Memento Mori

Tell two artists to create life in words

and what you’ll receive in a pulse

will be enough.

Living begins when we see that every person passing through

harbors a story we do not,

has a solution to some problem

we have yet to realize,

is the voice for one lost

and the encouragement to one beginning.

Tell two artists to create life in words

and you will see in a toss why the coin has two sides.

 

Anat asks ‘Why’

to which Art replies,

“Does the faint tapping on a goatskin drum

steadily grow louder the more we learn and seek to play thunder?”

 

A thread as tied to hers

spun by colors she has yet to see.

 

In a toss, we mark our coins.

 

As men utter ‘life is without reason’ or mutter, by exhausted breaths, that

‘artists lose…or gain to understand’,

Anat plays to a tune that time forgets and begets.

 

With an eye towards heaven, the doting daughter replies,

“You and I are the voices,

forever searching for others who will understand,

share,

connect,

change

a dying world into one that lives for art:

the heart of the people,

we’ve somehow forgotten

make us whole.”

 

Tell two artists to create life in words,

and what you’ll receive in a pulse

will be enough.

-Amy Struthers

And God So Spoke a Miracle

And God so spoke a miracle

that answered every prayer,

to show me of His mercy

molding tender loving care.

For over sixteen seasons, I waited for a sign

that came in but a gesture mild, but ever so divine.

And God so spoke a miracle

that healed a broken heart

which gave the mind its luster back

to sing His salve through Art.

-Amy Struthers

Rib

Inspired by (pictured image): Double portrait of Marie Krøyer and P.S. Krøyer. The couple portrayed one another (1890).

Dobbeltportræt_af_Marie_og_P.S._Krøyer.jpg

Rib

With the working of two hands
we note
one rib
as she pecks the cage of canvas
so that others might stitch a coat
from the flakes of our fallen fibres.

Frustrated over a form her hand cannot fashion
what passion
guides these fumbling fingers
to linger
on the lips of my love?

Whose palette
reminds her of our fuse,
and the wash of favor,
when God smiled on twos.

We scrimmage.
I, with my quarrel-born locks
and you, with sensibility,
senselessly tied to details
that fail our Eden eyes.

-Amy Struthers

Giuseppe at the Getty

There’s a pigeon by the pillars

Pecking back at what I throw

And yet, he knows not of my debt

While bobbing to my dough

 

I’m Giuseppe at the Getty

And I haven’t got a dime

Just one beat case

And weathered face

To show for tickin’ time

 

There’s a woman in the garden

With a crown of cracking corn

Smiling wide for all the glass-eyed guests

Who treat her reign with scorn

 

I’m Giuseppe at the Getty

And this is what I see:

A world that don’t know down from up

And pays to pass what’s free

 

There’s a couple snapping pictures

With a lens above loose bread

Communing over comments

As they break a different thread

 

I’m Giuseppe at the Getty

And as each day goes by,

I see a little more of man

And wonder, “Does he cry?”

 

-Amy Struthers