Saturday, July 28, 2012

If Our Country Fails

If our country fails
Based upon the dollar,
What will become of our art?
If art remains, will it be
A projection on a flatscreen
With a thumbdrive plugged
Into its frame?

If we live in tiny cubicles
With other families
And share our lives with
Communal residents,
Perhaps rotating our art
By the hour
On the screen
Above the couch
Will be the remains
Of our great creators...

Picasso fades into
Digital edifices
Of skyscrapers now abandoned...
Our existence
Will demand this escape,
Large will be our luxury,
Large, multi-use space:
A museum on the one open wall
Of our habitats,
Our shacks beset
With jewels of other times...
Economy from affluence,
Posters of masters
Glancing at us
Through the screen of ages...
Then will artists demand
Their price
As dignitaries in palaces
Own the art
Of our world?

Will tiny vignettes
Become collectible
By those with wall space?
The downloads will
Sell for pennies
On our dollar,
Which, we are warned,
Is already depreciated
Below the price of bread...

Will we give up our art
At the end of the world?
Will a pixel-filled frame
Bring us our only memory
Of flowers,
Industrial palettes
And sculptures too expansive
To fit into our new world?

When we crowd out our planet,
Will art survive?
Or will the squalor of common
Space house a vision
Of possibilities lost
In the squandering of riches?
How much is art worth?
How much would you pay?
$10 for 1000 digital copies
Of works from 2 centuries.
Adjust for inflation...

I guess that's fair…
For not long ago,
Access to excess
Was the artist's curse,
Slavery to the flavors
Of the men with favor.
We are only returning
To our roots...

But this time,
Who will draw on our
Cave walls?
Where will David reside
That we all may know

Who will be founding
The new salon?
Perhaps Milan
Will release these secrets
On iTunes
That we may download
A dead culture
Only princes will know
In person.

So buy the frame,
Let the art community
Dictate your wallspace.
They know what they are doing.
And it's easy to erase...

Monday, July 16, 2012

Finishing Touch

Finishing Touch

We were basted together
In a running stitch,
Cut and pieced with others,
Sewn loosely, then set aside--
A forgotten project
Tossed into a hope chest where
Slowly the stitches rotted:
Dreams forsaken...

Over time, we found ourselves
Appliqu├ęd onto other comforters,
Paired with other squares,
Part of the scrap bag
We placed ourselves in with
Our decisions,
With commitments only to trends
And wild-patterned friends.

Until, seams ripped from
Unseemly unions,
We existed for a while isolated
And neglected,
Rags in random bags of cutaways,
In separate assortments--
Too classic our colors,
Too faded, smelling of dank rooms
And incense...

But remembering our early
A creative hand
Brought us together,
Cleaned the fabric of our souls,
Joined our savage selvages,
And serged us in a seam
Stronger than the heartstrings.

We are the art of combined
Pattern and color:
Batiked Prayer Flag in the wind,
Announcing the travels
Of love
And the hope for peace,
In the service of
Warmth, shade, protection…

By choice and divine design,
All that matters is the binding that 
Sutured our hearts together,
So that it is hard to tell by feel
Where one of us ends
And the other begins...
But looking beneath
Our joined surface,
Anyone can see:
That hidden seam is
Our Finishing Touch.

Finishing Touch Quilt by Kelley Suzanne McCrory

Mermaid's Tears - Annual Repost (Poem)

The Legend of Mermaid's Tears
(Sea Glass Myth)
Once upon a time, far from any shore
A mermaid paused to think, There must be something more…
Before she could exhale another wistful sigh,
She glanced toward the horizon, the endless sea and sky
And glimpsed a sailing vessel made of cloth and wood
As seen before on her sea floor, but now she understood:
This moving dreamboat was no relic of ancient times of old
Perhaps sailors were not extinct as Neptune often told!
She swam up to the boat, against the mighty wake,
And strained to see the sailor, the myth of such heartache—
For as Neptune had warned them all, a man was not a prize,
But would prey upon the mermaid who gazed into his eyes—
She saw the man stand squarely, his shoulder to the wheel,
Understanding all at once her heart was his to steal…
For she found him so enchanting, what else but love would do?
For he could stand so proudly on a tail split right in two.
His sea legs long and lovely began to move her way,
So she ducked beneath the surface, but dared not swim away.
She swam along beside him, feeling brave and brash,
And soon she leapt to board his boat and landed with a crash.
Her arms and hair entangled, her fin a leaden weight…
Her heart seemed to have leapt too high, and now it was too late!
This captain, he had spied her as he reeled toward the clamor.
“What’s this?” he asked her tousled form, she began to stammer,
“Please, forgive my appearance, pardon my intrusion,
But I had to know that you were true and not just my illusion.
He knelt beside the mermaid, this sailor with such grace
And leaned in to nudge a lock of sea-drenched hair from her face.
She squinted her eyes tightly, then opened them to see
What sort of spell he’d cast upon her—she stared willingly.
He knew then all the stories he’d ever heard were right:
A mermaid was a siren who could lure you in the night.
They gave themselves completely to possession by the other,
And lived for years and years adrift, the mermaid and her lover.
But one day she discovered that sailors pass away,
While mermaids live forever—she’s still crying to this day
For her lovely sailor, her fantasy come true…
And now her tears have washed ashore, her mermaid gift to you.