Summer Light ~ #022 May 2014 – Haiga and Haibun for Red Wolf Poems Prompt #213 A Picture
And Winged Beings of the Otherness
stunned. I stand. there. equal distance. between a Vlaminck. and a Derain. someone has pinned a small work. by Weddle. small. able to hold it’s own. between giants. I grin. and watch. in silence. nodding my head. occasionally. in agreement.
a brilliant leap. a link. between reds. and flames. passion. and greens. blues and yellows. and lines. and pleasure. through paint. and brush. flooding warm. across the surface. heated. and rich.
my muse. grinning now. in anticipation. we watch.
my imagination. drifts.
footsteps. the quick pace. of non-watchers. in the museum. dark blue. uniforms. out of the corner of my eye. the museum guards. “Sir. This way please.”
“Excuse me?”
“We’ve had word of small creature activities in the museum. We’ll escort you out. This way. Please.”
“Safely. Please.” another voice. tumbles in. then hushed. quickly. she looks around. wide eyes.
“Why?” I ask.
“Wings. Sir. We’ve had reports of winged beings. Small. . . .”
“Has this happened before? Here, I mean?”
“Yes Sir.”
“Often?”
“We are not at liberty to say. Sir. This way PLEASE.” his voice rises a notch. and breaks. emphatic.
I look around. more guards. in solemn step. guiding. urgently. other museum goers. who look around. suspiciously. unnerved.
I begin to understand. I struggle. to keep a mischievous grin. from slipping out.
glamourbombs. someone. or some creature. is glamourbombing the museum. and the museum. is falling. deep. into the enchantment.
I’ve waited years. for an event like this.
to be close.
I nod. “Please take me to the curator.” I say. “Your museum has a unique opportunity here. Please. I’d rather see the curator of this exhibition—than be escorted out.” . . . .i think.
the guards. looking past me. notice the Weddle. they exchange that knowing. nodding. glance.
I can see it in their eyes. unsure. continue their escort-out mission? escort me to the curator? report the pinned image to. . . . or maybe just run?
“Excuse me. Please. The curator?” I suggest in a quiet. directive voice.
they are gone. standing there. I can see it in their eyes. that back and forth movement. knowing. and the unknown. penetrating. deep into the psyche. the soul. the core. mixing a toxic. dishevelment. slush. that seeps warm. and chilling. across that elusive. awareness. in the skull.
should I wait? it would be nice to have a coherent witness. or two. I’d like that. no such luck. these two see. although their testimony may be a bit garbled. with grunge. and full. of mystic. . . .
they’ll have to do.
I begin to whisper. an odd language. that even I. do not. fully know. let alone. understand.
my muse. silently prodding. grinning. urging. goading me on.
my voice stronger. a gale whisper. now.
the thought occurs to me. perhaps I should pin a Daddario here too?
more guards. in their quick. no-running. fast step. enter the gallery.
ah. I think. and at this point. in a small way. I give in. only. to disappear.
I dip a brush
into the first summer light
a painter’s palette
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Altered Photograph
- 8 x 12 Inches @ 300 ppi
- Digital Drawing and Painting
- Nikon D80 Digital Camera
- Perfect Effects 8
- Adobe Photoshop Elements 12
This is my response to Prompt #213: A Picture Is Worth A Thousand (More, or Less) Words for May 29, 2014 on the Red Wolf Poems blog. I’ve used about half of the thousand. . . .
My response is in the form of haiga and haibun. Two of the many Haiku and Related Forms in the field of poetry.
- Haibun as I see it is prose or poetry (other than haiku) plus one or more haiku.
- Haiga as I see it is image which includes haiku as part of the image—image and haiku as one work.
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