Poetry

He Read My Lips Through My Eyes

He Read My Lips Through My Eyes
by Tyler Marcil

Summer heat in Denver, Colorado
sometimes unbearable.
Instead of cooking one evening
my sister, her son, his father, my sister’s friend and myself
decided to have dinner at a restaurant downtown.

My two year old nephew sat next to his dad, but across from
me, his mom and her friend. Conversations and laughter filled
the room until our dinner arrived.

After I placed my napkin on my lap, the waiter sat a plate of ribs
in front of my nephew. He swoop in right away. His left hand and his mouth
was messy with barbecue sauce. He took his clean right hand and he clutched
the center of his stark white T-shirt and he started to raise the shirt to
his mouth.

I happened to look up at him after he’d raised his T-shirt. His mom had her
eyes on him too. He stared only at me for the longest time despite what his
dad said to him, “Don’t pay Tyler no mine. Go ahead and wipe your mouth
with your T-shirt. I’ll buy you a new one.” Despite his dad’s comments and
laughter, he let go of his T-shirt, looked at his dad and insisted on a napkin.

I looked at him the way our mother use to look at me and my five siblings
when our manners weren’t in check accordingly.


Copyright© 2021 by Tyler A Marcil. All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be used or reproduced without the written consent of the author.

Poetry

Lost Friends

Being a part of Path with Art for so long
People coming and going
Some staying, like me
Friends
Many, many friends
But what about those friends who drift away?
Remember Eric?
Where is Eric?
Blind
A nice guy
Young
A gentleman
Where is Owen?
A professional dumpster diver
I loved learning
about that underground culture from him
He narrated the first ever podcast
created by Path with Art students
I ask JJ
“I’ve reached out to him with no luck. I haven’t heard from him in more than a year.”
How is Adam?
Now married
Busy, busy, busy
I am sure
Where is Sol?
Canada?
How is Andrew doing?
San Francisco Giants fan
Bay Area aficionado
Where is Ruanda?
She is dead
For months I did not know
I ask Holly one day about her
Holly shares the sad, bad news
We never did go to the Seattle Aquarium
Made plans
Interrupted by life — and death
Cancer took her
I discover this poem by her

Worthless.
I know the feeling in worthlessness.
And find it hard to describe because
I’ve swum in the sea of worthlessness.

Thank God someone has been documenting this
The lives of ordinary people
Often forgotten and neglected

Poetry

Unfinished Objects

Title: Flower Center — This is an example of an unfinished object that I have in my collection. I experimented with fluorite beads and copper wire to make a flower center. I still need to create the petals. The numerous unfinished objects in my room inspired me to write a poem.
Flower Center

This is an example of an unfinished object that I have in my collection. I experimented with fluorite beads and copper wire to make a flower center. I still need to create the petals. The numerous unfinished objects in my room inspired me to write a poem.

The following poem captures a moment in my life when I felt a great deal of confusion. This confusion spilled over into my artwork. I created collages and doodles that lacked focus. I had trouble finishing my projects.

Unfinished Objects
by Tara

Royal blue scraps of felt, periwinkle blue Strips of ribbon,
Meandering trails of tiny triangular mirrors…
Alyssa loses the composition, trapped In tangled emotion.

She mourns the connection, tossed like a needle Into the ocean.
Her thought’s thread, thin like hair, snaps and disappears.
She loses her motivation, caught in tangled emotion.

Royal blue scraps of felt, periwinkle blue Strips of ribbon
Tumble to the ground as she tries to explain what Went wrong in tears,
While playing with the thread of an unfinished object,
From a collection vast as the ocean.

The boxes spill and flood over in slow motion.
The beads vibrate on the floor, their sound waves Are caught in the shattering of mirrors.
Alyssa loses some unformed objects, trapped in swirling emotion.

Royal blue scraps of felt, periwinkle blue Strips of ribbon
Swirl back together in piles, their ripples disappear.
She kneels and gathers them together In a wave of devotion

And picks them up one by one.
Then slowly, the clutter clears
And loses it’s currents of emotion.

She rethreads her needle, pulling through her fears
Then drops the needle again. The eye disappears
In royal blue scraps of felt, periwinkle blue Strips of ribbon.
She loses her composure again, trapped in tangles Of emotion.

Poetry

Artist

Title: Striped Pattern — I drew the artwork with pens and markers, then photographed it with an app on my phone. I then manipulated and layered the image in Photoshop to create the end result. I like playing with patterns in Photoshop because it offers me an opportunity to practice mindfulness skills.
I drew the artwork, titled Striped Pattern, with pens and markers, then photographed it with an app on my phone. I then manipulated and layered the image in Photoshop to create the end result. I like playing with patterns in Photoshop because it offers me an opportunity to practice mindfulness skills.

I tried to write this piece as a longer blog post, but I had a hard time emotionally processing the act of writing. I decided that a poem would be the right medium for the material because it conveys its message more efficiently.

Artist
by Tara

I am a bipolar-type, too-rapid cycler.
I am a schizotypal schizoaffective.
I am a bipolar.
I’m a borderline — give me Paxil.
I’m a goddess — lay me down.
Tie me up.
I must be a murderer.
I have bipolar disorder.
I experience depression.
I am an artist.

Poetry

for our poet


She said to us
I need a nudge
Without a push
I just won’t budge

Call it a block
To write my words
More like a rock
Perch for some birds

Toss me a theme
Float me a boat
If it’s a dream
I’ll help it float

Pen to a page
Fingers on keys
It’s just a stage
Leaves off of trees

Look in my eyes
Knock on my door
I’m here! Ever wise…
Up off the floor!

~ Bill Kirlin-Hackett, PAB (Program Advisory Board)