Abigail Rodriguez-Meneses's "Sugar & Spice" after Connie Bostic

Abigail Rodriguez-Meneses photographed at the Art of Poetry Catawba Valley tour of Hickory Museum of Art on October 13, 2018.

SUGAR & SPICE

by Abigail Rodriguez-Meneses

after 8^th Grade Picnic by Connie Bostic

Mother nature reveals its appearance floating in water 

Displaying a free flowing bright red fluid

Circulating and intertwining within the skin of her hand.

Through it all, stands a pale woman expressing an

Act of openness and realness.

Should you strip away the pond,

The result would be a woman going through

The terrible beauty of womanhood.

Should you strip away the woman,

The result would be the aftermath of a terrible shark attack.

It is difficult to distinguish whether the woman is discontented to be

In the water as her body language speaks otherwise.

The facial expression delivered on the woman's profile suggests

A regular blank look. However, the movement with her hands delivers

An expression of freedom and calmness. The mixture of the two exhibits

Level out the reality of menstruation and the various moods that follow.  

Brianna Friday's "Concerto" after Ella E. Richards

On Saturday, October 13, 2018, Brianna Friday kicked off the tour at Hickory Museum of Art with her poem, inspired by Ella E. Richards. The painting is located in the Dear Paul Letters exhibit in Whitener Gallery.  

CONCERTO

by Brianna Friday

after The Violinist by Ella E. Richards

When she draws her bow and plays

Sliding, somber trills arise

Worn and weary so she seems

Without an accompanying melody

Although at rest, her weapon’s poised

Her prestige persists

For in her eyes and smile

Are remnants of the former chorus

Brenda Smith's "Four Extra For Survival" after Lewis deSoto

Brenda Smith photographed at Hickory Museum of Art on October 13 for Art of Poetry Catawba Valley's second tour of a Unifour art institution in 2018. 

FOUR EXTRA FOR SURVIVAL    

by Brenda Smith

after Paranirvana by Lewis deSoto

I cannot say you blocked my path

massive though you are.

I can pass around you, beyond you

but I cannot ignore you

reclining on the hard wooden floor

soles of your feet staring us in the face

your eightfold path turned twelvefold.

You have too many paths, large Buddha,

too many spokes in your wheel.

You, the incarnation of the

twenty-first century journey

with its too many paths

diverging in a vacant lot.

This is what happens

to the trailblazer sometimes.

You launch out with a new wisdom

and lose your way in concrete

the city swallowing your meditation

the way it swallows nature.

No green to be found.

No soft path to tread.

You need those four extra spokes

to keep the sidewalk from bruising your feet

as you walk the cities of the world

heart wounded by what you see.

So here, exhausted, you lie.

The best place you could find.

Art, a sanctuary in the modern world

a bit of peace in the cacophony

of millennial life.

Sleep well, brother Buddha, 

for now.

15 poets contributed to the event's 20 ekphrastic works which are on display with the art works that inspired them. Many thanks to Hickory Museum of Art for hosting us! Subscribe and stay posted for future events.

Join Art of Poetry Catawba Valley's Tour of Hickory Museum of Art, Saturday, Oct. 13

Join Art of Poetry Catawba Valley as we tour Hickory Museum of Art on Saturday, October 13, 2018.  15 poets have contributed to the 20 ekphrastic poems selected. The works will be shared in front of the art that inspired them.

The tour begins at 2 pm in the front lobby of the museum. Admission is free and open to the public.  Hope to see you there!

Jane Shlensky's "Fly Me" after Owen-Murakami and Van Ameyden

FLY ME
by Jane Shlensky
after Kites by Ginger Owen-Murakami 

and Vicki Van Ameyden

No one—not even she—remembered
her in that dress, too white and delicate
for people who work in soil, too prissy
for a boyish girl who liked rough games
and climbing to sky branches of Old Oak.
But here she is, the one picture of her 
in white lace and patent leather pumps,
stored away in a trunk, the yellowing dress
wrapped in tissue paper below it.

“Do we really remember such early events
or do we only think so because of pictures of them?”
she asks, looking into each of our faces. 
That spurs us to reminisce of Old Mack, 
the horse pictured with us astride him bareback, 
of Dan and Jeanie, the collies who half-raised us, 
of stern-faced aunts and red-faced tippling uncles, 
of a family band playing after cookouts,
those same brothers singing harmony, 
of catching fireflies and tadpoles 
with running hordes of cousins, 
each memory raising up others like smoke,
faces long harbored, experiences long edited,
floating images that exist nowhere 
but in the albums in our heads.

All that laughter at recovering
what can never really be gone, 
part and parcel of us, finding 
and embracing our Selves of long ago, 
fills us with longing and joy,
for here we are, growing old far apart,
but still tethered by some ghostly cord
that holds us fast as family, 
each fluttering on whatever wind that shaped us,
each flying in this willing quadrant of sky.