This is an unusual Sunday Salon, in that I want to introduce you to a poet - an artist who uses words as her medium.
Tamara is a friend, a colleague, a stained glass artist, but her primary love is the written word. Like many of us, she explored poetry in college, but life began to filter into her days and she set aside thoughts of working at her craft. It was something she saved for those rare days when she had time to stop and contemplate her thoughts.
Now, not quite old enough to be an Ancient Artist in age, but certainly one in creative spirit, she has returned to her writing with sensitivity and clarity. I asked her permission, and she agreed to let me share with you one of my favorites from her most recent work.
fixed blankly on blurring, golden fields.
October corn and swallows fly by
like distant memories fleeing
as the quilted earth covers her
in troubled sleep.
There is a girl making a hole for a seed,
but she is the seed, she is
the soil, sun and rain.
She plants herself.
The scent of peaches is everywhere.
A deep haze darkens the sun, the eyes
catch the bright globe's speedy withdrawal and
she knows that she's been a foreigner,
like sweet fruit attempting to grow,
buried here in the wrong season
in hardened sod.
-- Tamara Hocker @ 2008