NEW MEXICO ART RETREAT

My friend and artist Tammy Pruitt and I spent almost a week in Northern New Mexico to gain inspiration and create art. We were not disappointed. Everywhere we turned creation abounded and art surrounded. We stayed in a log cabin at 9,000 ft. above sea level near Red River, New Mexico. Some days we stayed holed up in the cabin and other days we ventured into area towns like Arroyo Seco, Taos, Chimayo, and Santa Fe. We concluded our journey by driving south to Hondo, between Ruidoso and Roswell, to visit another artist named Alice Warder Seeley. Between the two of us we took thousands of photos and rejoiced at the antics of the hummingbirds that quickly accepted our presence. The trip was everything I'd hoped for and more. Now...I must get to the art-making, now that we've returned. Below are four new poems written in response to the experience.

RETREAT

Minutes of talking
Minutes of silence
Minutes of watching
Minutes of waiting…
It’s a relaxed state of mind
that creates a true vacation-
the soul escape all crave,
but few brave.

Atop the mountain retreat
with an amiable friend
the ebb and flow perfected quickly
as kindred spirits seek
and savor the soul food,
God manna,
sent to feed, refresh, and restore.

ASCENTS

It is the quietest of ascents

of light and breeze,

breath and heartbeat

that awakens the soul this day.

From darkness to flame,

to glow, then green—

a whir, a chirp,

a quickened step

as coffee gurgles

and day begins.

From picture windows

quiet perspectives,

the watchful “eyes” of aspen bark,

their leaves shimmering

in flirtatious beckoning.—

A day begun in silent splendor

opens full

to hold me, completely.

 

HEALING AT CHIMAYO

They say the dirt is holy at Chimayo,

the dirt where many feet have trod

to reach and touch God.

But rushing streams that surround and hurry past

have called me to stop and listen—

This healing comes from crystal waters

flowing rapid o’er ancient rock and pebble.

The Voice says, “Stop and listen…

you are cleansed.”

And peace flows in

where pain flows out—

My healing came at Chimayo.

 

MOUNTAINS OF RED RIVER

I thought I saw the mountains of Red River

when waking from a nap,

their image burned strong in my brain—

the grand slope of verdant grey,

a silhouette against my cabin’s morning glass.

Descending to another place,

a land familiar and certainly welcome,

but for a moment

I thought I saw the mountain and confused,

I looked, then realized

they were a thousand miles away

as wistful watching dissolved to home.

Claudia Lowery

June 2010

NEW POEMS

A MOTHER’S HOPE

She would not move over,

that hopeful mom.

She waited and watched

for a son to come,

but he didn’t.
I could feel her pain
oozing disappointment—
a wound reopened.
Year after year
on Mother’s Day
alone on the pew she sat,
eyes fixed on the pulpit,
an empty seat to her left
as minutes passed
and no one filled the void.

I know the feeling…

she never heard the preacher
because her ears were strained
to the swinging doors behind her.
Then came the arrival of
the last song, the last prayer,
another Mother’s Day alone—
come and gone
and another year
to brace for the next.

Claudia Lowery
May 2010

This occurred at my mother’s church as I squeezed into the row to sit with my mother, the woman next to us wouldn’t budge. At first I resented her stalwart, unmoving position that took up all the space, but as the service concluded I realized and remembered my own experiences…and she was about 80 years old. My heart went out to her…how selfish of me!



BIG MAN WALKING IN SNOW


He is large and lumbers silently
through seldom seen snow—
a gentle crunch surrounds
his big boots.
Eerie blueness fills the sky
reflected in crystalline powder,
he labor to breathes the icy blast,
his lungs, old too soon—
the cigarettes aging prematurely.
But who could resist the clean air?
Who could stay in when
one day is given
to walk tall and large through
the experience that’s rare.
He strives, it’s hard,
but his cheeks are red
and he takes it in—
the cold
the gift
the snow.



Claudia Lowery
May 16, 2010

GOBLET AND LUNAR CYCLES

Photo by Claudia Lowery
May 2010
Goblet designed and created in clay by Dennis O'Bryant.

LUNA, LUNA...WHERE ARE YOU?

Luna, Luna...
where are you
in this darkened morning light?
The dark side of the cycle
the turning tide
the waiting moments
that pass slowly
to a dreaded destination
longed for, prayed for...

Luna, Luna
your glowing roundness beckons
and woos the hardest soul
that seeks redemption
from the strain of life.
Come to me,
oh dark and new moon,
hidden but present...
I know you are there.



Claudia Lowery
May 12, 2010

DEATH OF A MUSE

Hand raised against the muse
the dagger fell.
Resisted, redirected,
but unable to ignore…
It teased and enticed,
slicing bits of mind away
like slivers of fallen glass
each mischievously finding
their way into the flesh…
annoying…painful
however small.

Hand raised against the muse
the dagger fell
to put an end
to all its pestering, festering
little irritations of attention.
The funeral march wants closure,
finality of the nag—
but beware…
There is resurrection of the dead!


Claudia Lowery
May 5, 2010

NEW WRITINGS

EARTHBOUND


The gentle ribbon-like flock
of homebound birds
cross a midday sky and quarter moon.
Unfurled and curled, V-shaped and winged
they migrate toward a better place
and I go with them
for momentary heart-flight—
a soaring thing
with lift and current,
moving me in golden light
in heavenward destination
as I, earthbound,
roll beneath their distant feathered arms.


Claudia Lowery
Fall 2009


CIRCLING
(…watching him watch her)

There was that curl to the lip
he had that made her swoon,
forgetting who she was.
A swaggering, self-assured
Rhett Butler-of-a-man
whose no-nonsense outlook
attracted and repelled simultaneously.
She’d pretty herself
then make it her business
to catch him snatching glimpses-
the tilt of her head, curve of her hip—
but he was good at discretion,
his eyes melting over her form
like honeyed beeswax.
Through the chess game crowd of pawns
they moved thoughtfully, knight and lady—
circling, circling, enclosing…
then away.


Claudia Lowery
December 2009

TUCKER'S STARRY NIGHT

“Tucker’s Starry Night” was small and broken clay
painted blues with green and gold, swirled and loose and free.
His efforts with a lump of earth were done with loving care—
Then in wrong hands, was broken. Who would even dare
To touch the heartfelt art of young, creative hands?
It’s difficult to realize that jealously demands
Negative attention, hidden from our view.
What someone meant for evil was soon turned into good.
We carefully removed the parts thoughtlessly left behind—
the broken edges remained, symbolic of the kind
of artist’s life we’re living in a broken, fallen world
But in the Master Artist’s hands new beauty is unfurled.
Re-created with new purpose and placed for all to see
Upon a tiny easel, a little gift for me.
“Tucker’s Starry Night” became a masterpiece that day
Reminding me from start to end we’re all just mortal clay.

Claudia Lowery
November 18, 2009

Tucker Barton is a fifth grade art student of mine. He made a little dish from leftover clay after his regular work was done. He painted it very carefully in a style similar to Van Gogh’s Starry Night. When finished he said, “There, I’m stopping because it’s perfect!” As it sat on his desk drying, someone broke off one side as he was cleaning up at the sink. Tucker was heartbroken. However, I told him to let me think about it and we’d do something with it. Two days later he asked what we were going to do and I said, “Do you trust me? I’m going to break it some more.” He said, “Yes,” and I proceeded to break off the rest of the edges, leaving a flat surface with his “Van Gogh”-styled design intact. We gave it a coat of Mod Podge and he signed it. Now it sits on a little easel on my desk. I like it even better than before. What a great message there is in the small things in life…God is re-creating us daily….and I am very thankful for that.

AFTER THE RAIN

After the rain comes growth. It may not look like what we expected, but in it an unexpected and odd beauty.

Photos by Claudia Lowery

October 2009

NOW

In the long and lonely life
we enter and wait
and watch for moments
of unexpected pleasure, joy.

A touch is fire and smoke
and blaze and always
arouses thoughts that once
turned over and seen are
pondered and left
behind for another day.

Without the cold and dark
there is no warmth and light
so on we walk into the days
set out before us to question
each and every thing
we’ve wasted time upon.

Wandering, turning left
then right the anticipation
greets and enters us into
a world that draws out
some sleeping dragon’s
thoughts, desires to be
laid down in pigment, dust
and form.

Awake, oh sleeping one,
and fill with curling soft
and fiery breathe every void
that seeks a lighted path
for this is now and now
is passing quickly and is
gone….now.


Claudia Lowery
November 5, 2009

OCTOBER ROSES

October roses bloom rare and welcome-
rain-soaked and leaning
they droop top-heavy-
a pale pink reminder
of a fragrant offering given
as autumn unfolds
in cool wetness and colors warm.
And then they sleep in dormant bliss,
breathing out and breathing in
icy northern winds,
siphoning up nutrients through
a path of hungry roots-
the petal's blush
just a season and sunray away.

Claudia Lowery
Ocotber 11, 2009