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Dusted Ink ~ The Memory Sync

Barbara M. Schwarz


Tableaux - how fresh water flow

Palladio - the symmetry that grow

when to the new I go, and so…


On the front: “Crumbled, hushed to dust: I layered each new crust” 2017.


I blew away the dusted ink,

I wondered if my memory sync

I wondered what I’d remember

if I blink…


And yet upon the tortured page

of what a memory wage…


the war of attrition

we give ourselves permission

to not fully know

what we had once learned so…


clear, for each new memory

fresh appear

and hurry clean away

the memory of yesterday


and every pen and paper

helped not to mistake her

for what she had done before


when all around the open door

to discover and explore

what mattered now once more


and though the canons roar

the dust had settled on the floor

and tiny links of crust

had not the memory trust


the rust of former days

that fortune sense allays


a wend to former plays

that stays right to the end


when the mirror image bend

and force a different course


the moving sense of source

to ready now my horse


and open up terrain

where pathways once so plain


distinguish like the rain:

the earth is just the same


a foolhardy thing

to ever give up wondering,

to ever really see

‘that doesn't matter now to me’


the echo that could free

where movement forms substantially


inky sense and flow

a final dabble show

where worlds meet below

the horizontal line

of what you now define


Concept time:

realise your rhythm

sign


Visceral reality

the meat of actuality

the sense that each locality

utters swift morality

the fathom of mortality


the mores of the code

for those who here their lives abode


the very present ask

the very present task

the very present cask


what we now season through

with what we once sourced from you


visceral reality - the meat of practicality

doing justice to the cause

of those that once walked these floors

and knew to swing such open doors


the sense that openness scores

from what of the past it now draws to:

the visceral part that life renew


the joy of simplicity

the music that still for me

held purpose in verity just to clear

the very final steer


the prophecy of knowing

just how the wind is blowing


and sculpture in my head

turned rhythm thought instead


and rhythm twisted air:

the hope that get you where

you climb a final stair

to breathe again

fresh fresh air


you break off with the past

how you had once defined the task


and photographic memory

whispers sweet your energy

a simple portfolio:

the final place I sought to go

the final moment that I show:


“How the light flow!”


productive

destructive

constructive

reductive

instructive

inductive…


The Queen Bee

of Responsibility


a personal perspective

on the creative ‘connective’


the sense a new directive

is now coming through

teeming with what you once knew

when to life in open arms you flew


“I do (embrace you)!”


Purple Eyes Publishing

Rained upon in freshest air

Silver once had spun her hair


All inter-connecting

happy moments now reflecting

Truth and joy injecting


Silver spun her hair

Golden locks that once hung there

Knew this moment now to share


See our spirit everywhere

We took a moment just to care


Industrial design

I knew a statement could align

that this is summertime


The temple lion

filled with iron:

‘feel my freshest blood

worship sanctity in my wood’


For I gave you all my clues

That I like salt on my shoes

And I dissolve clean away

The (full) light of yesterday


For I am today

The moment that you say

All go into play


Roar a lion

Temple strong

The steel that twist

The iron throng


See, I bring you all along:

The harmony that carry on


And silver sense marine

behold my humming Queen


A bowl of fruit and a giant banana chute

The Architecture Flute


to embrace life as a hoot

in new directions now to shoot


Architecture time

behold the concept realign

to a humming sign


Dusted ink ~ you made me blink

and now all my memory sync,

where now the past wink at me:


“Come apply liberally

what is your own destiny!”



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