Sunday, February 13, 2011
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Available ON AMAZON!
Songs from the Places is now available on Amazon. Just type in Kara Eve Schwartz
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Songs from the Places and Digging for Jade
Coming Soon! My two collections of poetry will be at Amazon and Target.
Brought to you by the best new publisher for creative expressive artists: Star Chamber Press.
If you have any questions or comments, please contact me, and I will try to answer them. If you want another sneak peak at the poems, please let me know!
Brought to you by the best new publisher for creative expressive artists: Star Chamber Press.
If you have any questions or comments, please contact me, and I will try to answer them. If you want another sneak peak at the poems, please let me know!
Here are two from Songs
American Gothic in Vermont
(2008, Day 1)
Technically, Champlain is a sea whereas
the Caspian just a lake.
Wandering in the whiteness it envelops me.
I have waited for these icebergs to be real.
I have waited for cold night quiet under stars
where we are left together alone; just me
and the twinkling ones.
The name of the band that lifted me from waters to sand
flying while jogging there,
is your name.
The name of the songs the Teiko drummers pound through
my chest while sitting here,
is your name.
Under the burgeoning grey,
I see the promise in blue cut sky.
Sat Nam.
Truth is my Identity.
But, I do not know what truth is, or which truth to choose.
I have waited to wake up outside where,
the great wash rides over me.
Whether sea or snow its all the same.
The gutter has offered me its last pearl,
and I accept its anagrams.
Valkyrie I
(Carmel Beach onlooking Big Sur 1996)
Pity the ocean did not accept
that
rock.
The image of dogs
running out to sea.
This penance
extracted
from
the
wind.
Mercy on the frailty
of tiny birds.
Crows who cannot fly.
The vision of cats preening
in the winter’s sun.
Dropping
slowly upward, the gaze
of the ocean punishing
that rock
with its salty hands.
(2008, Day 1)
Technically, Champlain is a sea whereas
the Caspian just a lake.
Wandering in the whiteness it envelops me.
I have waited for these icebergs to be real.
I have waited for cold night quiet under stars
where we are left together alone; just me
and the twinkling ones.
The name of the band that lifted me from waters to sand
flying while jogging there,
is your name.
The name of the songs the Teiko drummers pound through
my chest while sitting here,
is your name.
Under the burgeoning grey,
I see the promise in blue cut sky.
Sat Nam.
Truth is my Identity.
But, I do not know what truth is, or which truth to choose.
I have waited to wake up outside where,
the great wash rides over me.
Whether sea or snow its all the same.
The gutter has offered me its last pearl,
and I accept its anagrams.
Valkyrie I
(Carmel Beach onlooking Big Sur 1996)
Pity the ocean did not accept
that
rock.
The image of dogs
running out to sea.
This penance
extracted
from
the
wind.
Mercy on the frailty
of tiny birds.
Crows who cannot fly.
The vision of cats preening
in the winter’s sun.
Dropping
slowly upward, the gaze
of the ocean punishing
that rock
with its salty hands.
Songs from the Places and Digging for Jade
I want to thank everyone who participated in my poem a week here. I have great news. My new publisher is Star Chamber Press out of Burlington Vermont!
Two of my books will be on sale soon at Amazon and Target. I will post links. The two new books are Songs from the Places and Digging for Jade.
Hope you enjoy them! After about 6 months of sales, I will start posting a poem a week for free. Please enjoy the preview of poems. I am giving just a taste ;-)
Two of my books will be on sale soon at Amazon and Target. I will post links. The two new books are Songs from the Places and Digging for Jade.
Hope you enjoy them! After about 6 months of sales, I will start posting a poem a week for free. Please enjoy the preview of poems. I am giving just a taste ;-)
Friday, March 26, 2010
Songs from the Places Week One
This blog is a place where my words paint. I will be posting a poem a week. If anyone wants to suggest or add anything please do so. I would like my next poetry book to have illustrations or photos ....Let's see where the story goes....
week one day one March 26 2010 First Poem
Digging for Jade
She tells her husband,
and he says what is true;
that the earth took the rings,
pulled them down,
back to forgiveness
forgiveness
week one day one March 26 2010 First Poem
Digging for Jade
He smelled like the creek
not one with the creek,
like a broken gangly bough that fell across the waters,
from one side of the bank to the other,
invading the water and soaking up the ripples.
He gave her three rings.
Were they stolen?
Were they his?
Were they meant to be hers?
She buried them.
She buried them in the front lawn under the cedar.
Under the cedar, she buried them and waited.
She was 9.
Was that september morning kitsch? Was it real? Was it devoured?
She grew older.
He whispered terrible things to her in the halls.
He told her that her scent filled his nostrils,
and he remembered
She went back to the cedar.
And the rings were gone.
Now memory relieves itself.
Now memory cries a faint whisper.
Who took the rings,
or did she bury them at all?
Were they given back?
Memory can be as sinister as those who fill memories.
She remembers playing games with light to get his attention.
She remembers pranks and evil creeping.
not one with the creek,
like a broken gangly bough that fell across the waters,
from one side of the bank to the other,
invading the water and soaking up the ripples.
He gave her three rings.
Were they stolen?
Were they his?
Were they meant to be hers?
She buried them.
She buried them in the front lawn under the cedar.
Under the cedar, she buried them and waited.
She was 9.
Was that september morning kitsch? Was it real? Was it devoured?
She grew older.
He whispered terrible things to her in the halls.
He told her that her scent filled his nostrils,
and he remembered
She went back to the cedar.
And the rings were gone.
Now memory relieves itself.
Now memory cries a faint whisper.
Who took the rings,
or did she bury them at all?
Were they given back?
Memory can be as sinister as those who fill memories.
She remembers playing games with light to get his attention.
She remembers pranks and evil creeping.
She tells her husband,
and he says what is true;
that the earth took the rings,
pulled them down,
back to forgiveness
forgiveness
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