2 poems by Net Poet Society poet Dede Fox

After the unexpected publication of her poem "Here and Now" in the 2006 Lone Star College literary journal, Dede Fox decided she enjoyed having an audience.  She signed up for an InPrint poetry workshop, bonded with her fellow writers, and became a working poet.   Her "Chapultepec Park" won AIPF’s 2008 Christina Sergeyevna Award, and she was twice a juried poet at Houston Poetry Festival.  .  Dede’s poetry appears in the Texas Poetry Calendar, di-verse-city, Sol Magazine, The Enigmatist, The Poetry Revolt, and Swirl.  TCU Press published her children’s novel and Highlights Magazine several of her non-fiction articles. Librarian at Collins Intermediate in the Woodlands, Dede has taught with Houston’s Writers in the Schools program and is on the board of the Montgomery County Literary Arts Council. 

Bewitched

            No evil fairy heaped curses upon

this charmed child with hair like swirled

honey, chocolate brown eyes, creamy

skin sweet with kisses.  Laughter bubbled

from her, sweet grandchild, long awaited.

         

           Grandmother, overjoyed, wove

dresses from the finest flax, combed

wool for the softest blankets, knit

tiny sweaters until her fingers bled.

Gnarled walking cane in hand, she hobbled

long miles, presented her gifts to the royal family.

          Ladies-in-Waiting recoiled at the pungent

odor of the salve spread on Grandmother’s aching

limbs, covered their noses with lace handkerchiefs

while children hid behind their skirts, pointed and

jeered at Grandmother’s simple clothes and manners.

Blushing, her princess daughter turned away,

distracted the court with the antics of her baby.   

          Grandmother limped home. Soon twisted

vines tightened over her cottage, so far from the palace.

The old woman no longer threw open shutters, lost

hope of seeing her daughter or granddaughter travel

down the slow path in her dark woods.

          The curse was on her, Grandmother gifted

with a precious child she could neither see nor hear

nor smell nor hold close.

          Anger fueled Grandmother’s stone oven,

with a fire so intense that it baked her into a wrinkled

old crone who hacked away entanglements.

          She covered her cottage with sweets--

honey swirls, chocolate kisses, creamy caramels--

waited to lure small strangers inside, ones so delicious

that she could keep them caged, fatten them,

                                                    and eat them up. 

~Dede Fox 

5546,

I have worn your street number

like a hated tattoo--

removal will be painful.

Inspectors say your cast iron pipes decayed

under a slab riddled with fault lines,

like our grieving family.

Nine months to repair,

nine months to say

good-bye.

Notes flutter from every open drawer;

reminders of things lost and found,

found and lost.

What treasure lies beneath layers of labels

peeled from the phone? A number

to reconnect a mother’s scattered thoughts?

At the bottom of a painted wooden bowl.

lie memories of a father’s fingers cracking

pecans with a nutcracker, silver as tears.

In bedrooms

no sock left unknotted,

no pocket unchecked.

Many spill hidden riches:

an old letter, a tarnished spoon,

watches repaired by Grandpa’s steady hands.

Bright patches inside faded wallpaper

trace spaces once filled with grandchildren’s art;

stair-stepped little ones once pointed with pride.

Will buyers know there are mismatched door keys

four, the number of children raised here,

each unique?

5546, a street number,

echoing heartbeats,

enduring tattoo.

 

~Dede Fox

Other poems by Dede Fox:

Glow
Spring Cleaning

Video poems by Dede Fox:
Bewitched

Rothko revelations: poems by Kathryn Lane



Rothko Chapel, Houston, TX

This past April 4, the Friendswood Public Library hosted a poetry reading by a group of poets known as Net Poets Society. Their newest member, a fine poet by the name of Kathryn Lane, read a poem inspired by the work of artist Mark Rothko. I was reminded how much I admire this artist’s work and later asked Kathryn if she would share these Rothko inspired poems with our from the reference desk readers. Those of us who live in the Houston area are privileged to be close to The Menil Collection, Rothko Chapel, and Cy Twombly Gallery off of Sul Ross Street.  I have visited these collections many times and have never left without feeling inspired by the experience.

This entry is timely given the fact that the Menil is celebrating Rothko Chapel’s fortieth anniversary with “an installation of rarely exhibited canvases by Mark Rothko, closely related to those the artist completed for the chapel.” 

Below we find two poetic expressions of the work of Mark Rothko by poet Kathryn Lane.

Kathryn Lane began writing fiction in 2009 after leaving an international finance position in Latin America and the Caribbean with Johnson & Johnson.  Her short stories have been published in Swirl and The Texas A&M Border Fiction Anthology.  While attending a writing workshop at Texas A&M in November of 2011, Kathryn attended a poetry reading and fell in love with the intimacy of poems and began experimenting with poetry.  Since then, her poems have appeared in Homeless Diamonds, a London-based poetry journal, Primitive Archer, Swirl and The Poetry at Round Top Anthology.  A native Spanish speaker, Kathryn has performed poetry in both English and Spanish.

Kathryn is a board member of the Montgomery County Literary Arts Council. 

Brushstrokes 

Subdued light bathes the gallery

where paintings hang

in a mysterious, almost spiritual, quality.

Brushstrokes talk in hushed tones

over rabbit skin glue,

revealing shadows of vagueness

apparent in the under painting,

tails of pigment fanning out into fuzzy edges

like a million nerve endings dancing

on the reds, maroons and crimsons.

After all these years, the old

yet energetic blocks of color palpate

the artist’s energy: his ecstasies, his tragedies,

his doom, like a shadow of the man falling

upon a red canvas, foretelling the future.

Black Paintings

The paintings were black with a hint of brown, perhaps;

they hung on walls—brooding;

the rectangles hovering tensely next to each other

like unhappy lovers.

The silence suddenly seemed profound;

the room acquired a dimension beyond the mundane—

like the artist would have liked—

space widened, diffused light became three dimensional

and the paintings reflected movement and modulation of color.

I sat there feeling the luminosity of silence

observing dim light infuse breath and life

into the black paint until the silence inside of me

became too much to bear.

~ Kathryn Lane                   

More poems by Kathryn Lane:

From the Rickshaw

Rangoli

Taj



Mark your calendar for these FPL events

Wednesday, May 30th at 7pm 

Sole-Surviving Airmen, Dan Illerich, will tell his story from Judith Heimann's book The Airmen and the Headhunters: a true story of lost soldiers, heroic tribesman and the unlikeliest rescue of WWII. Dan was also featured in the PBS Documentary The Airmen and the Headhunters. Dan Illerich lives in Friendswood, Texas with his wife Mary. He is the last surviving Airmen in The Airmen and the Headhunters story. He provides the only firsthand testimony of the American Airmens’ experiences with the Dayak tribes in Borneo. Of the ten men in the B-24 bomber crew shot down by the Japanese in November 1944, seven survived the parachute from the plane. Dan tells their story.

Wednesday, June 13th at 7pm

Pele of Polynesia Dance Group: In celebration of Asian-Pacific American Heritage Month, Pele of Polynesia Dance Group will feature traditional dances from Tahiti, Samoa, New Zealand, Fiji, and Hawai'i.

Having grown up in the beautiful South Pacific Island of Samoa, group founder Bernadette (Pele) learned from an early age traditional Samoan dance, called "Siva", as well as dances from other South Pacific islands like Tahiti, Fiji, New Zealand, the Philippines, and of course, Hawai'i. She shared her polynesian culture and dance while at college in Idaho, and later expanded her knowledge of pacific culture and dance through her involvement in the polynesian community of Phoenix, Arizona. Then, in 2005, Pele arrived in Houston, Texas. She wanted to share her culture with this great city, so with a little hard work and the help of a few friends, Pele of Polynesia was born!

Wednesday, August 8th at 7pm 

Music Performance by North Harris Co. Dulcimer Society.  Come enjoy a fine evening of unplugged entertainment at the Friendswood Public Library!

Adamarie Fuller, winner of ekphrastic poetry competition, Museum of Fine Arts, Houston

 

Adamarie Fuller’s poems have appeared in several publications including Texas Poetry Calendar (Honorable Mention, 2009), The Weight of Addition, The Austin International Poetry Festival Anthology (Honorable Mention, 2011), A Summers Poems, The Houston Poetry Fest Anthology, Sol Magazine, The Poetry Revolt and Poetry at Round Top.  Outside the poetry world, Adamarie is a CPA for a multinational firm, mother and grandmother.

Adamarie Fuller was one of the winners of the inaugural ekphrastic poetry competition (Ekphrasis is the graphic, often dramatic, description of a visual work of art) for Artlines/Public Poetry in Houston headed by Fran Sanders and co-sponsored by the Museum of Fine Arts-Houston (MFAH).  It was judged by the current Texas Poet Laureate, Jan Seale, as well as two former Laureates, Dave Parsons and Paul Ruffin, together with well know Texas poets, Carmen Tafolla, and Van G. Garrett.  The reading by all nine contest winners (one for each artwork) was held in Brown Auditorium at the MFAH. Each poem was recorded and is available to listen on the cell phone tour for visitors of the MFAH.  The reading in Brown Auditorium was video- taped for educational classes to use in the Kinder Education Center.   

Adamarie Fuller was selected for her poem Allegory of Eurozone – 2011, a poetic description of Jean-Baptiste Oudry’s Allegory of Europe, 1722, oil on canvas, found at the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston.

Jean-Baptiste Oudry, Allegory of Europe, 1722, oil on canvas, Sarah Campbell Blaffer Foundation, Houston,.1987.2. Museum of Fine Arts Houston

Allegory of Eurozone - 2011

In response to Allegory of Europe by Jean-Baptiste Oudry (Museum of Fine Arts Houston)

Jean, may I call you Jean? Your painting is quite witty,

but I must say more prophetic than you knew.

Greece still stands, a mere pebble from the old quarry,

looking askance of its neighbors, pretending all is well;

Athena should weep marble tears.

And Italy - how clever of you to dress him with a belt

yet no pants (we’ve all seen the videos).  While Rome’s

bond brokers begin to melt, he scampers off to another tune.

The UK lies there, a deflated bag of wind.  Bankers with manners

but no morals, know they have nothing to add, and so

lounge, limp and gasping. 

Even Spain, that gilt land of summer sunshine

for winter tourists, has bet its favorite flamenco guitar

for a last chance at a good hand.

The bright blue and red bird, your happy France, looks over all,

pondering its situation - stay to feed on gleanings of others,

or fly away to its well-appointed nest in the high tree.

All the while, Germany’s Alpine flute, silent as a snake,

lies in wait to strike; the Euro transmogrified from antidote,

into venom - ready to be served to all.

Oh Jean, droll and clever as you might have been,

the prophecy of your painting is painful to view.

Adamarie Fuller

Adamarie Fuller is also a member of Net Poets Society and has been a featured reader at Friendswood Public Library Poetry Series readings.  We look forward to having Adamarie Fuller back to read.  Also look for more poetry from Adamarie Fuller here at from the reference desk.

Other Poems by Adamarie Fuller:

 

Farm Life

Change of Life

 

 

Making Arrangements with Dr. Ted Estess

Yesterday evening, many members of the Friendswood library community gathered to hear Dr. Ted Estess, founding Dean of the honors college at the University of Houston, read stories from his fine book The Cream Pitcher: Mississippi Stories. These stories reflect upon the lives of the Estess family in the region of the Cream Pitcher of the Mississippi, or Walthall County, Tylertown, Mississippi. Dr. Estess read stories The Cream, Clabber, and Whey of Everything, Making Arrangements, along with other wonderful family stories. One audience member commented that these stories felt just like her own family stories, and that Dr. Estess really knew how to express them in a meaningful way. Dr. Ted Estess is also a scholar on the works of nobel laureate and author of Night, Elie Wiesel.  The Friendswood Public Library hopes to have him back to share his knowledge on Elie Wiesel sometime in the not too distant future.

It's in my DNA by Kay L. Cox

          I come from a long line of women devoted to fabric and needlecraft.  Some of my earliest memories are of my mom sitting at a small metal black Singer sewing machine, her foot on the floor pedal and her hands pushing fabric along under the needle.  My grandmother seemed to have an embroidery hoop attached to her lap and no daughter or granddaughter married without a hope chest of beautifully embroidered cup towels, table cloths, napkins and pillow cases.

          My aunt, her sister, did the same and they both created most of their own daughters’ wardrobes.  Both sisters loved fabric and since my mom didn’t drive, they were thrilled when I got a hardship driver’s license at 14 and could deliver them to the grand opening of the Gem fabric store in north Austin, the first store in Austin to specialize in fabric and notions for sewing and needlework.  Previously fabric was only available at department stores downtown.  They loved walking among the rows of bolts of fabric standing on end, checking the prices and running attractive fabric through their fingers, testing its weight and feel.

          In the days during and following World War II, everyone sewed their own garments. By the time I got to junior high, it was certain that I should sew.  I sat at pattern counters for hours with my mom trying to decide on the perfect dress or blouse pattern.  I grew three inches between 6^th and 7^th grades which sent my mom into a sewing frenzy. 

          In 8^th grade I was 5’9” and signed up for home economics with Mrs. Desta Jefferies, a tiny vivacious woman with sparkly brown eyes. I grew to adore her.  My first garment was a cotton dress of two shades of turquoise, pale for the sleeveless cowl-collared top and darker for the circular skirt with an orange cummerbund.  I really loved the way it turned out and my mom was proud of me.  She even took off work to come to the school for the style show.  I had my first pair of heeled white shoes to wear with it and my mom loaned me her garter belt to hold up the thigh-high stockings…this was long before panty hose. 

          The big day finally arrived. I was number 12 to cross the stage in front of an auditorium full of parents and students.  As I began my grand entrance, I could feel the garter belt begin sliding toward my shoes.  The only way I could keep it and my stockings up was to spread my legs wider apart as I sashayed across the stage.  My steps got wider and wider as I hurried toward the other side of the stage.  I couldn’t wait to get to the restroom to take the darn thing off.  Such was my introduction to hose.  Is it any wonder that I hate panty hose?

          I did learn to sew. When I graduated from SMU, a wonderful Singer machine with a zig-zag stitch was a graduation present from my in-laws, and it cranked out garments for me and for my children for years.  I loved appliquéing animals and trains on little jump suits and dresses.  When the children were older, I made costumes for the plays that they were in.  The pink and gray mouse costume hung around the house for years along with a pair of gold lame harem pants for an Aladdin performance.  As the children got into their teen years, they refused the idea of “homemade” and went for name brands like their peers.  So the machine grew quiet with just some occasional mending and repairs to zippers.

          But when the first grandbaby was coming along and I was working full time, I traded the old machine in for a new fancy Bernina that would do all kinds of fun stitches.  I cranked out blankets, crib sheets, burp pads, and curtains and had so much fun doing it.  I even began to sew a few things for me and some curtains for our new home, but that was about it for a long stretch.

          Then I discovered fabric as a new art form.  I have used it collaged into paintings on canvas; I have quilted drawings; I have printed photos on fabric; I have painted and dyed fabric; I have glued paper to fabric; I have made a large quilt in an abstract pattern; I have made fabric books; I have stitched on paper.  The love of all things fiber has turned into a passion and once again I’m sewing and stitching with abandon.  I even finally finished embroidering the baby quilt I started 10 years ago for my last grandchild now as a gift to my first great grandbaby.  I still have the Bernina and have been told to hang on to it by the dealer as it is one of the last full metal models.  As long as I keep it clean and oiled, it should last me the rest of my life with many more creations to come. 

Native Texan, visual artist and poet, Kay L. Cox is a retired art and family therapist. Her poems have been published in Sol Magazine, That Thing We Do, Map of Austin and the 2010, 2011, 2012, and 2013 Texas Poetry Calendar. She was the winner of the 2008 Robert Clark Appreciation Award and a member of the Poetry Society of Texas, Gulf Coast Poets, the Austin Poetry Society, Spectrum Writers Guild and the Galveston Art League.

Singing Down the Sun with Rebecca Hatcher Travis

Rebecca Hatcher Travis’ book Picked Apart the Bones won the “First Book Award for Poetry” from the Native Writers’ Circle of the Americas.  

Singing Down the Sun

ancient voices sing down the sun

in the quiet hush of dusk

sacred fire grows stronger as we shuffle closer

sharing the night in common thought

fathers and sons chuckle softly to one another

mothers hum to young infants

elders gather once again

faces of content circle warm lively flames

dark time deepens unhurried                                              

little by little stretching to the other side of night

slowly light paints tip tops of nearby oaks

like torches lit to guide the dawn  

the fresh new day becomes

Urban Sprawl

  

urban sprawl seems an understatement

for this metropolis a few miles north of the Gulf

Spanish moss snarls in her hair

nighttime skies light up as if by magic

from refineries along her bloodline

the muddy ship channel

Buffalo Bayou to Galveston Bay

they resemble small towns aglow
  

with nightly festivals of bright lights    

bayous snake under crisscrossing freeways

an occasional alligator cruises 

silent waters unperturbed
  

you have got to love Houston

as she sashays in the sweltering heat

batting her long sultry eyelashes invitingly

at anyone who happens to mosey down her way

 

Poems by Rebecca Hatcher Travis