Barbara Field 

Boston, Massachusetts, USA 

My philosophical statement is that poetry is an art to be shared and is an inspiration for the goodness of humanity. That's why I have written 50 words in four poems to express my art and memory. I know that when I was in the hospital there were poetry groups that met; that was important to me then in the early eighties. And I still recall a course that inspired me when the professor received a Pulitzer Prize for a book of prose poems. Now that my foundation is active in the Boston area, we support poetry book publishing. 

The White horse 

I see the diagonal of a halter on a white horse
Intersection in Nogales where cars are halted.. 
A girl reads a book on the storefront icon. 
A mexican man holds the horse's reigns. 
The brown halter surrounds the horse's mouth, it's head decked with a purple ribbon. 
A horse painted near a building, 
That translates into a piano keyboard, ebony and ivory. 
Creamy yellow thrown on the canvas like a wall. 
Echoing the idea of transparency, blending the quarter horse with half-closed eyes with
The realization of quarter notes as played on a piano. 
The intersection of the horse and the piano in harmony. 
Just a Nogales building wedged to play the keys like wooden boards to be a structure. 

The Chess Mess Painting 

The boy observes the chess game. 
Marble looks like a blue pool. 
Brown benches, the one with cricket-like hands. 
The lamp posts like the gray area of vision....I see. 
The squares are red and beige. 
The fact is that the king is thinking of what; 
Answer: squares. 
He finds the bishop with his truth, square. 
He finds the queen who can't dance, frozen in paint, square. 
He even is critical of the angel, balancing act intact. 
The painting is not animated to be a motion picture. 
The first knight is like a film, viewing the board from the cat bird's seat, moved to be
Noble. 
The goodness to stay out of the game's arena. 
The intelligence to slant paint on a flatland in Switzerland. 
Like a pawn manipulated to write, to paint, to dream.... 

On The Beach 

The image in the camera is the eye
Of the circus. 
A meal found at the Fairway at the Cape; 
Asparagus, pointing the same direction. 
Footprints go off near the knowing of a name. 
The ocean measures thyme jumping, filled with salt, 
Salted on a steak. 
The mitten and circles on a wonder bread hand. 
What of squares of sand, pasta and the past. 
Like a salad with nothing to do but color my world, green and red. 
We color the table cloth with crayon like children. 

The Statue in Nogales

Shaped in stone are formed a mother and child.
A braided woman whose son reaches up. 
A bank, Ban Oro is near a checkerboard storefront. 
In Nogales is a hillside, so I divined that green
Should be thrown on the canvas as trees. 
Yellow in the upper left hand side of the canvas
Is like corn-on-the cob at a picnic. 
The words BA are scrawled on the statue. 
A word with hidden meaning. 
The structure of the sculpture a humble tribute to holiness. 
Shouldering the burden of the arts.