Month: July 2014

poem: peculiar unrealities

live on in our minds.

echo behind our eyes.

We are creatures
of flesh and blood
who believe in the reality
of our inner world
more than the wonders
that dwell around us.

We remain contradictions
that move and breathe –
trapped in rigid prisons
of our peculiar unrealities.

This writer
no less
than any
of the rest.

written 18 october 2011

poem: i remember

i remember his words.
Wisdom from a kind stranger
that changed my understanding.
As he started his sentence,
i was one woman;
by its end,
someone utterly new.
On this day,
trapped inside my misery,
flesh collapsed into wretchedness,
i need a similar metamorphosis.
Perhaps that is why
he lives within my mind,
why i would call
if i could.
Give me some wisdom,
show me where to go.
In the absence
of the wise one,
find me a way
to whatever i need.

poem: penetrating waves


These eager eyes watch
as ocean teases the shore,
its penetrations forming
a giant phallic symbol
on the rocky beach;
its waves leaving foam
with each withdrawal,
as though they might conjure up

Each approach and retreat
makes me giddy
with the sea’s potency.

Sweet breezes caress
locks of my long hair.
Cold water massages
my swollen feet.

Other humans
sharing this space
appear oblivious
to this seduction
subtle and sublime.
They look bewildered
by my awe.

This might be compensation – tide
a gift to ease my loneliness –
prominent even when i am not alone;
most acute when the people with me
do not desire my presence.

Perhaps, to ease such suffering,
nature will include my spirit
in her jokes,
her majesty,
and her romantic dances.

by asha fenn, written 10 september 2011

art of the broken

IMG_2946 I took nearly an hour and a half the other day and put up all the pen and ink drawings I have created while at galleries and during hours of enfeeblement at home.  Granted, I was moving slowly and talking on the phone at the same time, but there are a lot of these works.  They began to stretch across the walls of my living room – holy spirits, goddess figures, lovebirds, prayers.

This is the art of the broken for me, something I have been doing when I am unable to manage other work.

What amazed me, though, was how much art this broken artist had created.  IMG_2947Seeing it all up on the wall filled my heart with joy – because it turned what had been something that saved my sanity and made me feel less powerless into a landscape of beauty.  Some I like more than others, of course, that is the way with art.  Unlike children, you can pick your favorites.  However, I was pleased with picture after picture.  As I took them out of the bin, I kept smiling.  Some of these just thrill me.  Two more crept into the bedroom, hanging on the wall, more personal prayers than for the walls of the living-room.

IMG_2948The last sequence, posted above my desk, were some broken-hearted musings.  I kept thinking about all the the times love has left my life – and eleven panels of pen and ink and prose poem, I reached the piece that made me feel better.  Those panels will post over the next few days.

Mostly, today, I am grateful that I have the ability to make art even in my brokenness.  At some point, I will be better able to conquer my to-do list and throw my guts out, but for now, these quite, lovely drawings make me smile wildly when I walk into my rooms.




poem: like a puppy

Like a puppy,
only not as cute,
i brim with enthusiasm
at the hint of connection.
i become positively ecstatic
at the whiff of kindness.
Tease me with love
and i might grow grateful enough
to lose consciousness.
Which, predictably,
renders me into something
monstrous and unloveable.
i care almost instantly.
i love foolishly and quickly,
without being able to stop.
The emptiness in my life,
filled by friends and family
in those who are normal,
makes every relationship
a blessing –
and no one wants
that kind of pressure.
My thankful happiness
seems suspicious.
i will remember the stories
told by acquaintances,
which has made many
turn away
ashamed and worried
for they don’t remember
ever meeting me.
If they can tolerate my presence
long enough for me
to fall into need,
then they turn away
objecting to the illogic
and imposition
of my grief.
More than once,
i have been gently informed
that the intensity of my energy
Apparently, i should remove my soul
and replace it with a dimmer bulb
in order to be loved.
No longer an innocent
or an ingenue,
repetition has taught me well:
i can no longer muster
blind confidence
that this isn’t about me.
The truth appears undeniable –
i am the ugly, unwanted dog
without a home,
relying on the fleeting kindness
of polite strangers
to keep her alive.

poem: mortality

Well, last night,
for the first time
in long, dark ages.
When the music
filled me to wholeness,
enthusiastic joy
kept me dancing
on sore, weary legs.
Beyond words, my friend.
i made peace with my body
and all its beauty
and all its ugliness.
We four came together
in the charged ecstasy
of movement.
Not one bit.
Those wounds that hound me
will probably find me again,
but for now, it’s all peace.
Refreshingly so,
splendidly so
i am ready for bed,
to sleep
like i have earned it.

prayer: God give me courage

give me courage
or some spark of hope
within my heart’s aching darkness.

i remember the blackout
when i was bathed in your love.
i remember the image of a heart
fluctuating on my laptop,
like a watermark
under all my poems.
So recently, i danced in joy
at peace with the thought of dying,
content with all my life.

This suffering makes no sense
in the face of these miracles –
you have blessed me so much already.

Each time i hear
one of my bowls ring,
or i look at a painting
made by these hands
and like it,
or i hear my lines
and they sound good,
i am awash in gratitude
for the gifts you have given.
When i lose myself
in the glory of creating –
at one with all Creation –
every minute particle of my being
sings with thanksgivings.

Only today,
despite all this wonder,
i am drowning
in other things.
i feel alone and wretched,
knowing i put too many burdens
on those who happen to be
nearest to me.
i seek out love
like a starving infant,
my reaching uncontrolled and wild,
my howling deafening.

My mind can barely bend
toward the refuge i have
in form, color and word –
for my thoughts barely hold.
Their cohesion has been lost
to this wailing desperation.
i have nowhere to turn
and so much to do
that i want to hide
with the dog
under the table
until life transforms again.

So, i pray, Lord.
My knees should be bent –
no, i should be prostrated
my need is so great –
but instead, i sit here
in this chair,
wearing my despondency
like sack cloth
and crying out for your help.

20 july 2012

poem: one good day

A day of bliss.

Sleeping until well rested,
and awaking refreshed.
Miraculously, i accomplished everything
i needed to do.
Even better,
these hands formed loveliness
with clay.

My heart felt strong,
after days when i thought
it had broken beyond repair.

Joy over this grain of hope
bubbled out of me.

i sang rhymes
to grumpy cats
and watched my dog
run down the beach.

i rejoiced over the quietest moments.

Even arguing
with the phone company
did not leave me

One good day.

One good day
and i feel almost human;
the realization that i can come up
out of the darkness
for a quick breath of air
and a moment in sunshine
makes me giddy.

written 26 october 2011