Ad Libitum

You're invited to the Creative Enterprise Zone Launch party!



From the Creative Enterprise Zone Website:

"For everyone who lives, works, or plays along the Central Corridor, the opening of the Green Line Light Rail June 14 is something to celebrate. That’s just what we’re doing, and we’re doing it in a big way! Join us for a daylong celebration at Raymond Station. There will be live performances throughout the day, visionary public art installments, activities, pop-up spaces and events, tasty food and abundant fun for the whole family. As many as 250,000 people are expected to ride the rail the day of the launch; help us mark Raymond Station as one of the hippest, most vibrant stops on the Green Line.

There are lots of ways for you to join in the fun. If you are interested in participating, fill out the appropriate interest forms below.

Submission Deadline has been moved up to April 25!"

Facing Feminism: Feminists I Know and the St. Paul Art Crawl



The St. Paul Art Crawl is just around the corner and Facing Feminism: Feminist I Know will be exhibiting and hosting a poetry party!

The art crawl dates are:
April 25. 26, 27, 2014
Fri. 6-10 pm
Sat. 12-8 pm
Sun. 12-5 pm

Our exhibit/party will be on Saturday starting at 6 pm. Wine, art, and poetry! What could be better? <3

More details to come but be sure to mark your calendar!

Heavy shouldered winter


"Heavy Winter Day" Surreal Photography by Caras Ionut


Winter Still Walks Brazenly
By Annette Marie Hyder

Winter still walks brazenly beneath the sky
here in Minnesota, muscles his way along the roads
leaving his spoor — potholes the size of mammoth feet,
also leaving flat tires, abandoned hubcaps,
and overheated cars.
They litter his wake like broken arrows,
bullets that missed their mark
and exhausted pack horses
who were unable to make it through the pass
of this bison faced weather.
This poem I am writing
about the massive head and forequarters,
the short curved horns, of winter,
is a word picture on the wall of my blog —
a cave painting of sorts.

(NaPoWriMo day 17, poem 17)


Last week, late in the day on Wednesday, my car overheated and I was stranded with my daughter Jasmine. My friend Romeo (my friend Jennifer's S.O.) came and rescued us and fixed the car for us (the heater control valve had to be replaced). Well, now my car has overheated again and is being towed to Jake's Quality Auto Repair as I type. It's either the water pump or a blown gasket this time. I'll keep you posted.

I am blaming you, thick-shouldered, overbearing, out-of-season winter — I am blaming you!

What They Carried

By Annette Marie Hyder

What the rain carried —
every raindrop a vial
a crystal stoppered bottle
of perfume: petrichor.

What the snow carried —
paradoxically,
the start of many fires
in its cold hands.

(NaPoWriMo day 16, poem 16)

Tuesday is full of surprises


Learning to Fly by John Wilhem

Alata Rhinocerotis
By Annette Marie Hyder

Even the coldest impervious types
strapped thick with rhinoceros hide
have hidden in their callosity
the whisper that they can fly.

(NaPoWriMo day 15, poem 15)

Happy Tuesday!

Not from pinprick or thorn


Photo taken March 27 in St. Paul right after the rain and just before the big fat flakes of snow began.


Not Pinprick nor Thorn
By Annette Marie Hyder

'Raindrops dance' on the tips of hedge branches
hang like chandelier crystals
and sparkle like heavens of stars
nesting in the undergrowth.
They are like legions of angels
on the points of fine needles*.
The sharpness here comes
not from pin prick or thorn
but from the beauty of the shining
in the rain
and the way the dancing raindrops
always make me think of you.

(NaPoWriMo day 14, poem 14)


*How many angels can dance on the point of a pin is a question that Scholastic philosophers of the late Middle Ages debated. They were wont to explore metaphysical fine points Source.

Are you ready for the lunar eclipse?

I'm not sure we'll get to see much of it here in Minnesota's Twin Cities, but there's a 'blood moon' lunar eclipse waiting in the wings, behind the curtains of night, ready to take her star turn on the theater stage of the heavens. I hope you have a good view of it where you are. Here's a link with more information: timeanddate.com

Here's what a a lunar eclipse can look like:

Photograph by Babak A. Tafreshi, TWAN

"Light seems to pool at the bottom of the full moon in a picture of a lunar eclipse taken from Iran in 2008." — Andrew Fazekas writing for National Geographic Magazine

And here's a poem that I thought of sharing because of the moon and because of the cold, wet weather we have been having here in Minnesota (we might even get snow tomorrow!):
 
Tears of the Moon
By Annette Marie Hyder
Previously published by Twilight Times

Tonight, the hail stones falling in this bad weather
striking hard on this long night
are cold like moon, and shaped like moon
and pour forth from her silver eyes.
Hush child and I will tell you, why we call them
Tears of the Moon.

Long ago, in time's deep darkness
Earth and Moon were sisters two.
These sisters both were young, and untouched
waiting brides for life to bloom.
Soft and yielding, round and pleasing
fecund Earth sister blossomed quick.

Hard and haughty, cold and distant
Moon sister shied from every touch.
Finally Father Spirit tired
of waiting for Moon sister to become a wife;
said she must always attend Earth sister
must be the mistress of the night.

Then the harsh hails started falling,
stinging stones from bitter eyes,
Tears of the Moon, still fall to this day.
And now my child you know why.
Hush my child in this cold storming
list the brittle moon's grief cry.

Sunday Things: In which many questions are asked and some are even answered


Advice the Autumn Crone Gave Me On Climbing the Wall
By Annette Marie Hyder
(from the Night Fairytales series)

Continued from previous installment.

Twotongue undid Gnar's ropes with clumsy fingers. There are some who find it easier, always, to bind than to set free. But he got the job done nonetheless and even felt emboldened by his success to offer a suggestion as to the route they should take in the exit from the camp that he now felt to be as necessary as putting the snakes to sleep and removing the Great Wolves bindings had been. Twotongue also had a compelling urge to remove the magical bindings dampening Gnar's powers but that was beyond his ability.

So he did what he could for the handsome and princely wolf, explaining that the cairn, an artificial hill, in the distance to their left was a one-use escape route from the camp erected by the Verms should it become necessary to flee at once and comprehensively. 

The girl and Erhaiel watched from their spot close to the trees edging the cairn. The cairn looked perfectly normal and innocent to them and they watched with intense interest as Gnar and the fawning Verm approached.

And then all underworld broke loose.

"HAARRSHHHH! HAARRSHHHH! HAARRSHHHH!" came the call of the sentry who had come to relieve Twotongue.

"HAARRSHHHH! HAARRSHHHH! HAARRSHHHH!" came the reply from all the Verms close by.

"HISSSSHISSSSHISSSS! HISSSSHISSSSHISSSS! HISSSSHISSSSHISSSS!" came the call of many, many snakes woken from branch-rocked dreams.

Twotongue swiftly began the incantation to initiate the opening of the cairn and bowed deeply to allow the Great Wolf to enter first when the door appeared seamlessly in the jumbled rock face and opened inward without a sound. Howls of fury and hisses of rage flew like stones past their ears. Gnar insisted he go in first — the honor!

Gnar did bat an eye, both of them, when his Girl and Erhaiel suddenly materialized from behind the cairn and into his line of sight. But he took it in stride as if they had arranged to meet midst curses and hisses. He ushered them into the passageway and entered right behind them and he sent a stern forbidding to Twotongue of any harm befalling his Girl and Erhaiel. With a jealous glare for the two interlopers, Twotongue sealed the door with the final and irrevocable spell with no thought to the fact that he had now sealed himself off from his home, his kith and kin, with no hope to ever return.

"Gnar!" his Girl threw herself at him, her arms around his neck, and hugged him in a most satisfactory way (he didn't even wince when she squeezed the still-fresh stab wounds in her enthusiasm). "I was so worried for you, Gnar!" she said. And then, fresh emotion charging her voice, "You're bleeding!"

"Good to see you, too, Girl." he grinned his most wolfish grin and managed just in time to stop his tail from waving.

There was no noise from the outside. No indication that just moments before there had been all the rage of hell on their heels. Gnar looked at the passage before them and at his companions: his Girl (her arm still around his neck but gingerly now — not wanting to let go but not wanting to hurt him either), a three-color-whiskra, and Twotongue, his very own bitten-beholden Verm.

The passage looked to be carved from opal and reflected many colors, glowing softly and pulsing with its own light.

He looked back at his companions and then he and they all started talking at once: "Why did you follow me?" "Why did you leave me?" "How did you find me?" "What did the Verms want?" "Why is he with you?" "What would you have me do next?" "Where did you come by a three-color-whiskra?" "May I introduce myself?" "Do you remember the small dragon?" "To protect you." "To rescue you of course!" "With the help of Erhaiel." "Bitten-beholden." "Do you have a map of this passage?" "He came by me, so to speak." "Yes. indeed." "The flame stone."

At this last, quietly mentioned by Gnar, everyone stopped talking and stared.


To be continued.

Like steel,

By Annette Marie Hyder

like the color of shivers
and Aphrodite's corselet,
like mithril melted down
and silver washed in laudanum,
like lavender prised
from the shadows of pileus clouds,
like mother of pearl rubbed free
of all but the subtlest glow,
touched lightly, almost a kiss
of colors really, to the formerly unadorned
eyelids of the sky —
it was overcast like that today.

(NaPoWriMo day 13, poem 13)

You know how when you run your finger

By Annette Marie Hyder

around the rim of a wineglass it rings?
Well that is what happens when the finger of my mind
runs around the thought of you —
ringing notes ensue.

(NaPoWriMo day13, poem 12)

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