A Visit to the NM Museum of Fine Art

the collagist’s
silver gelatin self-portrait—
a pair of scissors


(I first saw Rodchenko, the Russian constructivist mentioned above, on a pale winter day in Iceland. The image is from his archive.)

a few notes between
sleep and waking, memory
of my father


Agnes Pelton, Awakening (Memory of Father), 1943, oil on canvas.

eggs, toast
how many cafes and
cups of coffee

the plaza
has changed so much, so little
over the years
crossing it under snow, I
feel the same about myself

Beam Walking By Bill Waters

When I was little, I asked my brother what was in the attic. “Nothing,” he said, and added that you had to keep your feet on the beams or you’d fall through the ceiling.
The only beams I knew of were sunbeams, which filtered through the air vents on each side of the house. I wondered how they enabled you to walk without falling through, and I worried about what would happen if the sun went behind a cloud while you were standing on them.
don’t look down!
this high-wire act
called life

Haibun by Angelee Deodhar–Posted in honor of the Hindu New Year

Click to enlarge

Haibun :Dharavi

An Om symbol painted on one adobe shanty with a corrugated tin roof stands close to an identical green painted one. An old man smokes his hubble- bubble pipe while reading the local paper in Urdu. Bollywoood music blares from somewhere far away, drowning out the Christmas carols in the hut opposite. Urchins run to catch the wind with their kites. The smaller children play with spinning tops or make things out of mud, gods and goddesses and houses for them.

The girls help their mothers cook the sweet jiggery rice pudding for the New Year’s feast and also in painting a rice paste kolam just outside the entrance to their humble home. Today they don’t have to go to their sewing classes or take tourists around to see how and where slumdogs live .

soft clay on the wheel
the potter’s hands
shape mine

railway mosque –
a flash of blue
a kingfisher takes off

Notes from the author:
Haiku previously published Frogpond, Vol. 37:2, 2014 and in http://creatrix.wapoets.net.au/Feb 2014

Dharavi is a locality in Mumbai, Maharashtra, India.[1] Its slum is one of the largest in the world;[1][2][3][4]  Dharavi is currently the second-largest slum in the continent of Asia Dharavi is also one of the most densely populated areas on Earth.
The Dharavi slum was founded in 1882 during the British colonial era, and grew in part because of an expulsion of factories and residents from the peninsular city centre by the colonial government, and from the migration of poor rural Indians into urban Mumbai (then called Bombay).[  For this reason, Dharavi is currently a highly multi-religious, multi-ethnic, and diverse settlement
Kolam (Tamil-) Kolam is a geometrical line drawing composed of curved loops, drawn around a grid pattern of dots. In South India that is drawn by using rice flour/chalk/chalk powder/white rock powder often using naturally/synthetically colored powders .It is widely practised by female Hindu family members in front of their house

image by Leonara Enking 
<https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dharavi#/mediaa href=”https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dharavi#/media”>https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dharavi#/media</a>/File:Shanty_dwellings,_Railway_tracks_and_Mosque_in_Dharavi_Slum_Mumbai_India_February_2010.jpg

Haiku by Alvaro Cardona-Hine & Barbara McCauley Cardona

Haiku by Alvaro Cardona-Hine:

looking at the moon
suddenly remembering
to look at the moon

you hear frogs like that
in bucket after bucket
of utter darkness

her golden urine
all over the squash blossoms
the runaway goat

I hug the children
and one in the bunch laughs out
hearing my heart beat

the way you smiled
told me you had been eating
my sunflower seeds

on the shore a man
on the lake an animal
this happens to us

the ground has frozen
that impossible embrace
under the gravestones

shoes so dear to me
they all but take a few steps
in my direction


I own three exquisite paintings by Alvaro–my favorite was a gift on the birth of my daughter.




Haiku by Barbara McCauley Cardona:

the cat   the two dogs
and me   sitting in this room
I wait/ they don’t

after the party
shaking out the tablecloth
rice against the snow

apples and moonlight
oh what I wouldn’t give you
if you’d only ask

its feathers gusting
a raven on the fence post
sits out the high winds

under a full moon
the tin roofs of the village
dissolve into sky

bottom shelf    way back
making a life of their own
some old potatoes

Art by Barbara–




Find more of Barbara’s–and Alvaro’s–visual art–at http://www.cardonahinegallery.com/

In memory–Alvaro Cardoa-Hine

Four Winter Haiku by Mary Kendall

night snow
boughs dreaming
of first blossoms
fog filled woods~
even the winter moon
has lost its way
a winter walk
tell no tales
the blue moon
silently closes the door
upon the year


First published Poets Online
© 2009 Mary Kendall

Later used as lyrics in “Winter Moon” by Paul Carey, a piece for women’s chorus in 2011.

(Posted on her blog, A Poet in Time, 2015, http://www.apoetintime.com)

Mountain Moving Day by Yosano Akiko

This week in poetry class we’ve been doing American haiku and perhaps the less well known form of tanka. For many years I wrote many tanka, few haiku, and then a few years ago it shifted. Both forms are exquisite, but tanka takes me straight to Akiko Yosano, the Japanese feminist.

Disregarding right and wrong,

The next world,

We face each other

Loving and loved.
(From TANGLED HAIR by Akiko Yosano– published in l901. Translated by Sanford Goldstein and Seishi Shinoda, Cheng & Tsui 2002.)

You have yet to touch

This soft flesh,

This throbbing blood –

Are you not lonely,

Expounder of the Way?

(yawahada no atsuki chishio ni furemomide
sabishikarazuya michiwo toku kimi)


I wrote these tanka, thinking of hers:

snow on the mountain
late this year
I try
to tell myself
my drought has ended.

election day—
still yellow leaves,
where will this sculpture
of a Navajo woman
be in a thousand years?

She also wrote less structured free verse. I had hoped to publish this in a more festive mood with different election results, but it is still one of my favorite poems.

The mountain moving day is coming
I say so, yet others doubt.
Only a while the mountain sleeps.
In the past
All mountains moved in fire
Yet you may not believe it.
Oh man this alone believe,
All sleeping women
Now will awake and move.