they enter

they enter
through the revolving door
twirling in and out so quickly
dust flies up behind them
they enter
running up the down escalator
energy so palpable, smiles so bright
we can’t help but do the same
they enter
off the elevator
one primped, polished toe in front of the other
gazing endlessly at reflections
they forget why they took the ride
they enter
through the back entrance
sometimes they stay
but mostly they leave
they enter
through the front door
hugging hello
embracing goodbye
’til we soon meet again
friends til the endteeshirt art previously published

the true meaning of art

he asks
why do I have to take art
I respond
art is not something you take
it is something you give

she says
I can’t even draw a stick figure
I respond
life saving fire has been born
of simple sticks

he says
I can’t do anything right
I respond
you’re in good company
now put all your wrongs together

and make beautiful art

Sad Eyes/Prisma

Sad Eyes/Prisma

reading shelves

here they are
on the honeysuckle bookshelves
framed in backbone
one story each
pages of words romanticized and read on occasion
to sit in the chair by the window
sanguine days of flipping
to the bottoms
spines cracking
on lower shelves
anxious to move up

Paper Shadow

Paper Shadow

art previously published

change

I can think of many things
none quite right to say
only
nothing is the same
nothing at all
the clock chiming in the background
is a sorry replacement for your voice

change
something that happens
when our eyes are open
and time can slip through
the sockets

five cent pump pencil
art previously published

I Will Part with My Love

What is it they sayโ€“
if you love something
set it free…

In the past,
we’ve made rhythmic music together
I’ve joyously
caressed him and
he’s returned in kind

“Hearing the seasonal bells”
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s
timeless words
set to melody
has inextricably bonded our souls

We’ve been an unconditional duo,
though of late
my thoughts have been elsewhere
My aloof fingers
stroking electronic keys

In my tangled heart
I know
our music will linger onโ€“
as a childhood dream
once realized

I do love him so
but
the day I release him
I know
he will never return

Bell-la

art published last December – it’s never too early for the holidays

There is no longer space for my baby grand piano – rather than have him go down to the basement, he will be sold…I do hope to get an upright someday – gotta have a piano or I get cranky ๐Ÿ˜‰

The Coroner Bar

Maybe one day
you and I will meet at the Coroner Bar

it’s that cute little place
plopped between Dead End and Sky Street
the awning is blue and white
but it’s the famous bright light entrance
you can’t miss
once inside
your worries, your heartache, your pain
vanish

That Coroner Bar
is a magical establishment
the barstools squeak like angel harps
the dance floor is forever filled with folks
who swing lighter than air
I’m planning on throwin’ back a few
anisette to warm the soul
served in those gorgeous amber tumblers

After that
I won’t ever care about leaving
I’ll hear the music
drink up the laughter
claim a barstool
and spin to my heart’s delight

Amen

Winged

Winged

art previously published – it was between this angel or an angel who looks a tad devilish ๐Ÿ˜‰

back words

he wanted her badly
he dreamed her in his sleep
while prone on a mattress
she lay welcoming on her back
below him
far back in his subconscious

consummate boss and proper gentleman
he wished
he could take back these delirious thoughts
recant the delicious sensations

back when he was younger
there was another
he dreamed of her too
but that was back then
and this was now

in his waking hours
he didn’t understand
why he couldn’t stop hassling her
do this, do that
he bossed her badly

she often whispered under her breath
she’d never come back

but there was back pay and payback
up to this point

her life had been ‘ass backward’
God, how she craved forward

in her dreams she strode bareback on an electrifying beast
the man, Mr Boss Boss
didn’t crash her fantasies
though, she thought of him
too often

unavoidably handsome
built like a running back
that’s what the others said
she pretended he didn’t possess a well-muscled body
like she pretended she didn’t stare through his tailored shirts

but
she could never desire
someone who constantly rode her back
about this and that
though he did pay attention
in a backhanded sort of way

she often wondered about his secrets
there was always something
unspoken subtext
a lingering back story
hanging in the past

there was a time way back when
they both

might have cared to be bold
now rather than lingering intensity
they feared instantaneous back draft
painful death by raging fire
behind the next bolted
back door

M's Tears

M’s Tears

 

the spirit of a cloud

sometimes it would be nice to
slice off a mountain top
throw it on the back of your bicycle
pedal to a hot air balloon
load it up in the basket
float with the trade winds
set down on an island
let the mountain top find purchase
out comes the duffle bag
stuffed with books, pens, pencils, paper
you sit in the cradle of a crevice
while cumulus clouds
wrap smokey wreaths
around a newly discovered peak

think about those clouds
and what elevates their being
a veil of interest
a touch of form
lay the pens, the pencils
and the books to rest
take the paper
fold birds and planes
let them catch the thermals
some will disappear into the light blue white
a few will sail onto the water’s surface
those will sink
but not the spirit
in which they were made
nor the clouds floating onward to
other fantastical islands
Spirit Mural16′ x 9′ mural painted 13 years ago in big son’s room, horse characters from the DreamWorks movie, Spirit; Stallion of the Cimarron

on my knees

cropped Squantoon my knees
to paint your lips
the spectacular colors I’ve memorized
your touch my instincts imitate
when you are not with me
singularly intense
crushed virgin pigment

were I to add oil binders
cannot approach the depth of you
my canvas supplanted in rich hues
a mockery upon your exquisite mouth