The Tattooed Poets Project: Michael Henry Lee

Our next tattooed poet is Michael Henry Lee.

We have been fortunate to be able to share Michael's work in two previous years, so this post makes him our first three-time contributor. This is the photo he sent:

Photo by Chris Bodor

Michael sent along this explanation of the tattoo:

"...[This] latest addition to a thirty plus year work in progress is in Hebrew and translates: Jehovah Jireh or the Lord sees, also translated, the Lord is my provider. Jehovah Jireh is the first personal name of God that appears in the Torah and the Old Testament. Flames representing God’s first appearance to Moses in a burning bush, and Romans 6:23 a key verse from the New Testament ties the whole piece together.

The most compelling element of the story is the artist who has done all Mr. Lee’s work since he moved to Florida nine years ago. Tattoo Mike; sole owner and operator of The Tattoo Garden in St. Augustine Beach Fl., was involved in a bad motorcycle accident in Sept. 2012 just a few months after completing Michael’s tattoo. As a result of the accident he lost his left leg from the knee down and required resuscitation three separate times that night. He miraculously survived, is back to work and will [have] most likely completed an awesome three piece koi design for Michael Henry Lee about the time this is posted on Tattoosday."

Personally, I always look forward to seeing what Michael will send, and this year, he did not disappoint, sending along the following haiku:

Leonid showers-
the sky continues to fall
on star at a time

night fall-
in my dreams
there’s still time

winter solstice
snowy egrets
knee deep in the moon

so so moon
the right moment
passes between two stones

climate change
another sweater
goes to good will

The preceding poems in order of appearance: 1st place in the 2012 Haiku Foundation’s Haiku Now Contest in the traditional category, and runner up in the modern category, first appeared in The Mainichi Daily News, Mu Haiku Journal IV, and Haiku News respectively.

Michael lives with his wife Sarah of over thirty years, two cats, and numerous bonsai trees in the nation's oldest city. His work has appeared in The Heron's Nest, Frogpond, Haiku News, Icebox, Berry Blue Haiku, One Hundred Gourds, Mainichi Daily News, Haiku Ramblings, and the anthology, Dreams Wander On: Contemporary Poems of Death Awareness [edited by Robert Epstein] (Modern English Tanka Press, 2011).

Thanks to Michael for his continuing contributions to and support of the Tattooed Poets Project on Tattoosday. You can see his previous entries here: 2012 and 2011.

This entry is ©2013 Tattoosday. The poems and tattoo are reprinted with the poet's permission.

If you are reading this on another web site other than Tattoosday, without attribution, please note that it has been copied without the author's permission and is in violation of copyright laws. Please feel free to visit http://tattoosday.blogspot.com and read our original content. Please let me know if you saw this elsewhere so I contact the webmaster of the offending site and advise them of this violation in their Terms of Use Agreement.

The Tattooed Poets Project - Heather Truett

Up next on the Tattooed Poets Project is Heather Truett, who sent us this photo:

along with a shot of the tattooist at work:

These may appear as three seemingly simple Hebrew letters, but there is more to this piece than just a Hebrew word, as Heather elaborates:

“The tattoo was a 27th birthday gift from a girlfriend I have known since I was 6 and she was 3. We went together. She got a Latin phrase in a beautiful script and I chose this. I had been planning a tattoo to somehow commemorate a friend who died and my own battle with depression. The verse in scripture that speaks most to me is Isaiah 61:3, which includes the phrase ‘beauty for ashes.’ The girl I wanted to commemorate, Natalie, also loved the verse. On a whim, I looked the verse up in Hebrew. I always love following a verse back to its origin and trying to understand what the words actually meant to the writer, rather than placing all trust in modern translation. When I realized the Hebrew word used to mean beauty in that verse actually means, ‘a crown of beauty,’ as in, a young girl being crowned queen and given honor and status in society, I knew I had my tattoo.

You see, every year, on the anniversary of the day Natalie died, her friends around the world don tiaras and wear them wherever they go. We paint our toenails purple, as she loved to do, and we drink a Diet Coke in her honor. There are other rituals, but these are the big three. To find the word ‘crown’ hidden there in my verse left me in tears, good tears, the kind of crying you do when someone at last understands exactly who you are and what you mean to them. I printed and double-checked the Hebrew lettering and took it with me to Devine Street Tattoo on a visit to Columbia, SC. It's not fancy, just three letters. But those three letters say so much to me every time I look at them. I placed the word on the inside of my left ankle, so when I look down or cross my legs, I see the tattoo. I don't mind showing it to other people, and I love telling how I chose it and why I got it, but it is, ultimately, for me and me alone, so I wanted it in a place easy for me to see."

By way of a poem, Heather submitted this:

My Brother is the Poem

My brother is the poem that exists,
still busily writing itself
in the hills of my hometown.
He leaves for work, welding
in leather and heat and without
a single complaint, because, hell!
He needs the job.
He strings out verse and stanza,
tripping over the meter
on seventy acres of God's creation.
Don't let them mine you too,
Big Brother.

It's with rhythm and flow that
he pays the bills and loves the wife and
suffers the pain of parenthood that stabs
with its cliche sword, double-edged.
Who knew? Who predicted
snowflakes and razorblades?
My brother, cigarette lit and smoke circling,
is the poetry falling
to earth, right there,
in Eastern Kentucky, while I
only call myself a poet, writing
in the air conditioned suburb, pretending
I got out, when I never did,

not really, anyhow.

Years pass and miles unroll like
so much butcher paper
down the holler, but my body still grows roots
back home, there, in Nat's Creek,
Daniel's Creek, Homer's trailer,
white house with black shutters,
minnow fishing, snake killing,
coal mining with the black lung,
family and the most Primitive of
Baptist churches, where
my soul gets fed, and only then
can the poem
grow branches.

~ ~ ~

 Heather Truett describes herself as “Hill-born, a coal miner's granddaughter, a brilliant spark of brain with a wee bit of crazy thrown in for good measure, a writer, a poet, a wife in the bizarre world of the church, wearer of silver tiaras and painter of purple toenails, I am me. I have published poetry, essays and articles in the past. My credits include: The Mom Egg, The Paintsville Herald, Jackson Free Press, Slugfest Ltd, Abundance Press, The Invitation Tupelo, Busy Parents Online, Mommy Tales, Just For Mom and other publications (more info available on my website, www.madamerubies.com). I am currently a homeschooling Mom to a special needs child and the wife of a youth minister in Tupelo, Mississippi. I have taught poetry workshops in schools and for the homeschool co-op we participate in each semester.” You can also check out her website, madamerubieswrites.blogspot.com.

Thanks to Heather for her contribution to the Tattooed Poets Project!

This entry is ©2012 Tattoosday. The poem and tattoo are reprinted with the poet's permission. 


If you are reading this on another web site other than Tattoosday, without attribution, please note that it has been copied without the author's permission and is in violation of copyright laws. Please feel free to visit http://tattoosday.blogspot.com and read our original content. Please let me know if you saw this elsewhere so I contact the webmaster of the offending site and advise them of this violation in their Terms of Use Agreement.