Musings on Toril Fisher

With real toads prompted the writing today with works by artist Toril Fisher. There are elements of Louis Tiffany, and van gogh in the work. Three of the selections were of particular interest.  Often with ekphrastic prompts, I am unable to post the artwork from my aging tablet, so this was up for a few days without the images.  So this begs the question, can the poems have value when not presented with the art? Let me know what you think.

#Musings on Toril Fisher1_257303167056740352_nA sea
A sky
A line
Where blue meets blue
My eye
Along the gunwale
My body
My armor
My vessel

#Musings on Toril Fisher_Crow_2942837189500731392_oPoised as if to strike down
Stab the heart of me
Centered around the eye
Of Odin, the fletching ripples
Radiates outward
Like the mind
Turning behind

#Musings on Toril Fisher_elk__2123572935628117018_oWritten in elk horn
The lives of the forest
The drama of the slopes
The hunter

#Musings on Toril Fisher_barn__6350435813758599168_oBeyond behind the old barn
Which has not smelled the breath of beast
For generations, generated there
The fence wire not yet eaten through
By rust neglect decay
Weedy shrubs, saved from the mower
And the lack of hungry lips
Leap over the wire like stallions
On the endless loam
Or stand in thoughtful repose
Each equally immobile


Here is the prompt, with the artwork

Here is the Artist’s facebook page



The city and the sea

In my youth I slept high on a hill
Perched in my nest, overlooking
A vast expanse of fens and meadows
Just beyond which gleamed New York.
Like a drop in a cloud,
The more I grew,
The more it’s gravity attracted me.
Alluring, beguiling, luring 
The teeming tumult ebbed and surged
It was Atlantic, this city,
Deep, dirty, stormy at times.
Somehow verdant, if not green.
Bright lights simmering,
It’s pulse, quickening.
that hill was a beach
And I watched that city, like mesmerising waves,
Until there was nothing left
But to follow the black topped river
Called route 3, and like countless
Millions before me, add my energy
To that contrivance, and like a drop of rain,
Lose myself in that ocean


To woo lady liberty

Dear lady,
Oft I stand upon this industrial pier
When my shackles do weigh me down
Implore you to turn copper’d ear
Wrap me in the folds of your gown
For am I not your child?
Yet you’ve turned your back on me

The light of your torch shines on
Or have I merely fallen behind?
When on my sullen face your light did fall
In that moment I took a vow
To woo you for my wife, and come round
To see dawns early light upon your face
And with you, welcome the trodden down.

With this dream now inside me
My bonds did chafe all the more
As I strained my heart to open wide
and fight against oppressors tide
Still it is your cold back I see

Oh sweet angel, what will win
Your precious favor?  Release
These men from masters chain?
These sisters from husbands heel?
how can I, so small, hold you?

So I leave this pier again
To the factory I give my labor
Then sup and sleep in railroad house
Squeezed between my neighbors

Each day a nightmare seems
Of sweat and grease and toil
Each night there in my dreams
You, light, air, water, soil

Still i fight, in heart and mind
And as the months and years grind on
Work piles on, falling further behind
Canned beans are what I’m living on
That dream of you I come to find
Has become yet another bond.

Upon a tear-damp’t pillow I lay
In the dark, alone, i pray
Calling out with longing
Searching for some belonging

I give up!
I surrender!
I can fight no more
It only fueled my anger there
And kept my tied fists sore

And there in that bleak dispair
When my heart bled out all it’s tears
Within me the world conspired
To engulf me in my fears

Twas then I lay me at your feet
I give up, give in, you win
Then, then, you scooped me up
And shed my mask of tin

I could see my bonds for what they were
And Knew now why the caged bird sing
These then were my own, in my grasp
I can begin

Now I know the reason so
And grow into my season
Now my strength begins to show
SelfLove is the reason

My dear, when I needed you most
That desperation was the chain
That I picked up and put upon myself
That’s what strove the two between

Your gentle patience has such power
You temper my internal fire
I have built your starry island
And raised you up a mighty platform

Together my love with beacon bright
With hearts aglow we model the way
with giving and receiving with grace
With uplifting support, each other we strengthen
With love, find joy, at every station


A vast expanse

I am vast
I look down across my expanse
Like japan, or turkmenistan
A rolling topography
Hard and steep in some places
Yet not without Soft vales
Lightly forested
Long peninsulas
Stretching out into the sea
Twisting slowly
To turn smoothly toward the sun
Gazing down long slopes
Lessons waiting to be learned
A subtle ache hints at what’s to come


Bleeding out by self inflicted wounds

Innocent in inner self
Guilty as a breathing fish
I’ve come here below to be a bellows
And in abundance, fast.

These truths of me I deny
Though grounded, you see I fly

The Pail over my head has but one small hole
uncertainty waffles within 
The pall over my bed has but one escape route
Waiting for my feet to begin

Wabbit Season(ing)

What’s the point of speaking of seasons here in a land where our commuter pods are kept in special chambers, attached to the climate controlled dwelling, so you can get safely inside before the gate to the outside would opens, by the push of a button?  Where stores are all connected inside the mall, and office buildings with windows that cannot open?  There’s a handful of mexicans (Guatemala? Columbia? Whatever) that trim the grass, like radiation-resistant goats.

Can love get in, when
This chicken’s raised in factories?
meh, pass the pepper