I found the stars in puddles today...and poured them in my cup.

A cup of stars...

Washed down and warmed my belly.

It took the brown out of my skin

And turned it porcelain.

I thought I could glow like this forever,

But the incredible light burst forth from me

And dazzled into a trillion colors.

And this was what was left of me

Hues swirling through eternity,

To fill up countless irises

Of wishers and kissers of the night.

To shine upon velvety skin,

Of girls that I could have never been.

And when they bathe naked

They absorb my energy,

To color their cheeks rose

And their navels, for the tongue of a boy...That will love them.

She dreamt of an August night,  Red and Blue run across his chest.
Binding his heart to bleed amethyst.

Once, he lied in her lap, sank in the fragrance of sunflowers.             He stretched out upon her, like he was lying on the cool meadow ground of Colorado.

His hand danced in her's and her slender fingers                           Bended and bounded, in his mind.

She never got to kiss him on a starlit August night.                         For the stars, scattered and forever a mess.

He always remains, in the age of twenty-four, and she is no longer the child.

Poem and Art by: Naomi Ruth Waldschmidt

She thinks..."We are all skulls, jouncing in our heads. Destined to be a stone." She wishes...God would make her into a opal; as she's burning her cells,
Wasted on a nicotine fever.

Will she ever understand her sadness? And there is a heaviness in her chest, that should not be ignored. Familiarize her death, as delicate as the monarch's wing.

With all the ways she pacifies herself, still the memory...The mention of his name seizes her heart.

She will rise up,                                    Be forever lost in the infatuated morning.

Poem by: Naomi Ruth Waldschmidt  Photo by: Naomi Ruth Waldschmidt

They have you up on ancient faces.
By the train tracks, time has elapsed.
You were to be the healer, of my sweet teen-aged years.
But the last ducky has had its'last quack.

And the Holland House still stands, but no longer does it echo, with your laughter that swarmed,in my child mind.
And somehow decaying furniture has outlasted us.

For a decade and a half, mourning has hovered in my heart for you, and it keeps hovering, hovering, hovering... Like that morphic Raven.



MINE NA POEM 2.

I found the stars in puddles today…and poured them in my cup.

A cup of stars…

Washed down and warmed my belly.

It took the brown out of my skin

And turned it porcelain.

I thought I could glow like this forever,

But the incredible light burst forth from me

And dazzled into a trillion colors.

And this was what was left of me

Hues swirling through eternity,

To fill up countless irises

Of wishers and kissers of the night.

To shine upon velvety skin,

Of girls that I could have never been.

And when they bathe naked

They absorb my energy,

To color their cheeks rose

And their navels, for the tongue of a boy…That will love them.

Poem and Photos by: Naomi Ruth Waldschmidt

Recycle



Jason’s Rock – A View from Black Mountain Tops

We drift into the oblivion,
We forget our own names.
We trace black circles,
Around our birth stains.
We use ladders to reach above Mountain tops, to feel some       Type of greatness-
We deny the torturous Reminder, we will be without       The other.
We trace black circles,
Around our birth stains;
To find each other in the next life.

Art and Poem by: Naomi Ruth Waldschmidt                                           Muse: J.B.W.

MARCH 6, 2016 NARA15BLOG. WORDPRESS.COM

AMNESIA, ART, CERAMIC SCULPTURE, DRUGS, ENSHRINED POETRY, IDENTITY, LOSS, LOVE ENCAPSULATED, LOVE LETTER, MEMORY, MY ART, POEM, ROCK, SCIENCE FICTION

You whispered, "The girl with hands full of rings."       Frozen by time, you slept in my arms. Under the ripples of radiant blue light.

Now you're gone Jay, and you haven't found her.

For in June, with juvenile pursuits, Tranquility was chased away by noon. And all awkwardness, recklessness, and giddiness;                                     A collection for dust web.

The bridged cards have fallen down. And memory has fled, wasted in the vallies. We no longer in our haven, Upstairs, above the antique shop. Departure, through the kitchen.

I read a poem today-- And it reminded me of you. "Looking back on time with kindly eyes, He doubtless did his best; How softly sinks his trembling sun In human natures west!" (Emily Dickinson)

In a forest, that leads back to your house; I wonder now, if you are still on one of your trails, coming back to me with a guitar pick in your mouth. How softly you'll call for me.

Frozen, with sweet anticipation, I want to follow you Jay; Into that summer forest, And not rest until everything is over.

For: J.B.W. Poem by: Naomi Ruth Waldschmidt