Snoqualmie Falls.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
robyn
just thought i'd post what i'm working on right now. myself and two other designers are creating poster templates for all 50 states. this was one of my states. i designed 16 more. i'm kind of over it.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Kelley
Here and There
Liquid sky
Drips,
In both places
Melting like glass tears
Rolling off cool live
Foliage.
There.
A Mountain on the sea
And salty air
Seabirds circle
Their calls echo against
Creaking sails
Above Puget nets.
And you breathe
Green rain.
Here.
Water pelts down
In gusts
Like falling sheets
Above the pines,
Through the Rockies.
A lazy river rises
In muddy swirls,
As eagles prepare for young
With wet nests
Up high.
And I breathe
Green rain.
Liquid sky
Drips,
In both places
Melting like glass tears
Rolling off cool live
Foliage.
There.
A Mountain on the sea
And salty air
Seabirds circle
Their calls echo against
Creaking sails
Above Puget nets.
And you breathe
Green rain.
Here.
Water pelts down
In gusts
Like falling sheets
Above the pines,
Through the Rockies.
A lazy river rises
In muddy swirls,
As eagles prepare for young
With wet nests
Up high.
And I breathe
Green rain.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Kelley
A week in Montana! Cold sunny mornings, spring runoff and the peaceful roll of the Clark Fork river. Best of all, Grampy and Mimi to watch Charlie! I miss the Big Sky country.....
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Friday, May 1, 2009
Kelley
Happy May Day! We've been up since 3:30 am with an insane teething toddler. That said, my creative brain is trying to get some sleep. But I do want to give my husband a big congratulations on another fabulous issue of Catch Magazine! It came out today catchmagazine.net
And now that it's finished, maybe I will finally see that man I'm married to...
And now that it's finished, maybe I will finally see that man I'm married to...
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Kelley
lukewarm
In her crisp white shirts and proper gloves
She calls herself
Devoted.
Upright
In her faith.
A true
Believer.
On Fire.
A Good
Doer.
Righteous.
But her Time with God,
In quiet prayer
And daily Bread,
The Holy life,
The Walk of Talk
Is tucked away.
Staunchly perfect.
A precious bundle
Like heirloom silver
Wrapped in linen
Placed carefully in a back drawer
Only opened
On Sundays
Or once or twice a year
When her mother visits
Or to dust
And let in
The spring air.
In her crisp white shirts and proper gloves
She calls herself
Devoted.
Upright
In her faith.
A true
Believer.
On Fire.
A Good
Doer.
Righteous.
But her Time with God,
In quiet prayer
And daily Bread,
The Holy life,
The Walk of Talk
Is tucked away.
Staunchly perfect.
A precious bundle
Like heirloom silver
Wrapped in linen
Placed carefully in a back drawer
Only opened
On Sundays
Or once or twice a year
When her mother visits
Or to dust
And let in
The spring air.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Kelley
Patience
Wet snow drips
Outside the window.
Tulips lean
In the vase on my table,
Stretching toward the damp light.
Waiting for Spring.
A promising sun
Seeps through clouds of bone-chilling fog.
Liquid sky
Floats in puddles.
Waiting for Spring.
Still waiting.
Tiny potted seedlings of
Carrots, Onions, Peas
Sunflowers
Sleep quietly in a blanket of new soil.
Waiting for Spring.
Still waiting.
April showers
Bring May Flowers
And all that jazz.
Still waiting
For Spring.
Wet snow drips
Outside the window.
Tulips lean
In the vase on my table,
Stretching toward the damp light.
Waiting for Spring.
A promising sun
Seeps through clouds of bone-chilling fog.
Liquid sky
Floats in puddles.
Waiting for Spring.
Still waiting.
Tiny potted seedlings of
Carrots, Onions, Peas
Sunflowers
Sleep quietly in a blanket of new soil.
Waiting for Spring.
Still waiting.
April showers
Bring May Flowers
And all that jazz.
Still waiting
For Spring.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Monday, April 27, 2009
Kelley
What the teachers don't tell you...
In the current New Yorker magazine, an article about Edgar Allan Poe caught my attention. Murder, scarey talking birds, signs of death and cold windy nights. Suspense. Chills up the spine. Police and detective work. Ugly. That's what I remember of his works, the assigned reading in high school. The Raven, The Gold-Bug, A Telltale Heart...all are dark and murderous stories with twisted plots in rhythm. However, while it was quite obvious that he was a very strange man, living through two major economic crashes in the 1840s and dreary unemployment spikes in New York city, the teachers never really told us about this guy. About the man behind the words. He was bad. A chronic liar, he was blacklisted among New York publishers for attempting to write crazy, outlandish and false autobiographies. He got off on insulting his readers, and while extremely talented at writing puns and cryptograms, most all of his works were out to dupe the reader. He hated his audience! He showed up drunk at a New York city speaking event, tricking the audience by reading one of his childhood poems instead of the keynote address. He sought money, but he pretty much starved his whole life. His literary criticism reeked with mockery and debauchery, calling out the incredible authors of the time from James Fenimore Cooper to Margaret Fuller. He failed at every magazine he began or edited, and his life was quite sad. An orphan, his foster father disowned him after he lied and stole from the family. And he was found wasted outside a bar, having spent the only 10 bucks to his name, which was intended as a community donation to his sickly wife. She died of consumption. He died of, as if the finale to his life's work, "mysterious causes," just three years later. Stephen King calls Poe the granddaddy of detective fiction. But this granddaddy was a bad dude. Sometimes it's sad that an author or artist never became famous during their life, celebrity achieved only after they're gone. In Poe's case, it's sad that he became famous at all. Bad people should not live on. I'm sure this was not on the lesson plan...
In the current New Yorker magazine, an article about Edgar Allan Poe caught my attention. Murder, scarey talking birds, signs of death and cold windy nights. Suspense. Chills up the spine. Police and detective work. Ugly. That's what I remember of his works, the assigned reading in high school. The Raven, The Gold-Bug, A Telltale Heart...all are dark and murderous stories with twisted plots in rhythm. However, while it was quite obvious that he was a very strange man, living through two major economic crashes in the 1840s and dreary unemployment spikes in New York city, the teachers never really told us about this guy. About the man behind the words. He was bad. A chronic liar, he was blacklisted among New York publishers for attempting to write crazy, outlandish and false autobiographies. He got off on insulting his readers, and while extremely talented at writing puns and cryptograms, most all of his works were out to dupe the reader. He hated his audience! He showed up drunk at a New York city speaking event, tricking the audience by reading one of his childhood poems instead of the keynote address. He sought money, but he pretty much starved his whole life. His literary criticism reeked with mockery and debauchery, calling out the incredible authors of the time from James Fenimore Cooper to Margaret Fuller. He failed at every magazine he began or edited, and his life was quite sad. An orphan, his foster father disowned him after he lied and stole from the family. And he was found wasted outside a bar, having spent the only 10 bucks to his name, which was intended as a community donation to his sickly wife. She died of consumption. He died of, as if the finale to his life's work, "mysterious causes," just three years later. Stephen King calls Poe the granddaddy of detective fiction. But this granddaddy was a bad dude. Sometimes it's sad that an author or artist never became famous during their life, celebrity achieved only after they're gone. In Poe's case, it's sad that he became famous at all. Bad people should not live on. I'm sure this was not on the lesson plan...
Sunday, April 26, 2009
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