no heat and looking for a tropical heatwave

the furnace went out about a week ago. Craig and I are sharing a space heater...moving it between our rooms. It should be fixed today or tomorrow.
The basement area of the apartment reminded me of steam punk....wiring together old and new technology. Well, in this case just old technology. :) 
photo copyright browland 2010

think I will work from the wiki article to find some good science fiction writing.


staying warm with music.

punk breakfast

a rare treat for me....surfing You Tube. It started with Radio Tarifa, went to Camaron de La Isla (fabulous flamenco singer), then Manu Chao , and then the Dead Kennedys. (here) I had forgotten how riotous punk concerts were. looks like fun.
photo copyright BRowland 2010 (taken at the Wasteland, Salem, OR)

generosity when having nothing

 two generous people who are in difficult circumstances made the holiday season mean something with their good cheer and courage.
photos copyright browland 2010

the wrecking ball and disappearance

 2009

 2009

 2009

 2010

I've been going to this site for three years and probably have hundreds of photos, both above ground and underground...following the creek. I think of these structures as sculpture and I hate to see well-intentioned urban developers remove structures that can't be rebuilt. For me, this sculpture adds visual texture and interest to the waterfront area. The Fry warehouse was unique in that it was a triangular building. The towers have an interesting design and I have seen blue herons perched along the top edges. It seems that these structures could have been renovated for new uses.
photos and text copyright BRowland 2010

and the living

and the living-

bent green stem

illuminated

wound and tension

bottom of water bottle

looking up

melted to a cityscape

now a bee

a spider

burning branch

photo and poem copyright BRowland 2010

transitory cartwheels

transitory cartwheels

this is unreal.

is transitory.

is two weeks of unreal.

is geranium reminders, of dad.

is confusions, misunderstandings.

is unnecessary space for one.

is trading but not upgrading.

is a cliche of a dragonfly.

is a repetitive spice or seasonal symbolism.

is invading mosquitoes, bees or flies cartwheeling.

is an invading lime green or pumpkin colors.

is the only area independent bookstore relocating.

is the punk bar relocating?

is loss or leaving friends.

is lonesome or loneliness.

is a creaking cracking home.

is Eunice's VW wagon stalling in a ditch.

is another friend drinking Cuervo Tequila alone in the park.

is the acids in my stomach cartwheeling.

is transitory.

poem copyright Nicole Taylor 2010

photo copyright BRowland 2010

For the Birds 1

a blackbird

gulls

herons

pelicans

beaches

family

flowers

horizons

maps

poems

trees

acrylics

graphite

paper collage

wax

dolphins

starfish

turtles

olive greens

blues

forest greens

lemons

limes

maroons

oranges

purples

Here is a simple summary,

an origami dollar bird

suspended from a small canvas

for the money lost for the sick birds or

musical notes here

across a purple ribbon

at a serenaded black oil spill benefit or

a colorful pelican trapped in black and white.

Art is about capturing

something beautiful, states one canvas.

Here is only ONE joy

for us, states one canvas.

There are species you will never see

This is your time.

. . . .to wash our faces in the new oil.

That is one good reason to hold someone's hand.

Approximately 95 small canvases

expressing art, expressing concern

for approximately 1000 barrels a day

leaking 40 miles off Louisiana's coasts

and 3 other Gulf Coast states.

So many slogans, summaries

even in simple art, simple statements.

poem copyright nicole taylor 2010

photo copyright browland 2010

vavava voom

Bone against bone

Flesh against flesh

We each suffer in our own way

The old man

Shakes his fist at the moon

The young girl sits in her

Room knitting purple thread

Into a sacred cloth

That will blanket her pain

And the heat, oh god, the heat

 The drops of rain evaporating

Into steam as soon as they

Hit the pavement.

The blond twins smiling as

They order wine and appetizers

All the voices in the room

Dissolving into a dull roar

Of laughter and empty words

 While her eyes search the crowd

For that one face that will

Recognize and know her for

Who she is and not just

Love her for her stylishly

Tilted hat and her green

Coat with the fox-trimmed collar

photo and text copyright Rhonda Prince 2010

Butterfly wings by Cheryl Zweigart

Butterfly wings in their beauty open and close in the Wind

And in their graceful, gracefulness open and bend.

Lavender colors like windows as I look through them

As they play softly on the flowers inside the broken gem.

Hillsides covered from a distance of lavender angel wings

As in the sunlight streams that they flutter their beauty brings.

Then from flower to flower in the Wind they climb

Beautiful with their wings in their full spread in time

I see the mirror of the gem I look into the wings that now close

As for a moment the butterflies in their stillness pose.

I look through the window pane and now I see through mine

How the beauty once in my wings through pain in His wine.

And then gracefully a butterfly set free when I thought I was alone

Beneath my wings His Wind was the strength higher places flown

Now butterflies flutter wings of whispers of songs of praise

As upon my wings now open and close in songs whispers raise.

Poem copyright Cheryl Zweigart 2010

Image: anonymous

under his wing

The man she used to love

stood outside her window

offering tea and oranges.

 He wrote a message

on the back of a maple leaf

ripping it from the tree

and letting the wind take

It from his fingers.

The same message was

written in braille on his

wrist and all she had to

do was take his hand

and touch the words

with her fingertips.

Instead she let her hand

rest on the smooth

bodhi seeds and glide

past the turquoise bead.

She felt the words enter her

heart and  take hold

growing wings and flying

out of her chest…out of the window…

past the man she used to love

and finally soaring up toward

grey clouds and

disappearing forever.

 

photo and poem copyright Rhonda Prince 2010

Women First by Nicole Taylor

a fragile x story

We hate math.
They tell us we can't do it.

They measure our x axis.
With abscission, they

cut and separate the
flowers from the fruits.

beauty from plainness,
simplicity from difficultness.

X substitutes before y, a, bc.
Why females before the males?

Why does x mark the spot?
Sign here or form radiation

of extremely short wavelengths?
Why do x-rays mean to examine

or treat, like nurturing rays?
Why does x mean extra large or small?

Why is x so fragile, so oriented?

poem copyright nicole taylor 2010

photo copyright b. rowland 2010

Dear Roksanna by al

Dear Roksanna

I am the bottom of the abyss
here light and vibration is to kill or be killed
on the way down

if you survive without air

if you not explode under pressure

red flashes of your heart beat will tick out your death

and still even if you get here with your lousy stinK

I will be long gone

being here, there, everywhere and nowhere
in-visible in-finity of a-void cosmos

photo copyright b. rowland 2010
poem copyright al 2010
al's gallery is here

an apple on your lips

I find your lips in the night

So strong, so sensual

the taste of a

sweet apple.

And your words I would

invite,

softly spoken as I hear

your whisper.

The aroma fragrance of lavender

in moonlight streams.

I cannot escape the caress of

your lips on mine,

and then I see the shadow

of your face in the wine.

And yet I struggle with

you in the night.

Wrestling in my dreaams,

where I long to see you.

You within streams of pleasure,

and then I find the caress of your

lips one more time.

And then I taste the apple on your

lips crushed now from your lips

on mine.

poem copyright Cheryl Zweigart 2010

photo copyright BRowland 2010

nutrition

if i could lift

a grain of rice

to your lips,

i would

but the gesture

frightens you

your survival mode

requires

a different grain

something more attuned

to your starvation

a mild poison

as an antidote

to your body’s despair

photo and poem copyright browland 2010

alice

alice, my acrobatic love,

hastens the simmering sauce,

melting pans

in her japanese fans

she is my sweet,

sweet delight

skimming toys

from the rosy broth

in her little boots

and citron gloves

she emits cries

of horrible neccesity

measuring goodbyes

in teaspoons of hot mustard

i cry.

she taps the floor

while packing her peacock

and button collection

slams the door

and runs.

image and poem copyright browland 2010

Leaves in a Cradle

LEAVES IN A CRADLE

Through the pain on the ground dry crisp leaves

They lay on the ground droplets of

mirrors interweave.

The season that goes full circle

Hillsides that overlap with streams

of purple.

Expressions within the shadows images

soft windows.

Of a world on droplets shimmer as

the wind blows.

As they curl whispers of life and death

on gems.

A life full circle a brush of lavender on

the rims.

As lazy they lay on frosty silver ground

Droplets lay on leaves soft and round.

The rain cradles in the leaves in the night.

As streams they carry the tears through

the moonlight.

Until a shadowy cloud drifts across

the moon.

Shadows on dry leaves in the night

a sad musica tune.

What is life? What is death?

Only in the last breath.

Poem Copyright Cheryl Zweigart

January 1, 2010

photo copyright BRowland 2010