Frieday

in to myself
am I this eve
my brain a bulging mass
of mush gone hard
I candidly admit
friends, here
I am fried
there is no burning pan
nor flame asunder
bubbling lard is not scorching my soul
heat is not harassing my heart
I this eve
am just frazzled to the ends of my hair
and to the tips of my curling toes
that should be cold
down here in the basement

skeleton stallion

skeleton stallion

 

happy wardsday

Steel bars
Rubber rooms
Cement cells
Padded enclosures
Underground wards

If you don’t occasionally seek asylum in your life
you just might end up in one

blogger g

blogger g

I wanted an excuse to use this fella again. He might be an amalgam of Jason and Hannibal stitched by Dr. Moreau – just the sort you’d find in the Asylum of Angst

mondayster, boosday, wardsday, fursday, frieday…hell-o-ween;)

mondaysters

Thinking holidays
and it’s time for some monsters
there are always monsters
good
and
bad
may the good creatures
blaze the brightest path
pukwidgienow here is a sweet fella
just don’t piss him off
if he turns purple
you’re in trouble
unless you have Twinkies

Voodoo Yellow Man/mixed mediarun very fast in the opposite direction
or start throwing those Twinkies
he detests litter, so make sure you throw out the wrappers 😉

early Christmas list

We used to laugh didn’t we
it was Christmas we believed in
not just the magic
but the wonder
I wonder now
where to find
that magic
I’d love ignorant optimism to reenter my life
Bells, I hear often
I don’t need elves for music
Winged fairies
the ones you can’t see
 those beguiling mini sprites, I could use
Tiny toes dancing on your cheeks
when autumn winds blow
Their gentle tickling makes me laugh
like all those years ago
when my eyes were much bigger

Am I asking too much
If not,
please consider this my Christmas list

Baby Elf

Baby Elf

I don’t know about you, but I’ve already started my Christmas countdown;)

Riding the Cyclone

cyclone milliethey say you can never go back
she did, at 79
the magic of optimism
in her breast
returning to Coney Island
for the ride of her life
a young man locked her in
brave nana, kneecaps knocking
beneath that padded bar
she didn’t look back
only forward
at the dropping parallel lines
stomach lifting steel
smiling, laughing, screaming
on this Halloween
she leaps another year to the right
considering each 365, a dazzling gift
nothing about her has changed much
her remarkable passion
her boundless spirit
why, in 80 years
the only thing that has changed
is the ticket price
her first ride cost twenty-five cents
last month, the Cyclone was twelve dollars

shy party doghappy birthday, mom
xoxo
millie at 79

were you beautiful today

beauty is found
when closed eyes
are coaxed open
enraptured are we
by the buff of commercialism

a ‘sellable’ pretty

genuine beauty
is submerged
deep beyond the belly of the soul

what makes us earnestly beautiful
is the warmth
we’re able to convey
to those
existing in the cold

were you beautiful
today

Caroline Hands Crossed

Caroline Hands Crossed

my daughter, a beauty every day (well, almost ;))

he whispers amen

thank you he whispers
like an amen
the broad smile on his face
I’ve seen somewhere before
his bright marbled eyes map
world destinations traveled decades ago
both light and dark
those hands, trembling and warm
once gripped killing machines
with cool unshakable confidence
back then

they wore their brand of patriotism
like a second skin
back then

there was no doubting
now there is
and today he whispers
thank you and tips his baseball cap
to my young son
who has just held the door
for the elderly gentleman
wearing the navy blue cap with the meticulous insignia
that reads WWII, US P-51 Mustang

lone

lone

previously published, I have no fighter plane art

falling

spectacular glow against the robust purple grey sky
leaves spiraling in wind directing thin branches to bow
unreal color drenching the landscape
but what am I seeing
not glorious
scratched pencil lines and spinning circles
into ovals with broad maws and wild fur
sharp orbs and blocky nostrils
I’m hearing too many voices
the wind is a sailing eraser
the wall

Art Wall 1Art Wall 2Art Wall 3Art Wall 5Art Wall 6Art Wall 7Art Wall 8Art Wall 4RHinopaper falling like leaves
when
almost home I look up through a tree
these
these are the falling papers
this is the wind
this is what I need to remember
this is why
I have eyes
autumnsketches done for students to demo different animals…
picture taken when I returned home from subbing
while standing in my driveway looking up

it’s time to write

descend the stairs
grow foul in my pounding brain
sift blood through my beating heart
breaking down grit and bone
dubious thoughts leak out the foundation
feet get cold down here
can’t be hell though
hell is hot
steamy for those who detest heat
probably characterized by a cold-minded soul
I like heat
don’t mind cold feet either
descending the stairs
it’s time to write

He-lloween

He-lloween

gotta start dialin’ up the ghouls for October 31 😉

blur

dancing in a deluge
freezing wet arrows pierce your body
everything blurs
could go exploring in the rain
determined to the ends of the earth
driven to the bottom of the oceans
like a wide-eyed child
searching
always searching
for a meaningful destiny
you don’t accept plain living
a grand enough purpose
even after the cold water
has cleared your vision
and washed the mud off your face
boy with green glowing eyes
wide-eyed previously published