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Haiga Archive

Search results: photo collage

• Maxianne Berger 9 May 2022

  cricket song deep in the fissures of time chirruping fairies

• Christine Taylor 11 February 2019

  baffle the crafted predator watch blurbirds nest here

• Debbie Strange 20 September 2018

  it was as if she were a butterfly the way words flew from her open hands

• Tsanka Shishkova 16 July 2017

  pink petals in gray hair— an elderly couple dances in the park

• Adelaide Shaw 27 April 2015

  summer dawn a line of light holds a golden promise

• Nicole Pakan 29 July 2011

  She went under at the age of fifteen, bootstrapped into shadows and omission. Like fledgling revolution, she was all elbows and ankles and steel, cutting her teeth on clumsy hits, dealing in lies and speculation. Hers was a radical sensibility, always metal, cold in her hands, the slow click, bolt through the shaft of her imagination. Now she’s high scandal, trafficking caution and cash, a portrait of long thighs and wrists. There’s no way out when you’re in demand, there is only down, down and onward.

• Nicole Pakan 12 September 2010

  you didn’t notice you loved her until you watched her, back turned, hop-scotch across the sky. they didn’t ask for reasons, but cast their fears in metal, and waited for those long celestial hours to turn to clay. tracing a filigree road through the heavens, the hooligan spirits are spitting a canvas of litter and mud. it hangs in the met, between warhol and matisse, and turns trapezoid on every other thursday.

• Nicole Pakan 31 August 2010

  sun shower— the ripple of rain in my coffee

• Linda Pilarski 21 March 2010

  Gion Temple #2 lost memories— tattered fabric on the fence

• Nicole Pakan 24 February 2010

  these types of women try to make you think they are the same as all the others but the main difference is that they go to bed with their makeup on and never dry their eyes.they keep guns in the linen closet and wonder why everything is the color of mercury. she will get into your head with those loose curls and a two-foot crowbar, and the mascara lines on the pillow are the webs children make with red yarn. like clapping games and rhymes and secret handshakes. she is part of something like that, except bigger.