Art Practice 2024 up to Week 24

23 & 24

Twenty-three is prime.
Twenty-four is sadly not.
But that is okay.

Sweeping

Scratching sounds come up the roads,
underscored by whistles.
A sweep sweeps up the leaves in loads
with brooms with dark, frayed bristles.
To gather them in small, neat piles
away from peoples' ways,
they get no greetings and no smiles,
they get no greetings and no smiles,

Long Cat

Lie on the foot mat and stretch your legs long,
away from your body, while meowing a song
of satisfied strain in the shoulders and calfs,
to the person regarding the cat in their path.

Rice

to the person regarding the cat in their path.
I always make extra,
or finish leftovers,
and feel like making a new batch would be irresponsible.
There's never the correct amount.

Knotted Strings

To fix a snapped string
sometimes it's enough to knot
it down at the base.

Haze

Deep, dark haze rises
to cover my eyes.
Obscuring cases
and telling soft lies
about the brief glances
and whispering utterance,
introductory trances
to dream's bitter advances.

Oak

An oak tree stands in yellowed dress
at the mountain's foot.
It's been getting less and less
sunlight where it's stood.
Wilder brush and shrubbery
piles to a giant hedge,
that leans over to a sharp degree,
beyond the stark cliff's edge.

Marigold

Porcellaine fingers
carressing a soft yellow,
a marigold's face.

Ink Blot

Ink bleeds, royal blue,
soaking into each layer,
drawing a weird face.

Listener

A man sits still in foliage green,
eyes closed, and listening.
Around him, leaves are whispering
tales never before seen.

He turns his head towards the sound
of footfalls snapping twigs.
A deer flees at the sudden twitch,
and onto safer ground.

Swallows

and onto safer ground.
who planned to visit ten boroughs.
They'd roost for a day,
grow tired of their stay,
and then throw themselves into the airflows

The Hunt

Gnashing teeth press down on pillowy tissue,
their kinks and edges pulling, tearing at sinue,
til it splits and separates across its length,
releasing the juices in the meat.

Bones collides with bone and both strain hard,
until one cracks, splinters, spilling,
yellow marrow in a lively river.

They're still warm, and taste of life,
rewarding, for the efforts of the hunt.

Disturbance

The smallest motion
Perks up ears, and attracts stares
A slight disturbance.

Blink

The unmoving iris looks through you
from across the tracks.
A light breeze tries to push you backward,
step by step,
and off the sidewalk,
onto the street
you wander.
In the distance, separated by trees
for the slightest moment,
eyes meet in agreement.
Then you blink.

Allergies

Spring comes in heavy,
resting on my soft conscience,
as well as my nose.

Music Box

The little doll spins on its heels
propped up on a copper spindle,
driven by some wound-up reels
and carrying a patchy bindle.

Four ducks surround the doll
and spinning counter-clockwise.
The music plays a joyful call,
and their quacking marching cries.

Carrot

There once was an oddly-shaped carrot,
all nubbly, and twisty, and whatnot.
When placed on a stone,
it could stand on its own,
due to its bottom-most root-knot.

Tangles

The tree's beard almost reaches the ground.
You can run your fingers through it,
disturbing its denizens.
Ants and moss tangle around the dried leaves,
that you free with the gentle touch, which is just the slightest bit stronger than the wind and the rain.
As if in response, the ants are exhaled on your fingers.

Crumbling

The ground trembles slightly,
a low grumble fills the air.
You have to tread lightly,
have to remain aware,
of the shifting beneath your step,
that falls, heavy, on the ground
that gives way to depths
and darkness unbound.

Old Wood

Wood splinters slowly,
under the weight of nothing
but time
that has eaten away at its body,
its fibres,
its soul.
It barely hopes to return
to the ground.

Pastry

Sweet and savory
They mix into a strange blend
That I’ll crave again.

Procrastination

There once was a bridge over water
That’s been due for repairs for a quarter.
They said it was fine,
the damage benign,
and forgot to deal with it after.

(This is possibly the nerdiest thing I've ever written)
Induction

When negative blobs wiggle in unison,
tracing lines of geometric abstraction,
the atmosphere changes,
the field rearranges,
and Maxwell could tell you the reason.