Poetry

In a Vessel

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Ball Jar

Dreams like fireflies in a vessel

longing to be free – to escape

gasping for air in the jar holding them captive

until the dreamer releases them

they fly away

free – to be realized

to be acknowledged

be seen – be heard

like words on a page

until they are read

read with the heart

fireflies and dreams – fly free

fly high

to become the dreams that were dreamt by the dreamer

© Anita Adams 9/11/17

September

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Signed - Clouds at Max Patch

a new month

with new views

clouds are clearing

the sky is robin egg blue

©Anita Adams

AWA Women’s Study Project

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 cropped-window-light-iii.jpgInvisible Me Study by Anita Adams – first conceived in 2015, rev. 2017

 Objective: To give women of all ages, ethnicity, economic, educational or sexual orientation an opportunity to be heard either by poem, quote, short story, prose or statement a voice using the AWA (Amherst Writers & Artists workshop method), or by an invitation and agreement to share their voice in response to two Writing Prompts.

Number to be interviewed:  Interview 50 women ages 18 & up

Documentation Noted/Published:

  • Name of Writer (in whatever manner the Narrator/Writer chooses)
  • Age
  • Statement/Poem/Prose/Short Story
  • Ethnicity
  • Region or Country where Participant grew up.

Authorization/Release Form: Complete, sign and return the attached Authorization/Release Form for publication purposes (to be sent separately).

Publishers to be considered:  AWA Press, Hazelden, Alfred A. Knopf, Self-Published

Contact for AWA Prompts: AWA.AAdams@gmail.com

Please respect the originality and personal property of this project to be solely that of Anita Adams aka AAdamsLLC. All communication and offers to assist with its fruition should be directed to Anita Adams first. AWA.AAdams@gmail.com Thank you. www.CalledtoWrite.org

Windows

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windows

fascinated by them

their unusual panes

no panes

how the light is reflected in the room

or rooms

what is warmed by the sun’s rays

what is seen by the viewer

nature, grass, trees, leaves, birds, sky, flowers, ponds, ocean, sand, colors, streets

for the dreamer

– everything

©Anita Adams

 

Workshops

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Source: Workshops

Passing Clouds

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floating across a blue sky

so often go unnoticed

in a rainbow of colors

puffy white creatures

gray and ominous

pink and heavenly

red and thunderous

scattered and striped with a rainbow or ‘sundog’

no two days are the clouds alike

look up – notice

these passing clouds

may they bring you a smile – a sense of awe

©Anita Adams 8/4/17

My Ancestral Home by Louis Jenkins

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A very enjoyable piece read this morning by Garrison Keillor:

 

My Ancestral Home
by Louis Jenkins

Listen Online

We came to a beautiful little farm. From photos
I’d seen I knew this was the place. The house
and barn were painted in the traditional Falu
red, trimmed with white. It was nearly mid-
summer, the trees and grass, lush green, when
we arrived the family was gathered at a table
on the lawn for coffee and fresh strawberries.
Introductions were made all around, Grandpa
Sven, Lars-Olaf and Marie, Eric and Gudren,
Cousin Inge and her two children… It made me
think of a Carl Larsson painting. But, of course,
it was all modern, the Swedes are very up-to-
date, Lars-Olaf was an engineer for Volvo, and
they all spoke perfect English, except for
Grandpa, and there was a great deal of laughter
over my attempts at Swedish. We stayed for a
long time laughing and talking. It was late in
the day, but the sun was still high. I felt a won-
derful kinship. It seemed to me that I had
known these people all my life, they even
looked like family back in the States. But as it
turned out, we had come to the wrong farm.
Lars-Olaf said, “I think I know your people, they
live about three miles from here. If you like I
could give them a call.” I said that no, it wasn’t
necessary, this was close enough.
“My Ancestral Home” by Louis Jenkins from European Shoes. © Will O’ the Wisp Books, 2008. Reprinted with permission. (buy now)

Thank you Garrison! And a HUGE thank you to Louis Jenkins!

Pablo Picasso speaks

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“Every child is an artist. The trick is how to remain an artist when he grows up.” -Pablo Picasso

I used to draw with my brothers for hours on Saturday mornings watching Looney Tune cartoons. I still have some of my pencil drawings. It was one of my favorite things to do. You might ask what happened?

 

What happened to the Artist

being a girl in a house full of men

growing up in a family where women were only thought of as servants, not friends

so, this young girl left home at an early age and began her own family

never completely abandoning the Artist/Writer within

the writer still writes and the artist still creates

© Anita Adams

 

As Pablo Picasso says-  The trick is to remain an artist when he (she) grows up.

This is one of my favorite pieces of Art by Picasso ‘Nude’

 

Pablo Picasso nude

 

A shared poem by W. S. Merwin

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The Helmsmen

The navigator of day
plots his way by a few
daytime stars
which he never sees
except as black calculations
on white paper
worked out to the present
and even beyond
on a single plane
while on the same breathing voyage
the other navigator steers only
by what he sees
and he names for the visions of day
what he makes out in the dark void
over his head
he names for what he has never seen
what he will never see
and he never sees
the other
the earth itself is always between them
yet he leaves messages
concerning celestial bodies
as though he were telling of his own life
and in turn he finds
messages concerning
unseen motions of celestial bodies
movements of days of a life
and both navigators call out
passing the same places as the sunrise
and the sunset
waking and sleeping they call
but can’t be sure whether they hear
increasingly they imagine echoes
year after year they
try to meet
thinking of each other constantly
and of the rumors of resemblances between them

W.S. Merwin, Selected Poems, Atheneum, 1988.

Mid-July & Fireflies

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Juliet's Window II - Verona, Italy

When the days are hot and steamy

the air thick with the fragrance of honeysuckle and roses

like a warm peanut butter and jelly sandwich on white bread

the fireflies appear in the darkness of a mid-July night

lighting their way through the trees

until the need for their light is no more. ©Anita Adams