tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21453985155492159022024-03-12T17:19:44.525-07:00Marisa Cappetta BA Vis Arts and PoetMarisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09556341632433581809noreply@blogger.comBlogger57125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2145398515549215902.post-41921878941993409962013-07-16T18:46:00.000-07:002013-07-16T20:24:50.410-07:00Ave Maria<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Ave Maria</span></b></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: small; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Our Lady
Queen of Peace, New Jersey</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: small; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Sunday
Morning</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: small; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">1969</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: small; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">She is
dressed in flowing blue robe. I sweat in an itchy white nylon</span></div>
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frock, feeling like a fraud. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: small; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Even at age
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: small; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Oh! how I
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: small; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">of it, how
it would sparkle when I turned this way and that.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: small; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I plotted
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: small; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I had a moment of panic when it became lacquered </span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: small; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">to the roof
of my mouth and I couldn’t prise it loose with my tongue. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: small; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Kids told me that holding the host too long in the mouth was satanic. </span>
<br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: small; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I realized years
later it was probably made of cornstarch.</span></div>
Marisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09556341632433581809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2145398515549215902.post-39616177572043989562013-02-17T14:33:00.000-08:002013-02-17T14:33:30.003-08:00New Poetry WebsiteThanks to the creative team at <a href="http://desolatespectre.com/">Desolate Spectre Studios</a> I have a new <a href="http://www.marisacappetta.com/">poetry site</a>. It was designed and made my Margaret Pickering, who listened closely to my brief and produced a site that I am delighted with.<br />
<br />
There's a page <a href="http://www.marisacappetta.com/about.html">about the poetry and me personally</a> and a separate page with <a href="http://www.marisacappetta.com/bio.html">my bio</a> that contains links to poems published online. Read <a href="http://www.marisacappetta.com/poetry.html">excerpts </a>of works in progress. <br />
<br />
The site reflects my poetry visually and represents my personal interests. There are also clues to my family history in the graphics. All the objects pictured are from my vast collection of vintage paraphernalia and years of beach combing and general magpie tendencies. <br />
<br />
The site will be added to over time, with full versions of poems and more imagery. Enjoy <a href="http://marisacappetta.com/">MarisaCappetta.com</a>Marisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09556341632433581809noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2145398515549215902.post-54051697972452347532012-10-17T16:51:00.001-07:002012-10-17T16:52:16.604-07:00CPC Spring Season of Readings<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2xwjHuHvA1Xtg6_cCZfdOp4l1Sk9X4epMf6i0DUgssmSv91sahyi21LWpYcJbcFAi6sNmEvWBEs1v-pvFhLp60NXUtR7sdc_JqiKyZmvx5Mce0k3sbvCSmEUb6AwwJSdEASLypgJVtcg/s1600/2012+CPC+Poetry+in+Performance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2xwjHuHvA1Xtg6_cCZfdOp4l1Sk9X4epMf6i0DUgssmSv91sahyi21LWpYcJbcFAi6sNmEvWBEs1v-pvFhLp60NXUtR7sdc_JqiKyZmvx5Mce0k3sbvCSmEUb6AwwJSdEASLypgJVtcg/s400/2012+CPC+Poetry+in+Performance.jpg" width="292" /></a></div>
We're in the middle of poetry season here in Christchurch. Last night was superb, the guest readers satisfied my need to hear well crafted poetry read in the poet's own voices. The open mike readers were of high calibre with the likes of James Norcliffe, Bernadette Hall, Kerrin P Sharpe, Helen Lowe and new voices that were a treat to hear. <br />
<br />
I'm at the lecturn next week with Sean Joyce and our star poet, Louise Wallace. Looking forward to it!Marisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09556341632433581809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2145398515549215902.post-13473683548585979652012-10-16T01:29:00.002-07:002012-10-16T01:29:27.771-07:00Poem Poster<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDrqZzTTYvbjdARMI7xp0m7nv9aOFMN1k9gQQxibVHXAN-rfX1Hpaeel26MFazQRwyf7XXrpnEFCrPpK2jiRjDDIPu46jq_YKWcjXNJ5Te8Uwk0zqsnI2c9hA8h_0m46f-yxI2yPJYRQY/s1600/Poem+Poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDrqZzTTYvbjdARMI7xp0m7nv9aOFMN1k9gQQxibVHXAN-rfX1Hpaeel26MFazQRwyf7XXrpnEFCrPpK2jiRjDDIPu46jq_YKWcjXNJ5Te8Uwk0zqsnI2c9hA8h_0m46f-yxI2yPJYRQY/s640/Poem+Poster.jpg" width="454" /></a></div>
Phantom Billstickers made me a poem poster. Marisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09556341632433581809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2145398515549215902.post-75185726818791893482012-03-01T17:57:00.001-08:002012-03-01T18:55:15.988-08:00My Lover as Hat<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I love you,
my hat.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p> </o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I love the
brim of you</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">pulled over
my eyes.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I love you thrown</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">in the air.
I catch you. </span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I love you
crushed </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">under my
foot. </span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I love you,
my hat,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">feathered, ribboned
or flowered.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I love you
abandoned </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">on a chair.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Worn in the
rain</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">at a
funeral, in church </span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">where the
parson</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">compliments
you.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I love you,
my hat.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have worn
you so long</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">you are
sweat stained.<o:p></o:p></span></div>Marisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09556341632433581809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2145398515549215902.post-12192738218178666932012-02-05T00:55:00.000-08:002012-02-07T14:48:37.203-08:00Blackmail Press #32 is Live<style>
st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) }
</style>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-NZ"><a href="http://www.blackmailpress.com/Index32.html">Blackmail Press #32 is live</a>. You can read my poems <a href="http://www.blackmailpress.com/MC32.html">here</a>. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-NZ">One Handed
Woman is a character I made that reflects some of the questions I have about being
a woman with feminism as my birth right. How did it shape me? Advantages,
disadvantages, even disabilities? The poem is part of an ongoing dialogue I
have with my contemporaries. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-NZ">Emissary to
a Neighbouring Kingdom, The Parson Falls in Love and
Goes Mad and One Left for a Hero, came from a paper I read sometime last year
on the disconnection men feel from traditional archetypes. These poems are my
reflections on this sociological phenomenon, the characters are the king, the
cleric and the hero respectively. I am
continuing to write in this series, several more are included in my manuscript,
A Machine of Herbs and Flowers</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-NZ">The Water
Gleaners is a retelling of the story of Oberon, Titania and the fairy Mustard
Seed from A Midsummer Nights Dream. It’s a story built around my concerns for the politicizing and future
distribution of potable water.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-NZ">Enjoy
Blackmail Press #32, there are some wonderful poets included. It’s a great
read. </span></div>Marisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09556341632433581809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2145398515549215902.post-22583184209323837832012-01-31T01:12:00.000-08:002012-01-31T01:12:42.908-08:00Published PoemsA few folk have asked me where they can read my poems. Some are here on my blog of course. Here's a summary of poems published elsewhere.<br />
<br />
<u><b>E-zines </b></u><br />
Snorkel, the literary journal of the University of Sydney, you can read<i> Turning the Seasons with the Dead</i> <a href="http://snorkel.org.au/014/cappetta.html">here</a><br />
<br />
International Literary Quarterly published <i>Biological Name for Moth</i> and <i>Coracle</i> <a href="http://interlitq.org/issue14/marisa-cappetta/job.php">here</a><br />
<br />
Turbine, Literary Magazine of the Victoria University, Wellington NZ published <i>Found Farther and Farther Out</i> <a href="http://www.nzetc.org/iiml/turbine/Turbi10/poetry/t1-g1-g1-t6-g1-t1-body-d1.html">here</a><br />
<br />
Shot Glass Journal published <i>Nude on a Staircase</i> <a href="http://www.musepiepress.com/shotglass/issue2/marisa_cappetta1.html">here</a><br />
<br />
I've been a Tuesday poet on Catherine Fitchett's blog, with <i>Young Woman Marries the Farmer's Son</i> <a href="http://poetrychook.blogspot.co.nz/2011/01/tuesday-poem-young-woman-marries.html">here </a><br />
<br />
Samuel Peralta featured <i>Drawing Grasses in Okains Bay New Zealand</i> on his blog <a href="http://semaphoreanthology.tumblr.com/post/1686622845/drawing-grasses-in-okains-bay-new-zealand">The Semaphore Anthology</a><br />
<br />
<u><b>Print Media</b></u><br />
In addition I have been published several times in Takahe, which you can subscribe to <a href="http://www.takahe.org.nz/index.php">here</a>. Numerous times in The Press. Voiceprints #3, which is available to purchase through the Canterbury Poets Collective. Also Enamel and Crest to Crest Anthology of Canterbury Poetry and Prose.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Marisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09556341632433581809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2145398515549215902.post-38946123521667057612012-01-27T16:28:00.000-08:002012-01-27T16:30:11.459-08:00Winning the 2011 Margaret Mahy Prize.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-NZ">“Ok, so you’re
pretty prolific, get 100 poems together and let’s see if there’s a book amongst
them.” Thus began the relationship with
my Hagley Writers Institute supervisor, John Dickson. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-NZ">OOOkay… I
gulped and got to work and lo, I pulled it off. I narrowed it down to 47,
submitted the manuscript for my final folio and it was short listed in the top
seven. From these Anne Rogers, editor at Random House chose the winners of the
Margaret Mahy Award. I thought I hadn’t heard correctly when my name was
called. I stumbled up to receive the award, and then spent the rest of the evening
in a grinning daze. Always remember to prepare a winners face, as well as a
losers. I have learned by experience now! Pictures of graduation <a href="http://hagleywriters.net/2012/01/graduation-2011/">here</a>. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-NZ">The manuscript
is called, A Machine of Herbs and Flowers. It’s my first collection of poetry.
Hagley are now sending it to Auckland University Press and one other publisher
yet to be decided to be considered for publishing. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-NZ">2011 was tough, with some 9,500 aftershocks and quakes in Christchurch and the death of one of my best friends. Hagley held me together and gave me purpose and hope. There’s a
lot to look forward to and work towards in 2012. I’m returning to Hagley for
year two. This year my tutor is the brilliant Frankie Mcmillan who I know will
be able to polish my short fiction writing skills. </span></div>Marisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09556341632433581809noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2145398515549215902.post-229753321094603792012-01-12T13:01:00.000-08:002012-01-12T13:01:55.789-08:00Review of apple strudelThank you to Emmett Wheatfall for his review of 'apple strudel'. It's always a pleasure to be reviewed by a peer. His review can be read here <a href="http://emmettwheatfall.tumblr.com/">http://emmettwheatfall.tumblr.com/</a> .Marisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09556341632433581809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2145398515549215902.post-40799906183615592292011-09-05T02:14:00.001-07:002011-09-06T16:59:58.504-07:00apple strudel<div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-NZ">My mum and aunties stretch it with their fists. They coax it thinner and thinner stretch it until it covers the whole laminex kitchen table and I can see the check of the cloth through the membrane of pastry. Stretch out their pride in their children stretch out their cackles of laughter at the stupidity of their husbands stretch out their tears for the sister who died young. At 15 they let me have a go, I try to mimic their hand over hand and rip a big hole in it they laugh at my clumsiness and shoo me away. When I’m 20 they laugh at my university-learned hochdeutsch even though I can stretch the dough as good as them “<i>ooo la di da</i>” they screech taunts at my posh accent and it thins the pastry a little more. Taunts add tartness to the apples they scatter. They add the finely chopped bitter rind of long standing family feuds, a sprinkle of spicy sugar gossip and roll the whole thing up using the cloth, lifting it so that fold upon fold of pastry swaddles the apples and all the ancient history.</span></div>Marisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09556341632433581809noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2145398515549215902.post-23679293984032378122011-08-08T19:33:00.000-07:002011-08-08T19:49:09.266-07:00Stubborn as Stone<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I sent my love a naked lithotint,</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">gold print on stone.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p> </o:p></span><br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">He says I’m a kind of rock</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">plants grow on,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">a stone swallower,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">rock borer,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">fossilized fruit,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">a concretion in his veins.</span><br />
<br />
I assert that</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">for my fire I have flint,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">to furrow the rows of my garden</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have a small stone adze;</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">live and worship in a stone circle. </span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A stone that falls to earth I</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> become </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">phosphorescent when heated. <o:p></o:p></span></div>Marisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09556341632433581809noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2145398515549215902.post-38705031734622745822011-07-03T22:27:00.000-07:002011-07-04T15:29:13.488-07:00reasons for silenceso the wheel barrow<br />
full of star frequencies <br />
can speak<br />
<br />
so the energy wave<br />
that is body<br />
may be seen<br />
<br />
a table cloth may<br />
embroider itself <br />
with grub roses<br />
<br />
soliloquy<br />
of the sewing box<br />
may be heard<br />
<br />
thunder of rust developing<br />
on the hollow legs<br />
of picnic tables <br />
rattle the trees<br />
<br />
the harmonic of frost chimes<br />
resonant in the lacunae <br />
within the leaves <br />
of felicia amelloides<br />
calls the followers to prayer<br />
<br />
so that a rush <br />
of seedlings heaves<br />
the clay aside and terrifies<br />
<br />
so the crackle<br />
of thin bible pages<br />
is delicious<br />
<br />
so that as you <br />
breathe out<br />
and I breathe in<br />
we synchronize <br />
<br />
fuse at the sternum <br />
with a seam of gold <br />
in the ore of our bodies<br />
the sound <br />
of silent lightening<br />
<br />
<strong></strong>Marisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09556341632433581809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2145398515549215902.post-74825892701380666162011-04-12T21:12:00.000-07:002011-04-13T20:45:02.276-07:00My Wedding ShoesThe cobbler couldn’t squeeze my foot<br />
into the standard last size no matter<br />
how much sweat beaded his forehead.<br />
<br />
So he went back to the drawing board.<br />
He made a new shoe last.<br />
He cut a new pattern;<br />
cumulonimbus for the upper,<br />
plumes of pampas grass for the sole,<br />
and a wedge of utopia for a heel.<br />
<br />
The shoes reach for my feet.<br />
First the broken left one,<br />
the shoe strokes my scars with its dainty <br />
leather straps calming the angry <br />
swelling before buckling <br />
with the sound of lips on lips.<br />
<br />
The right shoe is more teasing,<br />
pretends coyness before<br />
it invites my foot to tango<br />
giggling when I tickle the buckle.<br />
<br />
My wedding shoes are wrapped <br />
in delicate linen and boxed.<br />
I stumble across them when<br />
I put away the winter woolens,<br />
<br />
open the box, nudge aside the fabric.<br />
My shoes glow with a wake up<br />
smile and hold out their hands to me.Marisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09556341632433581809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2145398515549215902.post-10229136339396460752011-03-13T01:15:00.000-08:002011-03-13T01:15:23.439-08:00child's playas snake<br />
beautiful but blue<br />
<br />
as snow<br />
remembered but black<br />
<br />
as human<br />
innocent but almost<br />
born inside<br />
a monster<br />
a child<br />
a bird<br />
a cry of wingsMarisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09556341632433581809noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2145398515549215902.post-17066498237014494972010-12-27T21:07:00.000-08:002010-12-27T21:07:00.641-08:00waiting for a lover on Rabbit Island<i>This poem was published in The Press, Christchurch, 24 December 2010</i><br />
<br />
love knuckles up<br />
in knots of bulbing young cones<br />
on pine branches beyond<br />
yearn and reach<br />
<br />
the sea hurls shells<br />
at the roots I collect<br />
them my flaw is patience<br />
I bury and wait<br />
<br />
my flaw is dauntless and<br />
alone in the thick scented<br />
pine forest perfectly<br />
still salt water covers my<br />
feet shells bob nudge<br />
and whimper for embraceMarisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09556341632433581809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2145398515549215902.post-59976622530550342242010-11-27T14:13:00.000-08:002010-11-27T14:13:40.902-08:00Gap FillerFollowing the September 4 earthquake, we have gaps in our city scape. For me some of these places were special. 'Through the Keyhole', on Colombo St was one. The entrance had the original cobblestone paving, the weatherboard stables intact. It was once a staging post on the arduous journey over the Port Hills to Lyttleton. A piece of our heritage. TTKspecialised in antique and vintage salvage. I spent many blissfully happy hours rummaging in the back rooms for keys, pressed metal, un-identifiable objects and shapes that spoke to me and might use one day use in mixed media jewelry. The building is gone now, the site leveled, no trace remains. It was heartbreaking to see. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.gapfiller.org.nz/">Gap Filler</a> is livening up some of these sites with film, poetry readings, music, food and more. I'm happy to be a part of it as a reader and urge all those in Christchurch to go and have a good time. Celebrate life, our beautiful city, the vibrancy of the arts. The site is <span class="style1">832/834 Colombo Street, previously South of the Border restaurant and Denis Moore Auto Electrician. Enjoy summer at <a href="http://www.gapfiller.org.nz/">Gap Filler. </a></span>Marisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09556341632433581809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2145398515549215902.post-50430343958125385972010-10-02T01:18:00.000-07:002010-10-02T01:19:48.820-07:00love letter #1<span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I felt the lack of simple things today,</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">of animating when I tell them aloud to you. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">It was a breezy sunny spring afternoon and the poets</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">told this day like an abacus bead,</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">I buried my face in sun-clean towels</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">the day captured in the cotton. </span></span>Marisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09556341632433581809noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2145398515549215902.post-70485383733177406352010-09-28T13:49:00.001-07:002010-09-28T14:53:42.012-07:00Poetry News September 2010September has been an exciting month. Two more poems have been accepted for a forthcoming issue of <a href="http://www.takahe.org.nz/index.php">Takahe</a>, I'm a Tuesday Poet on<a href="http://typewhatyousee.blogspot.com/2010/09/tuesday-poem-to-those-i-love-by-marisa.html"> Mariana Isara's blog, Type What You See </a>and published in <a href="http://www.musepiepress.com/shotglass/marisa_cappetta1.html">Shot Glass Journal #2</a> .<br /><br />Takahe #70 is out and it's been a very good read. It showcases the work of established and emerging writers. It's excellent value, you can download a form from the website and <a href="http://www.takahe.org.nz/availability.php">subscribe to Takahe. </a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.musepiepress.com/shotglass/index.html">Shot Glass Journal #2</a> features New Zealand poets. The journal is dedicated to short poetry, great if you need a quick fix. Short poetry is tricky, how do you capture and convey an idea in under 16 lines? There are some admirable poems in this issue. Three poets in particular caught my attention. <a href="http://www.musepiepress.com/shotglass/sean_joyce1.html">Sean Joyce</a>, his piece warmly humorous and nostalgic. <a href="http://www.musepiepress.com/shotglass/mariana_isara1.html">Mariana Isara</a>, masterful in her brevity. <a href="http://www.musepiepress.com/shotglass/reilly_smethurst2.html">Reilly Smethhurst</a>, each line potent with image and rhythm, the poems unsettling, I find myself coming back to them and reading again.Marisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09556341632433581809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2145398515549215902.post-85076828949065809172010-09-16T02:24:00.000-07:002010-09-16T02:28:37.753-07:00courtesan<span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >This poem was published in Takah</span><span widget="" cmd="msgaction_ext:subjectSearch" class="cgSelectable" style="cursor: pointer; font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" title="View all emails with this subject" >ē</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" > 69, 2010</span><br /><br />the cold fireplace<br />saw her play it coy<br /><br />she threw her<br />boots in and<br /><br />tried to blind it<br />he sprinkled them<br /><br />with soot<br />and lit a match<br /><br />a fist of flames<br />pushed out<br /><br />years of<br />silk shawls<br /><br />lace undies and<br />fans stuffed up<br /><br />the chimney<br />the roar<br /><br />a throat open<br />with confessionMarisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09556341632433581809noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2145398515549215902.post-7797419900699721422010-09-02T21:14:00.000-07:002010-09-02T21:17:23.758-07:00shadow puppetsa man falls through<br />dressed in a paper suit,<br /><br />he folds himself into<br />a crane and scatters<br />with a rattle of paper wings,<br /><br />alights on her palm, unfolds<br />and says, "in a reflective way<br />I cry for...I don't know why,<br />you do that, you know."<br /><br />his hands ache.<br />she oils them, warms them.Marisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09556341632433581809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2145398515549215902.post-48637973069735764432010-06-29T21:32:00.000-07:002010-07-05T19:28:45.614-07:00at seaperturbations from you my love<br />tip me on my axis<br /><br />I re-<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">align</span> when I break bread with<br />a crouch of moss green stones and<br />meditate with tide pools<br /><br />when I complete one orbit you will have<br />flung yourself in space I lift<br />a starfish -<br /><br />in a palm full of deep waterMarisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09556341632433581809noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2145398515549215902.post-1906809001273503662010-05-07T00:09:00.000-07:002010-05-07T00:14:33.476-07:00Poet's LandTo paraphrase Joan Baez, it was a happy April for this happy fool. I loved the focus and intensity of NaPoWriMo and the autumn season of poets in performance at the Madras Street Cafe. The month was drenched in poetry and I find it hard to let go. To keep the momentum going I am taking Joanna Preston's series of classes, Reading for Writing at CPIT, starting soon. Thanks to all who commented and cheered me on in April, it was such fun!Marisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09556341632433581809noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2145398515549215902.post-1781695677551727622010-04-30T02:45:00.000-07:002010-04-30T02:47:11.163-07:0029 and 30 AprilSitting down to blog my last two poems only to discover...I've left my manuscript at school. Well that's an anticlimax. I guess it will be Monday before I can show them.Marisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09556341632433581809noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2145398515549215902.post-34010490109235521952010-04-27T19:27:00.000-07:002010-04-28T19:11:30.242-07:00Tuesday 27 April 2010<strong>surviving a break up</strong><br /><strong></strong><br />swoon words drip fed<br />from old letters embolise<br /><br />the palliative stone burns<br />like oxygen on my sternum<br /><br />unsleeved pulmonary veins<br />form new tissueMarisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09556341632433581809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2145398515549215902.post-74701045637408769002010-04-26T18:58:00.000-07:002010-04-27T19:27:36.800-07:00Monday 26 April 2010<strong>Island Home</strong><br /><br />I stray like a willful egg<br />the new zealand bird nudges<br />me back into the nest<br /><br />I arrive like a spinning top<br />braids of water tangle<br />in my legs birch trees lean in<br />kiss me tip me blanket me<br />with upside down mountain clouds<br /><br />I colour right up to the crinkly edges<br />a cuckoo afloat in a floating homeMarisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09556341632433581809noreply@blogger.com0