My womb is a tree that bears no fruit Year after year, as seasons change Trees all around it flourish and sprout, But somewhere inside me, this womb tree remains Barren, naked, stripped of leaves, While my wounded ego still believes Perhaps, someday, this tree will sprout Until that day, I’m filled with doubt Somewhere, a pied piper plays on his flute A song for this womb tree which bears no fruit
The Wissahickon Valley in Philadelphia’s northwest corridor has inspired creatives for centuries. Following are a few gifts–in the form of words and images–bestowed to me by the wild and wonderful Wissahickon. Contemplate the perfection of a single falling leaf: unannounced, unassuming like a simple, solitary sage who’s reached his expiration. The time comes to let go, to free fall–spin round and round– drawing circles from sky to ground, landing atop carpets of brown, orange, magenta. Time’s passage weathers one to a […]
Sleep comes, and with it the fading of constellations. In dreams, she levitates high over mountaintops. The ancient light of stars burns to dust, snapping souls to attention. Voiceless, © 2013 by Gina Marie Lazar Lovrencevic. All rights reserved.
“Divinity must live within herself: Passions of rain, or moods in falling snow; Grievings in loneliness, or unsubdued Elations when the forest blooms; gusty Emotions on wet roads on autumn nights; All pleasures and all pains, remembering The bough of summer and the winter branch. These are the measures destined for her soul.” -Wallace Stevens (1879-1955), from “Sunday Morning” Late Winter Blossoms © 2013 by Gina Marie Lazar Lovrencevic. All rights reserved.
“Thin are the night-skirts left behind By daybreak hours that onward creep, And thin, alas! the shred of sleep that wavers with the spirit’s wind: But in half-dreams that shift and roll And still, remember and forget, My soul this hour has drawn your soul A little nearer yet.” -Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828-1882), from “Insomnia” Bedtime for Baby Girl, © 2013 by Gina Marie Lazar Lovrencevic. All rights reserved.
Categories: Animals, Art, Boxers, Color, Dead English Dudes, Dogs, Friendship, Inspiration, Love, Pets, Photography, Poetry, Portraits • Tags: Animals, Art, Boxers, Dead English Dudes, Dogs, Friendship, Inspiration, Love, Pets, Photography, Poetry, Portraits
“The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon Turns Ashes–or it prospers; and anon, Like Snow upon the Desert’s dusty Face, Lighting a little hour or two–is gone.” -Edward Fitzgerald (1809-1883), from “Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám of Naishápúr” Two Men Walking Towards the Light, © 2013 by Gina Marie Lazar Lovrencevic. All rights reserved.
“Shine! shine! shine! Pour down your warmth, great sun! While we bask, we two together. Two together! Winds blow south, or winds blow north, Day come white, or night come black,, Home, or rivers and mountains from home, Singing all time, minding no time, While we two keep together.” -Walt Whitman (1819-1892), from “Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking” Kiss (Pencil on paper, 2008)
“I now realize that life held a divine purpose, for shoving me into places that were as changeable as the wind. In between the floundering of then and now, the eyes of fate were following me–watching, always watching with narrowing glances. Now, having given deep thought to life’s offerings, I realize that everything that happened should have happened.” -Gordon Parks (1912-2006), from “No Apologies” Pebble Pond, (2012)