There are nearly thirteen million people in the world. None of those people is an extra. They're all the leads of their own stories.
~Charlie Kaufman, from his film, Synecdoche, New York
Playing the lead in a haystack, existing side-by-side in our solitary lives, solace comes when we join these needles together – the thread of life.
Jumping into character, taking leave of the present world – who wears your clothes when you sleep?
I am just a forgotten pebble – a spark of granite daring to glint. You see me walking down the street – out of focus lines of arms and legs – a disappearing narrative.
The screens keep getting wider – a stage full of leading ladies and leading men. They all spin in circles – red curtains flying.
The cleaner, unheard, leaves all untouched except the dust. The man attached to his phone, alone on the airport walkway – his family waits. The actress learns her lines on a threadbare couch, sitting on hope. We are all One Story.
Cristina M. R. Norcross Copyright 2009 (Published in The Red Drum (2008) and also Unsung Love Songs (2010). As heard on Blog Talk Radio, The SpeakEasy Cafe, "Sound of Ink" Open Mic Poetry. Download the FREE podcast with my poem from this show HERE)
The Dancers (Inspired by the painting by Dint Sweitzer)
We are these three couplings, They are us and we are them - each symbiotic curve and bending of oneness. We are naked in this blue light of love - this dancing dream, where every step I take is towards our chosen path.
In unison, we move to sapphire notes of passion and lavender melodies of quiet love. Arms entwined, limbs in parallel movement, color-coded love - bonding your touch to my tender skin, jumping in delightful response.
We are these three urgencies of longing, whimsy, and connected heat. You take me in your arms, and I know my feet will never touch the floor - in this life or the next.
Cristina M. R. Norcross Copyright 2010 (From the book Unsung Love Songs / 2010)
The Red Drum (Inspired by the writing of Stanley Kunitz) Your heart – a red drum. Taut leather bound to the infinite shape of a circle, seeks the music of other beating hearts.
Sound changes, when a strong wind blows, when the leather is rain-soaked, when the sun makes the circle jump into the light.
“I made this,” says the drum. Dreams take shape in the air, with each, bellowing note. “Now change it by living,” says the drum’s stick. Sing a new song. “Truth – Of thee I sing.”
Many more layers of change bring syncopated rhythms, ballads of longing, and newly discovered voices.
Your heart is a red drum – now crimson with passion, tomorrow the sun makes it pink – a tender, summer rose. Sing your transformation to the world. Beat the drum. Beat the drum. Beat the drum.
Cristina M. R. Norcross Copyright 2008 (From the book, The Red Drum, pub date: November 2008) THE RED DRUM is now available at both www.lulu.com and www.amazon.com.
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What I Wish for You
What I wish for you is more – more of what I have loved, more of what you seek to find, more adventures than I could ever imagine, so that the experiences lather up beside you, like the froth of an ocean wave.
What I wish for us is that this thread of connection, that vibrates like a chorus of guitar strings, sending out melodic stirrings, stays in motion. Let us never stop touching the furthest point in the distance.
What I wish for tomorrow is that there could be a field of tomorrows, populated by an expanse of red poppies, heralding the dawn.
But, this tomorrow I wish for exists beyond my reach, so I will hope that the day after that is a good day. It will be a day that I will exist in forever – this paradise we speak of – this home we return to when God’s loving embrace is the only garment our spirits wear.
Cristina M. R. Norcross Copyright 2008 (From the book, The Red Drum, Pub Date: November 2008)
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The Surfacing of Atlantis (Inspired by the handmade artisan jewelry of Jennifer Peña)
Reaching and stretching my will, a swarm of bubbles, like bees, hums all around my arms. Beaded wraps shimmer and sway. Sunlight cascades through hidden crevices, like lace lattice-work, shielding my heart from all darkness here on earth. I surface like the ancient pillars – too long buried in the ocean depths.
Rise to the clear layer of water that glimmers, with white-capped waves and reflected light, from former years that have returned with yearning. Like history being written for the first time – write you life. Be true to your word, and live the dream, that you hold so dear in the center of your hand, like a rare jewel. You are surfacing, like the mighty castle of Atlantis. Return to yourself and break through the cresting waves.
Cristina M. R. Norcross Copyright 2007 To view the beautiful designs of Jennifer Peña on Etsy.com please click HERE)
A Crow's Path (Inspired by the photography of Pat Bashford)
In the shadow of a tree’s roots, the image of a proud bird appears. Wings outstretched – flight is imminent for the ancient, black crow. He speaks of secrets – an oral history of magic and bird lore.
Tree of life, giver of hope – the white path is a cluster of clouds winding its way through the brush after touching earth. Far from home – from the sky.
The crow brings news of tomorrow with his song. Fortune’s melody – lyrics hang in the air, awaiting translation.
Branches reach and seem to move with the flow of life. It is a dance – nature’s choreography. We observe this rhythm – what the natural world holds in balance.
Keys to understanding, pieces of a puzzle – one day, this will be simple again.
Cristina M. R. Norcross Copyright 2007 (From the book: Living Nature’s Moments – publication details coming soon!)
Walking together through the fields, heads bowed to the sun, grazing companions greet the new day.
A gate opens with the music of metal. The sound of galloping hoof beats fills the air with longing, with the freedom of expansiveness, and the scent of freshly cut hay.
Running with the wind, powerful, lean legs transform the pasture into an endless road. Other horses seek this path with their eyes, knowing that aspirations are lighter than air. This too, can be their future.
Meeting again where the land dips, and the greenest hues grow darkest, these thirteen-year friends share a meal and some respite from the human world.
Wondering when her horse will return, the rider sees the outlines of gold and deep brown in the distance. She smiles at the independence, the sheer joy of living a life of beauty – the equine mystery.
Cristina M. R. Norcross Copyright 2008
*** Life is a Journey (Inspired by the artwork of Anne Wall)
Start living where you are – on this glassy surface of blue promises and bold, cerulean skies.
Each stroke brings you closer to the journey prepared – to the paddle dipping into vitality. Moments in the sun make your hands appreciate the tall grass’s shade, the sleek, carved reflection of the boat’s long body, and your future – dancing on the shore.
The clouds usher forth a direction too clear to ignore. The depths share advice too. Your breath remembers the tracings of that dark stranger you used to be. Your heart’s rhythm pushes the scull, until purpose breaks free.
Without borders, the path becomes a wide canyon. Your heart knows that no direction is the true answer.
You are here. Start living where you are. Start living.
Cristina M. R. Norcross Copyright 2008
All is in Balance (Inspired by the painting “She Slept Like a Log” by Holly Kallie)
The water’s current is a lullaby. The air brushes her hair in sleep. The wood’s grain welcomes floating dreams – exquisite balance.
Beautiful dreamer, with peach skin warmed by the sun, let deep waters stir beneath you, so that waking life may carry the torch.
With an essence so clear that a bed of stones reflects stardust at night, your center shines with purpose – a beacon to the heavens.
All is in balance in this restful, water reverie. With cupped hands, carry your heart’s light to the body’s temple, and offer up the balm of peace you seek – to others. May this lapping at the shore of love’s haven be our cradle.
Cristina M. R. Norcross Copyright 2008 Click HERE for a preview of the fine art giclée for this poem and painting on Holly Kallie's website!
On the Rocks (Inspired by the photography of Pat Bashford)
Today is Tracy’s birthday. Perched on jagged rocks, with her foot firmly in the groove of a rust-colored crack, she contemplates the sky’s message. This is a private celebration.
Tonight her friends will bring frilly, purple gift bags, filled with tissue papered surprises. Her husband will cover her shoulders with the warmth of his hands and a new alpaca sweater.
The cake will be sweet. The music will be a loud drum in her chest. What Tracy wants most though on her thirty-second birthday, is the promise of lighting just one candle on the smallest, white circle of frosting.
Each month is a breath of hope and a sigh of disappointment. Tracy and her husband wait for the joy of a baby to fill their world – to make their twosome expand in heart and soul, to become a rounded three.
Tracy sees a wave rise and fold under in the deepest part of the beyond. This makes her smile. The sky is lifting, as her mind opens to hold the mist falling from above.
This will be the month. The dream will grow, if she creates the space for little hands and feet to kick against her warm, inner hearth.
Happy Birthday, Tracy.
Cristina M. R. Norcross Copyright 2008 (From the book: Living Nature’s Moments – publication details coming soon!)
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Dunes at Sunset (Inspired by the photography of Pat Bashford)
Drinking the sun’s nectar at the close of day, I try to hold a honeyed, mellow taste on my tongue. We sit on the pancake soft sand of the dunes, planning our future. I giggle as my bare feet feel the brush of salty beach grass.
This is our last North American sunset, before we journey across the ocean to the land of castles. The sky’s palette paints a future we can touch and gaze at in wonder, as if choosing artwork from a gallery. A pale blue arrow amidst dark clouds points to what we cannot see.
I choose this life with you. Each stone on the beach tells a different story and carries a different weight. Every year spent crossing London Bridge makes me sigh for a simple sunset, yet we will share these adventures for a lifetime.
Dry grass turns into waves of flames on the beach. Each year of life is a grain of sand, more exotic and sparkling than the one before. I hold you in my heart like the snapshot of a sunset that will never lose its light.
Cristina M. R. Norcross Copyright 2008 (From the book: Living Nature’s Moments – publication details coming soon!) ***
Forgiveness (Inspired by the photography of Pat Bashford, Sunset Over Marsh – Plum Island)
Virginia knew she was supposed to forgive him. What else was this sunset for, but a perfectly set stage of reconciliation? Orange and red streaks dripped down from the sky, like the honey treacle topping to a decadent dessert. How could someone remain angry with all of this confection in the air?
He forgot her birthday – again. Virginia handpicked a card and some porcelain treasure in anticipation of his mother’s birthday. His personal calendar befuddled him.
After words were thrown across the room in a tangled mess of diction and jettisoned consonants, the sky opened up. Virginia walked out onto the porch, looking at the marshes, but not really looking, until she noticed the orange tornado descending. Treetops now glowing like red coals, Low-lying clouds – the color of burnt yolks.
A single line of light cast a reflection in the water. All paths pointed back to the front door. With her hand hovering above the handle, Virginia took a deep breath and listened.
Cristina M. R. Norcross Copyright 2008 Cristina M. R. Norcross Copyright 2008
Breath of life – that blows energy into hearts – you are the wisdom of the wind. The eye of the world opens up to love through art.
I envision you today in your studio, surrounded by thick colors and a waiting, white canvas. I left you a smoky haze of memory – a comfort for your daily work.
It tunnels down into the very depths of being. I blow you a kiss from beyond – you hear my every whisper.
Fingerprints – I am but a smudge, a flair of brilliant light sent up to the sky – raising the flag.
At the glistening core is a polished, pink pearl. I hold it out to you in careful, cupped hands, and smile in wonder at your joy.
Cristina M. R. Norcross Copyright 2008
Island Cottage (Inspired by the painting by Irene Ruddock)
My little island is this cottage. A sanctuary’s view of serene blues and plush, mossy greens. There is respite from the world here and yet – it is here that the world rests.
Ever-expanding circles of cross current waters stir just beyond my shores, and the sea beckons to be sailed.
My spirit flows with the tides. I have traveled afar from the comfort of this cottage. A seafarer’s journey in the mind brings back a multitude of gleaming treasures – sunset hues warm enough to bathe in, and cresting waves that glisten like so many diamonds.
The sky opened up this morning and the tawny red roof of my dwelling grew darker with the gliding sheets of rain. Dancing on the windows was the reflected light from my soul’s next voyage – a beacon to guide me home.
Cristina M. R. Norcross Copyright 2006 (Published in the book Land & Sea: Poetry Inspired by Art) ***
Two horses walk into the milky white expanse of the desert. One rider guides the path that casting shadows lead.
A weathered red blanket rests on his shoulders like a torchlight. The sky is a pale turquoise that has been white washed by the sun.
Alone – the rider bends forward as if the very thought of his journey weighs heavily on him, curving his weary spine.
“I have been here before,” he thinks. “My people have always walked this land, and I shall be here again.”
This thought echoes beneath the horses’ hooves. A vibration moves the earth just slightly until the ground hums a familiar refrain. The rider is no longer alone.
History rises like steam and he sees not an endless journey, but a road filled with Light.
Pausing to gently lower himself off his horse, the rider allows his dry, cracked feet to be bathed by the golden earth. It is shimmering with glinting flecks of agate and granite.
“I have new shoes,” he thinks, “and now I will walk.”
Cristina M. R. Norcross Copyright 2004 (Published in the Summer/2005 issue of Yawp Magazine in Ottawa, Canada) ***
Star Island Apparition
She walks into the wind with an effortless grace and a flowing skirt that disappears. She can not hear me calling. She keeps her lover’s gifts hidden in a cave. This pirate love affair binds her to a barren rock in the sea, and she waits for his return.
Catching only glimpses of her tattered clothes and wasted limbs, islanders look in disbelief at the apparition that takes shape.
Every night Rosalee walks these shores in search of love’s trophy, hidden behind the jagged rocks – giving nothing away.
Betrayed by spectators, she looks askance with hollow eyes and shows only the longing of darkness.
Many wish to follow her pointed finger, to help her retrieve or protect whatever ghost she has lost, but she is the wandering spirit, persisting in her futile search. Her dress floats and waves in the air – a sorrowful goodbye to things treasured.
Cristina M. R. Norcross Copyright 2007 ***
You Are Not Really Here (Inspired by the Photography of Pat Bashford)
You are the breeze that blows a white kitchen curtain up high above the vision of a field, while cornbread browns in the oven.
You are a pair of faded, leather sandals with wooden beads decorating the toes. They could take you anywhere.
You are the light that flies away like lightning bugs – the little sparks from a bonfire.
You are the mighty tide coming in, challenging the shore. You are the undercurrent sending starfish into a spin.
Food will sustain you. You have form within space. Your body rests, so that your spirit may travel in the dreamtime.
You are not really here. Your soul has another home – your birthplace and your resting place.
Cristina M. R. Norcross Copyright 2008 (From the book: Living Nature’s Moments – publication details coming soon!) ***
To reach me you must traverse green lichen and muddied trails. Tangled branches hang over one another in a canopy of question marks. Both light and dark patches guard the front yard, caressing each strand of grass, and bringing you closer to my darkened door.
My roof is an angry terracotta red – a refuge for cover. Otherwise, I am all white and gleaming. The robin’s egg blue sky reflects in my windows, as the door’s frame welcomes your thoughts, beckoning you inside yourself.
I am the white house of many who seek. I am the empty house of few who have the courage to fill it.
Leaves from nearby trees, weeping their season’s end, blow through my entrance. I hold each one carefully, like the folded wings of a sleeping dove and wait for a whispered plea or a quiet confession. It matters not what the question is – only that you have one to ask.
I am the white house set back on the hill, waiting for you to come. You have only to knock.