Light and dark shapes, transparent, glowing, shattered,
geometric, layered, like my thoughts broken or scattered
by other thoughts, transposed over recognizable images,
create chiaroscuro illusions, the way dreams do
or don't make sense because pieces are there.
ripples between twirled ice, forced around
in circles by my drinking straw as ice taps,
clanks against a dented glass half full.
I stare at building lights and streetlights
through an A-shaped window, reflections
of Nopalito's interior superimposed
on nighttime's world. Cars pass on Missouri
as phantoms liquefy into the road.
Ceiling light transposes itself, centered
on a streetlight. A wall near the cash register,
with a plant and chili ristra, emerges, growing
out of parked cars. A wall vent floats
on a black sky. Skewed coffee cups
and red glasses dance over commercial coffee
makers and soda machines as my waiter's reflection
circulates like fan blade shadows around tables
and chairs while he serves his customers.
Light and dark shapes, transparent, glowing, shattered,
geometric, layered, like my thoughts broken or scattered
by other thoughts, transposed over recognizable images,
create chiaroscuro illusions, the way dreams do
or don't make sense because pieces are there.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
