Death & Dying, Life & Living, Memories, Poetry

torn corners & confetti (viii)

As I mentioned at the outset, eight is an extraordinarily powerful number; it figures prominently amongst many world religions and cultures.


The 8 is the great Karmic equalizer, a force that just as easily creates as it destroys. It balances the material and immaterial worlds.

The spiritual side of the 8 is practical, realistic and intelligent. On the material plane, it is focused on results, often in the form of money, yet does not care much about money for its own sake. It is not greedy, it sees money as a means not an end.

The number 8 in the Bible represents a new beginning, meaning a new order or creation, and man’s true ‘born again’ event when he is resurrected from the dead into eternal life.

Here’s a quick reference to the meaning of eight in the Western Tarot: cycles, infinity, fluidity, balance, success, intention, inspiration, revolution, opportunity, expansion, repetition, expression, perception, sustainability, and transcendence.

The number eight has played a significant role in my life for the last ten years.

Finally, here is stanza (viii): Continue reading “torn corners & confetti (viii)”

Life & Living, Memories, Poetry

torn corners & confetti (vii)

I thought myself clever to have come up with eight torn corners that resembled giant pieces of confetti – particularly as I’d composed the poem’s title long before the idea for the images jumped into my consciousness via Six Feet Under. Perhaps I am clever. Or maybe the creativity godesses guided the process. Maybe both or neither.

I scrunched the eight pieces into little balls like one might crumple scrap paper before tossing it in the garbage, and then unfolded them leaving the creases and texture from the crushing mostly intact. I photographed them separately, and paired them without logic–or at least none of which I’m aware–with the word blocks.

While the individual images have nothing to do with the content of the stanzas with which they are partnered, as reassembled puzzle pieces they have everything to do with the poem in its entirety. I like the paradox of that.

Here’s stanza (vii): Continue reading “torn corners & confetti (vii)”