Sample illustrations, excerpts and poems

I write illustrated stories, poems and essays.

My words and images are symbolic and allegorical.

Turtle Text

An uplifting tale about the practice and process of patience. Work in progress.

1 of 3

Turtle is tired from juggling raindrops.

2 of 3

Storm is tired too, so they both stop and watch night climb over the hill.

3 of 3

In turtle time, dreams do come true.

True Feathers

True Feathers - (a tale of mixing and magic) is designed for picture book, e-book or chapbook production. The story is 900 words and will include images for 30 pages of short text. The intended meaning is two- fold: to celebrate difference between individuals and to introduce basic color mixing. The narrative describes a diverse group of squawking forest birds and a wise multi-colored owl who teaches them to appreciate one another by wearing the other’s feathers / colors. Finally, the squawking turns to sweet song and a magic feather “floats on to near and distant lands” spreading a message of peace, social and spiritual acceptance. It employs fantasy, poetic prose and dramatic cast paper images. The initial idea came to me years ago as a teacher, deeply troubled by discord in the classroom as well as the world.

1 of 3

Owl blinked at her reflection in mirror pond as rain bounced off the still water. It was late in the day and Hawk had forecast an early storm. Owl was weary from waiting. Weary from listening to forest birds squawk. They flew a mean streak today.

2 of 3

Blue Bird and Red Bird pecked each other over purple berries and none filled their bellies.

3 of 3

Next, Owl grasped her striped umbrella in her curly claw, hooked the package in her pointy beak and set about delivering invitations.

Blue Bike

My blue bike drew figure 8s
on new black top
bright Saturday mornings
when I was small

Papa held the rear
around and through
empty school yards
as birds called
courage built
and wind whistled
through tight yellow curls

My Blue bike drew double figure 8’s
on training wheels
affixed to override fear
then removed
to afford freedom.
echo curves
of nascent blue dragon flies
and win applause
of one proud father
then the apex of summer

Now 50 years on
I feel tandem freedom
Papa’s first 2 wheeled push off my wobbly seat
and his stirring absence at summer’s end

I do not despair August brown
the crunch of leaves beneath treads
I slow my cadence
keep pace with red dragon flies
and ride curves of change into Autumn

Today
For an instant
I let go the handle bars
and wave as Papa passes on
the radius of his smile
our blue eyes
blue bike
blue sky
all
mapped in loving memory
For the duration

Sara Glater 9/2014

The Fifth Floor Water Works

During the final months of my father’s life, he often asked to climb to the fifth floor. No one understood his request. By this time he was bed bound and full of memories; often recounted out of sequence. I told Papa that perhaps we would go upstairs after his rest.

In conversation over details of his memorial, I asked the location of my father’s long time lab at UCLA. It was no surprise to learn that it was on the fifth floor. Nor was it a surprise that he wanted to return to his scientific home until the very end of his life.

As I reflected on my father’s contributions, connections and convictions, I imagined and made this piece of artwork; “The Fifth Floor Water Works”. It depicts the man; the scientist atop the fifth step arising from the sea. Ocean water fills a great vessel and is filtered through reverse osmosis to flow finally into the test tube as clear water.

My father cleared the way for others to drink as they will from the cup of life. He believed in passion over possessions, pure science and love above all.

In honor of my Papa, Julius Glater, the fifth floor will remain sacred in my memory.

Bigger Than Boys

Bigger than boys
are gaps between mother’s calls
on long distance days;

Balls in the outfield
even a seasoned mitt
cannot catch
and kisses blown from an adoring crowd.

Bigger than boys
are large toys on small shelves
too high to reach;

high speed motor cars
on switchbacks
at dawn.
A race to the end;
no matter what.

Bigger than boys
are battlefields;
machinery of war;
and prices marked
on heads of enemies.

Bigger than boys
are girls with long scripts,
short pants
and 2 tickets to ride
the sunset rail.

Bigger than boys
are father’s hopes;
risen, embellished;
then lowered slowly, awkardly,
into the waiting arms
of what will be.

Sara Glater
10 - 04

Castoffs

Down the fine silt bank
boots and pads sift
to hard rock
at river’s edge

Castoff tree limbs
weave together here
and unravel
as we waive them round
to signal play

“Get it”
our refrain echoes
while
our dog paddles
in rhythmic pursuit
undaunted by swirling eddies
and sharp river bed

We are tasked with one throw
after another
into gentle current
rewarded as each limb
is dutifully returned
each marking
time well spent
together

Day is done
dog is young tireless
when Autumn summons night
the end game
“Get it”
one more into river’s mouth
then home to feed ourselves
and the fire
while sunset layers the sky
rich gold
soft pastel
deepening to
star studded cobalt

Man shakes off the chill
dog shakes off the river
and looks for praise
as we pass the pile of spent limbs
his job complete

We wedge ourselves up
and wend our way
down the pinewood path
back-lit by days’ end
and foreshadowed
by the dark
slow moving contour
of our content canine

10-2014

Face

Thick Turkish coffee

and

salty sunflower seeds cracked one by one

between sweet and sour words

framed still July nights.

Israel,

1977

I sat on porch steps with new friends from far corners of the world. Many languages spoke of constant unrest which cast long shadows on this sacred ground. Many hands worked the land sunrise to sundown. All knew the mix of language, laughter and mild evening air to calm nerves after long desert days. By moonlight, these hands danced before a star speckled sky; fingers and faces, shaping intended meaning.

One night, I gazed up at a sky full with a round summer moon. A section on its lunar surface was shadowed and craggy. On closer look, I noted resemblance to a human profile. Though details were obscured by distance and contrast to night sky, I discovered a moon face there above the Holy Land. Perhaps this visage was of mid-eastern origin, I thought and would remain when I returned home at summer’s end.

August waned, and faraway friends dispersed. I resumed college and entered my own season of change. One autumn evening, a great harvest moon rose above the tree line. I looked up from peeling porch steps, between sips of hot tea to discover the very same moon face, now looking down upon my homeland. I read the moon as a unifying force; a universal reminder that we share this earth, though perspectives differ and even conflict at times. That very night during my own development as a young adult, I came to believe that humans can attain peace. First, we must view one another as we view the moon, sun and stars; with awe and wonder; believing that we each hold light to illuminate our true selves. If we look to one another as a source of potential good, we can see beyond foreign language and apparent discord, to our healing spirits.

The face in the moon made a peace offering that night long ago in Israel. As casualties grow and years pass, I am reminded that the moon which illuminates our plant calls upon us now more than ever to heed the light; to remind us of miracles shining through darkness. May we each hold a torch in our hearts for those who have still to fuel their own. May we distil dissonance to a prayer for Peace, Please.

Sara Glater 9-11-2014

Turtle and Kettle

I speak of box turtle
and tea kettle

slow start
and rapid boil

of practiced patience
flow

your glow
at high tea
and afterward of dusk

our midnight flame
and dawn embers

I speak of box turtle
and tea kettle

now to brew
then to imbibe

to spill meaning with measure
and write volumes
in turtle time

I speak of you and me

And from these words
and wants
pour warmth and wonder

precision service for two

.

Sara Glater 2-2-05