Love, Your Artsy Girl

Thursday, December 9, 2010

In Search of Eloquence

In Search of Eloquence
Posted by Your Artsy Girl at 5:30 PM
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My Publications

  • My Chapbook "The Art of Exporting" published April 2011 by Dancing Girl Press
  • "Espiritu" -- The Fairfield Review
  • "Mango Man" -- The Fairfield Review
  • An Art Review done on my artwork by Eileen R. Tabios
  • "On My Fortieth Birthday" on Tinfoil Dresses
  • "Advice to a Friend" on Literary Bohemian
  • My poems on Literary Well

My Cafe Press Gallery

  • Cristina Querrer's Gallery

Songs I Have Written/Recorded

  • Can't Let it Go and Show Me
  • CQ
  • Love Me Fool

About Me

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Your Artsy Girl
I was born in the Philippines at the height of Vietnam War and was raised as a US Air Force military brat until I graduated from Wagner High School of former Clark Air Force Base in 1985. I hold a Bachelor of Arts in Creative Writing and a minor in Visual Arts from Eckerd College, St. Petersburg, FL, and an MFA (Master in Fine Arts) degree in Creative Writing from National University, La Jolla, CA.
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Gestalt's Chair

A single chair is
love over time
it becomes the thing
of the past—
present-centered,
Spring's tree—
assured & promising
but when uncared for
memory of ax & nails
ache at the limbs &
weakens the legs.

It paints itself a self portrait
eulogizing in your agony.
The earth narrows
to this corner
& what was once seen
with clarity becomes
senile & bedridden.
Soul over body
adoration over repulsion
glee over grief,
everything connects,
everything inferred,
straight-backed—
solemn, imprecise form
in the dimness.


Delicacy

It's easier to mask
sunlight with dark curtains
while The Great Wall of China
goes on for miles and miles
but this sensuous sentinel
opens her gates at night
while you ride away
with her spiritual livelihood
just to feel the breeze
on her body, a disparagement
to her cause. It may seem
nothing can dispirit her
but she is a mere emblem
that embodies men
of stature and courage
who want nothing of lasting
legacies, like cities they
plunder. They dismember
her slowly by their fear of flowers.
She, but a statue of indulgence,
a delicacy for heroes and cowards.

Pears

I sleep with dictionaries
that hold meanings of things—
mostly things of no significance,
like pears I drew at
the bookstore.
My love will soon
forget the meaning
of our encounter
or say there was
never one so
matter-of-factly.
But the graphite
on paper, repetitive
hatch marks, the s curve,
composition of his face,
music I actually see will be
filed away with photographs
and sketches of
irreclaimable things.

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