Plankton

Look at me wintering, wise little raccoon,
cold, anxious fingers licking tea and dreadlocks,
sorting yellow seeds from poppy seeds,
poppy seeds from dirt, dirt from food.
Washing and typing, busy hands to
keep up with this head, ahead of this
pining for summer and shiny sweat.

Light will rise soon, bringing haiku and
didgeridoos.

Shiny things. Knobs to turn and regret.
Spilling and more things to sort.
Shiny things, the glint in his eye in a
photograph. The prism in his eye so
close that his open mouth is sifting me
in like plankton. Hazel. His eyes are
shiny. I surrender my skin to his
nutrition.

Light kisses his calendar and we are
markers and pix and a plate of
pearly mung beans. Yellow seeds left,
poppy right, and parsley, deep green
from between the bricks. A shiny eye
and I loose my language.

—WT

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It came to me in the watch museum.
It’s weights, hammers and gears.
Action, reaction. Action, reaction.
The thud of escapement.
The dominoes of a story.

I want to stand inside a pocketwatch
and lose myself to inevitable design.

I want a plan well engineered,
that leaves nothing to emotion but the
joy of cog after cog, falling in track,
ticking toward the unalarmed achievement of

another hour struck. Zen empty time.

And thus our story could be like a watch,
Action, reaction. Weights, hammers, gears.
Little gears for instant gratification,
Huge gears that circle in years with minute changes.

And I could know that your actions are reactions,
along a path which matters like another hour struck.
Nothing personal.

-WT

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Bride of the Wind by Oskar Kokoschka (1886-1980) Oil on canvass, Kunstmuseum, Basel, Switzerland. Self-portrait of the Austrian artist expressing his unrequited love for Alma Mahler, widow of composer Gustav Mahler.
_________________

Suiza

Suiza sits and the planet hesitates on its axis.
Adventures come and go and
quiet pours in like poisonous mercury.

Suiza poses on the bow of a yacht and
there is not enough alive to inhale. A school of
reporters darts starboard and port. A dive to
the reef below only exposes jagged barbs of
brilliant coral. What time is it?

Suiza skiis down the mountain because that
was the point of climbing it. The pain and wet
cold of a spill is still exhilarating.

The wet cold rain soaks Suiza’s leathers and
the motorcycle rounds the Alpine bends with a
dangerous life of its own, exceeding speed limits
exquisitely. Who is driving? What time is it?

Suiza, do you see me? Do you see me watching?

Bonnie’s hand lands and Suiza steadies. I tilt
on my axis. Bonnie is there, good for Suiza,
she fits in the box on Suiza’s near shelf. I
teeter and roll out of my wrapping.

I come without a box.

–Wren Tuatha

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I’ll pivot.
Thanks for the oranges and advice.
The citrus of it drips on the latest patch of
my same old rash.

These ones are tart, picked early for
importing, maybe.
But they boost me.

You, picky Peter in the pond,
treading water and explaining the
one cylinder diesel engine while
I-as-Lorelai swam naked circles around
you, pond moss in my dreadlocks, in
your beard. Hikers on the arteries diverted eyes.

We are organs of that larger hungry animal.

You can be the brain, if it would please you.
I’ll be the lungs–belly lungs,
the goddess of the yoga breath.
And words, for me, will cease to be symbols,
just handsome howls and organic grumps.

A corsage over a splinter.

–Wren Tuatha

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Here are just some of the shinies I’m preparing to sell online. These are not my creations, but an excellent collection of lead safe diamond etched pewter, mostly from Oregon. My own designs to follow!

We bring these and more to our festival appearances around the Mid Atlantic region. Watch the site’s Heathcote Earthings page for our upcoming dates!

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