she is tired of nothing
but can’t keep her eyes open
she is a conversationalist
but she’s been silenced
with no eyes to ponder
or hands to hold
behind this illuminated screen
she is at a loss to help
his battle scars are dug in deep
beneath invisible flesh
she needs to face the faceless
it’s time to move forward
and return
to what she does best
helping those she can see..
uptitty bookreader
your words
smolder into sabers
pierce my naive imagination
while I tend inked sheep
you dance with spirited stallions
upon thoughts ignited by hoof spark
I will drink your sharp wine
let it dizzy my head and spin my body
then I’ll wander
inebriated through the forest
back to the safety of my paper cottage
before your perfect flames
burn down my underdone dwelling
Marilyn hands/oil
MM in oil, painted, oh gosh, in 1982 during my Marilyn phase. MM to many ‘perfect’ to behold, to others ‘sadness’ by peroxide…
this day is not ours to decide
it is done
some had no choice
sacrifices made
youthful years in hell
bodies and minds disabled
parentless children
forever missing
white markers
against a thick crimson sky
we commemorate those
living daily nightmares
eternal memories stowed
in footlockers
those of us
untouched by blood
this day stand beside
those who act(ed) honorably
who often return(ed) alone
these dutiful hearts
must never
sense anything
but respect
compassion
evermore…
my father-in-law while stationed in Germany
below, enjoying his US return
with his beautiful girl who was to become my mother-in-law
below that photo, one from 1919 LeMans, France
my father-in-law’s father #95
sadness
suspended by the cool sea
blue on blue
restorative
warm earth anchors
soil sanded tones
floating
directionless
ebb and flow
hope
believe
you can sail
on terra firma
Seabiscuit Shell
delicate daughter as a wayward mermaid – one of my favorite photos
seabiscuit shell created a few months ago after staring at my Breyer’s horse collection that shares my studio (yes, I keep plastic horses – in my defense – they are very pretty)
Maybe a Triple Crown…
there are explosions outside my window this night
is this what Francis Scott Key heard
great booms
could be thunder claps
I’d love to see sprites and elves on this darkened day
did you know sprites and elves hover above the clouds
they mess around with the angels and the saints
red sprites and blue elves
lightening firing electricity
enough to piss off the winged folk
not nearly enough to rattle Zeus
he knows it’s fairy playin’
Zeus is a cool cat
angels not so much, they don’t like when their curls go flat
maybe that’s the problem with the world
too many uptight angels up there
and down here
Angel Cone
angel cone created before Christmas and previously published…a guilt story behind my cone angel…sorry grandma
through entertainment’s prism of 1960
one raging wish have I
to live a single glorious night
swaddled in Rat Pack company
blinded by devilish eyes and wily smiles
as black fedoras set like ascending jet planes
from center stage
swagger and melodies floating effortlessly
I’d inhale those gents’ intoxicating charisma
letting each velvet voice weave through my silk threads
beyond my mind
yes, this lady would be that tramp
not dishing the dirt
but tucking this beguiling dream
where she buries her most romantic schemes and sweetest treasures
and if it wouldn’t be asking too much of the fickle fantasy gods
this lady also pines for Mario Lanza
circa 1950
thank you
that will be all…;)
10 minute sketch composed several hours ago, I’m a bit lazy today – ’cause this sketch needs more than 10 minutes…oh well, it is fantasy
Soul decanter
fluid fingering
pouring
velvet rhythms
transported
to another smokey bar
for us
cool blue nectar
will continue to flow
that is
the eternal gift
a passionate soul leaves behind
guitar guy picked with pencil months back while listening to Sinatra and Ella
you passed me by
it was raining
I was on the street with my head down
thinking of cleansing sidewalk grime
I saw your face warping in a slap of puddle
I know well the finite curves of your jaw
did you know that
you never knew the curves of mine
I need someone to know my curves
not the soft arc cylinders praised in romance novels
but the invisible shapes that fit one into the other
that’s what I need
I’ll say my goodbyes in this puddle
to your thoughtless lines
parallels never meeting
and lift my head when the spherical sun returns
and the dirty sidewalks sparkle
Gea/pencil
Gea drawn long ago when my name was much shorter 🙂
He was a beautiful man.
He was my mom’s brother.
He visited every year. We kids counted down the days for months.
He sang, Puff the Magic Dragon, and made us believe we could fly.
He brought us matching shirts from Mexico.
He was the only person in the world who could convince six children to wear them.
He was intelligent and creative.
He wrote a book about St. Vincent de Paul.
He played monsters with us.
He carried us on his back every year, until our shoulders surpassed his in size.
He visited us one summer then returned to San Francisco.
We didn’t know it was his last visit.
He died from complications associated with AIDS.
He was a beautiful man.
He was our beloved Uncle Robert.
Uncle Robert is modeling the jacket I painted for him. Being the hip uncle, he wanted to strike a cool pose for his photo op.
AIDS has caused more than 36 million deaths.
Today, 35.3 million people are living with HIV.
AIDS was first recognized in the US in 1981.
Uncle Robert died in 1985.
He was 45 years old.
when two human beings
cherish each other enough
to link as one,
the only orientation
that should matter
is that of their hearts
frog and friend (detail) painted years ago
And to all you terrific moms out there, HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!
anntogether 