"Loosed" poem . . . "Undergrowth" painting

"Loosed"

Honoring the sunrise, clouds
scatter
like dandelion seeds
spread by the breath of
God.

Luminous now is my flight from
bedlam –
elephants in musth,
trampling the frozen
phalanxes.

Drawn to the sonance of trees
clapping,
I migrate to peace,
sloughing off my pupal
sheath.

Fixed by a stream, I ponder the
imago –
the forgotten Father
restoring my withered
roots.

Cast into the waters, the thorns in my
side
dissolve into dust,
and are spirited away to the
sea.

Dancing to the mountains’
song,
I explore the loaned land until
dusk quiets my
feet.

God’s hands are
lined
with golden ginkgo leaves;
at night, I slumber
there.


by Lisa Joele Tuttle

December 18, 2009

“Loosed” – the Connection

I wrote the last stanza first. After my initial introduction to ginkgo leaves last autumn, I was enthralled with their jewel-like color, their tactile offering – soft, but strong – and the fact that the trees have existed since prehistoric times. I imagined that this was what God’s hands must feel like, and the concept has been part of my nightly meditations ever since.

"Covenant"

The senior oak tree

sloughs its scarred bark,

a jigsaw mosaic

unsutured by God or man,

revealing fissured rivulets –

a map of sinews

steering us

heavenward.

What heavy hand slighted the intarsist?

Was there an assault

induced by

man –

a careless

swing of the axe;

or

beast –

a buck in rut,

brainsick from his lusty exertions?

Perhaps the wound was self-inflicted –

an aged

breastplate

flayed

to accommodate growth,

another

ring

-around

-the

-rosey.

Castings of mulch

carpet the forest floor,

a reminder of hoary promises -

a crown of cork

to bear unafraid,

freshening

nascent layers.


-- by Lisa Joele Tuttle

December 10, 2009

"Museum Piece" by Richard Wilbur (poetry reading)

Cypress Reflections – the Art

There is much merit in the building of layers with thinned paint. One can act as an architect of form, fast-forwarding to the plans for final highlights even as one is only roughly sketching in the foundation. This painting, as well as its brothers in the series, was not that sort of effort. It suited me to work thickly with a knife to replicate the murkiness of life in the swamp, all the while using a delicate and colorful palette. As an artist, I feel compelled to uphold such dichotomy.

Cypress Reflections – the Creation

Nature loves a good mystery. The cypress trees that inhabit the few wetland forests near my home in Southeast Missouri sport “knees” which jut like periscopes up from their roots into the air above the waterline and back down into the root system. The function of these interesting wood features is unknown, though scientists speculate that they emerge from the muck to seek oxygen and to offer surer footing in the unsteady land.

Cypress Reflections – the Connection

Often, swamps do not invoke pleasant thoughts, even by people who claim to be lovers of nature. There is a muddled, dirty aspect of such land, which is hard to overcome. Personally, I enjoy the quiet, murky waters and the innumerable hints of movement by insects, plants and animals that mostly elude discovery. It is a beautiful contradiction: a rich tapestry of life cloaked by a seemingly dead, gray veil. One can draw from the swamp a significant conclusion for the human experience: when we bother to look deeper upon a fellow being, we stand to behold lovely blessings.