Love, Your Artsy Girl

2015 A Year in Review I got a lot accomplished this year by letting go of things that are not good for me.  I hope you all have a wonderful Holiday Season wherever you are and whatever joyous occasion it is you celebrate that acknowledges gratefulness and new beginnings.  I hope to continue to contribute to this blog with my poetry, writing and findings and hope to inspire some of you to be creative and expressive in your lives and share the love. Let us have Peace on Earth , my friends.  That is my intention. That is my wish.  Let this year be a better year!

I am excited to announce the podcast recording of my literary flash fiction story entitled "Ex-Pats".  Thanks to Kris Baker Dersch, of No Extra Words ~ the flash fiction podcast for featuring it! :-)  http://traffic.libsyn.com/ noextrawords/episode_9.mp3 https://noextrawords.wordpress.com/2015/08/19/episode-9-ask-the-locals/

Intentions beyond this ledge are jagged cliffs, pine trees and a lonely lake. Sorrow of a lost arrow, misdirected. It's not enough to open your hands and say come away with me. It's not enough to close one's eyes and not see the painful landscape where I once lived. Murky water, thick as milk, I was treading so long in. Now the ghost is back, coming into view--and each step closer, just as fearful of losing again. Grasp me, quick.  Pull my nakedness in with your warmth. Open me up to possibilities of strength and heights of mountains again.

"Fissures" acrylic on canvas by Cristina Querrer Within the fissures--words Caught in between the slats Like meat in between teeth Keep grinding the bone Till there is no more Furthermore no fossilized Imprints of someone's death grip To remind us of the turbulence Somewhere in the cracks Someone said "I love you" Someone else said "We're better off apart" There's the cave drawing of us Primal, minimal that just Points out the obvious "It is what you make it" Yet I try to save you From yourself and you Insist it is me who is drowning Chip away at my chivalry But you know I am right all along Another chance may come But hurry, the paint is peeling Take my hand, I'll pull you up I'm prophetic, you know Ghosts from these walls Tell me things--they say You will perish here or there But don't thank me for Bringing you to this room Because you decide...

"Christian" graphite on paper by Cristina Querrer I t could have been you, as you always said. Be happy , you'd say, as you gallop across the waves in your toy boat. I could have drawn your form while you were sleeping, keep you immortal. There are no pictures of us to forget or adore, only Neptune now knows the truth of you. & he will one day spring from the sea after sundry sailors & foul fishermen who scrape the sea floor with careless anchors. Each day I sketch the shouts and screams of your sirens across your Pacific sunsets. Immortal only are the waters you rode on for the nets you cast, the bounty you caught never belonged to you. You must pay it back to the gods & those inland victims of yours at every port.

"My Archipelago" mixed media series by Cristina Querrer As if it's not enough to watch the island go under or watch myself float away. It's still there like some ancient ruin left by a mighty chief. I know what it may feel like to go back to a time. People don't look or act the same: just some scattered tribe speaking an old language, broken and poor by today's standard. It's not enough to watch myself go under hopping from isle to isle in search of the sailor, some ancient mariner who always had a heart of a stray animal ready to roll out his loot to impress the King as he raped & plundered the rest for his safekeeping. This is the same history of every remote paradise. The people are left wanting, waiting for the next ship & at the same time waiting for the white man to leave their island forever.

"Pohnpei Harbor" photo by Cristina Querrer I will come back to you without men who seek your women & waters. I will not come back to teach but to talk & sing with you by your rivers & waterfalls, take each climbing curve on your mountainside as meditation. I will come back on my own terms to know the real you — not as scientist, anthropologist, exploiting ex-pat, parish priest, or trans-continental company you're used to, but as mother & artist with Pohnpei poems I left behind.