Posted tagged ‘Karin Gustafson’

Two New Picture Books!

June 16, 2019

 

I am very pleased to announce the publication of two picture books, written and illustrated by yours truly!

EVEN SINGING WAS THE MOON!–for those who love to sing and read, also a bedtime book. 

ABC GOAT–for those who love letters! And cake!  And friends!  

Please check them out!  Review if you can!

 

Moment

February 8, 2019

Moment

I’m sitting on the train;
it’s all so much the same,
why does it always change?
this sitting on the train.

The strips along the platform
as yellow as they fade,
Now spray paint swelling every wall
but not much to be read,

sure, missives of a sort —
initials blown to bubble;
train jitter jars then starts again (again)
through city rubble.

I long for something shining
not metal and not glass;
will the dulled to sparkle,
what’s passed to not be past;

rest one hand against my lips,
think small moist palms (once kids),
then feel (imagined) yours, dry, warm,
as a kiss upon closed lids.

Now, we cross the river,
a train next track smears blue,
as I still wait for that some time
when I was me, you you.

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A drafty sort of poem for my prompt on Real Toads to write about this very moment. 

I’m sorry to have been so absent; I have been working working at work, but also have put out a couple of books–one about the death of my mother, called Momoir, Maybe, and a new children’s book, Little Dog Thirsts For Adventure.  Check them out!  

 

My New Book – Momoir, Maybe

September 11, 2018

My new book, a series of micro-fictions and fact, available now. It is a book of particular interest for anyone who has, or once had, a mother. It feels like an act of stupidity, hubris or bravery–honestly, I just don’t know–to put it out, but I have worked a great deal on it and think it’s good (ha–maybe). Please check it out. Note that it is not a children’s book, though it is a pretty book in print.

Evening Porch

August 30, 2018

Evening Porch

I went out to an evening porch
because a bur bit at my heart.
I could not tell if it was you
or your loss that stung so smart.

The crickets rubbed a murmur synched
to a wholeness I could barely hear;
my forehead had to listen hard
harder even than my ears.

The breeze that rose from somewhere North
felt a bit like fingertips;
you too were raised in a place of cold
but rarely touched my face, my lips.

And yet this sweep of ending day
whose deep’s deep blue except where green
speaks to me of you, of you,
and means what I would have it mean:

that you loved me and I loved back,
that foreheads can be made to hear
(as now beneath the crickets’ arc
the stream’s rush cushions far and near)

so that on the planks I walk
beside a door that leads to light,
beside that blue that you’re blurred in,
I find a seat that bears with night

and try to write there till it’s dark,
write there even in the dark,
letters that feel their way along
this burdened page, unburred heart.

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Here’s a poem for my own prompt – Going, Going, Gone, on Real Toads.

Painting is mine, though not sure it goes with the poem! All rights reserved. 

Heading somewhere certainly

June 24, 2018

Acrylic on canvas panel, 2018, all rights reserved.

Pulled apart

June 23, 2018

June 2018; all rights reserved.

Happy Mother’s Day

May 13, 2018

May all your chickies be well!

Acrylic on canvas board, Karin Gustafson, 2018, all rights reserved.