For Kristy Cons 'Identities' Exhibition, ArtSpace, Chatham

This is Woman

On the occasion of artist Kristy Cons’ exhibit, “Identities” (January 23, 2016)

“Fatty!” the tosser-lescents

shame me,

their fellow female,

as I trot by,

trying to lose this excess.

Why bother?

Underwear cutting

  soft flesh;

foolish– like a circus

bear on a tricycle-

rolls at War with the worlds

around,

but I don’t have to be:

I will paint my nails black.

Stand on my head.

Jump rope (even double-dutch

if I so please).

I will wear square specs, and

let my long, luxurious

Big

Hair go,

down

stroking over those

skinny stragglers that

prod and

poke.

I will ride

My big butt

by.

Because this is

woman.

- Kara Smith, poet Ghobhainn

Stratford Chef School Meal at The Prune

Four courses with Prune

We all emerge from water,

Tentacles of eight roasted in slow, fragrant seas until

we

are tested

to be served;

Potatoes of the earth

nourish from the root,

growing long in warm soil,

filling with the taste

of the cord of life.

In air, country pigeons

take flight.

“It’s so rare to get them with

their heads still on,” Prune

considers,

“best serve them

next

to the seeds they eat.

Toasted”

On fire.

Invention of human,

born of the sacred four:

elemental

courses.

Ridgehouse speaking

Ridgehouse

‘Hello, It’s me…’

I’m still here

standing these

years,

grandparent to

the 11 children,

who grew with me,

and George

whose hands crafted

and sanded, stroked my

curves,

molded me.

 “mother” who scrubbed

me clean of small

brown fingers, washed

my floors and

fell to her knees

11 times as blood

and baby

dropped into my legs.

Their collective hair

adorns my walls,

sheets and toys,

shoes passed down

from one pair feet

to another.

Biscuits, bread, once

baked in my hearth,

now outlawed by

  fire chief who walked

through last Spring.

Lavender, sage hang

by my heart.

cloves in oranges

scent my lungs.

I once knew

Song, and

voices raised in laughter,

prayer

debate.

Neighbours leaned

in close

against my railings.

Coal brought in by horses

and dumped

down upon my

root

of thyme

now gone.

Stay with

me; remember

who I once

held, my

town of

ridges.

#OFLabour

#OFLabour

4 resolutions

1334 real labourers

& 44 exec reps.

I’m with you, call the question.

Agreed.

No race left

behind in this

miserly

reality of

40 hrs/wk servitude for

street housing

beside

directors - 10X

the proletariat.

I get you.

Concurrence.

Marching visible -

   Championing the

striking, not just change

but retain.

Chatham-Kent 7. Particles, Time and Threads

Particles, Time and Threads

On the occasion of the Thames Art Gallery’s annual Juried Exhibition (November 6, 2015)

“Look at what is there,” Sky says;

what emigrates from the canvas:

charcoal, oil, ink;

carbon, nitrogen, atom.

They are ‘pedestrian’ in their

detail

until collectively colliding

and organically revealing,

materials in bloom,

flaunting their revelry.

They work as ‘hyper objects’,

forming, and re-forming

as rising fabrics

‘Banners’, boat

sails, fibrous

weave

shrouds of ‘origami’

‘pools’ by

beach blanket

napery.

We carry worlds

with us

through this

material experimentation

to conceive

photons linking our

‘equilibrium’ to

‘consciousness’.

Rotating the ‘super stratum’

of spectra.

Our Earth RPMs just once

but  

 45 rotations;

 1 minute

1 glimpse

1 glimmer

1 ribbon

of life

is caught and

revealed. Once: White.