Marsh Hawk Review is an online poetry journal sponsored by the Marsh Hawk Press collective. Marsh Hawk Review will appear twice a year, under the revolving editorship of collective members. Each issue will offer a selection of poems solicited by the editor, in addition to new work posted by poets in the collective.

Tuesday, September 7, 2010


A Poem for An Artist

Talking about a painting, we say--

discipline decides taking on the bright square canvas

Look at it in the silence --

Talking about painting,

looking, following footsteps in blank space,

more necromancy than religion in the bright square.

Rows of colored marks, but does color equal commitment?

The Lake District could dictate the color blue.

Talking about a painting. Taking a chance,

traveling and reading long hours

and always looking beyond.

Looking inside, painting a first thought,

color mapping direction as summer effects abstract patterns.

Summer, hot sweat, needing more than the trees.

Summer, the mountain roads dictates memories shaping time.

Remember our histories, and paintings still with us.

A class that stated with learning languages,

ways of thinking.

Starts with, and never stays with only blue.

Life of bends and creases. Chances.

Talking about painting, every color a road,

a direction filling the sky.


Electric blue of the city night,

walk silently away from winking lights.

Not the stars, but the evening sky

witnessing the changing weather

while I walk empty streets

past lonely passers-by carrying unreflected thoughts,

blue, blue across solemn blocks,

blue, blue in the middle of the week,

the city moving on while machines go up, up, up,

invade the sky, staring down on the white lines,

the blue night finding our way.


My birthday day,

sitting beside a blue vase crowned with curving

yellow and red gladiolas pointing upward,

trying to review backward loves,

the words a blue book of answers,

records of decades, collections of fading photographs,

childhood, the melody of language breathing in your ear,

silence looking for a way in.

Resonant echoes passing though

reach out and across, doubting what is lost,

the shadow of a step

echoing silences lined up,

gathering memories willing to be overheard.

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