our story must not end here

riding the heat of dawn
we insinuated our bodies within one another
I presented myself to you
a wordless story
whispered in raging lines
fertile were my curves

from which our children sprang forth
multitudes

spilling over with god given wealth
a rain of ages

carving the cradle of these infant sons and daughters
my breast milk abundant
nourishing young
influencing adult
satisfying aged

long and beautiful
as I was
as I am
beginning
to end
our story must not end here

Golden Gyptian

if you suspected the Nile River, you’d be correct 🙂

 

that I cannot do

Tell me how
you make it look so easy
They follow you like puppy dogs
that, I cannot do
I’m the one in the corner
watching all the tails wag
If we were in Rome
they’d be your dancing harem
I’d be off in the market
flattening papyrus
or washing sand from between my ink-covered toes
head wrapForlorn
drawn today while subbing

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

rock hiding

have you ever tried hiding beneath a large rock
it’s not easy
crawling under a sizable boulder – nearly impossible
use the sledge hammer
you should’ve used before
to smash the rock you don’t fit under
gather the fragments
lob them with abandon
mindlessly throwing crap is liberating

whenever you’re low enough
to slide beneath a large rock
imagine its terrific mass
smashed
every fragment heaved
liberate your heavy soul
collect your heaving breath
there are not enough large rocks in the world
to crush your spirit

but there is a toasty slice of shale
to relax upon

Whale/WolverineIn the animal world, not too many animals can trump the spirit of the wolverine. A 45-pound wolverine can take down a 1,200-pound moose in deep snow. Sadly, as powerful as the wolverines are, they are endangered and need help as do so many other species. Illustrations done awhile back

Top illustration: Bigfoot, also done a few months back

Pubwishing

This is a silly little piece with a sincere note of encouragement beneath. This is dedicated to my dear friend, D.S. who relentlessly encourages me whenever I (which is often) want to just throw my hands up in futility and pound my stubborn feet and scream, “the hell with it…”

I hope I can do the same for her and her outstanding writing talent.

I’m sending my manuscript to Pubwish Inc.
They ‘doesn’t’ ask you to visit their website
and tell them why you think you’d make a good fit,
Pubwish Inc. is so intelligent, that they tell you
They don’t burn your pages over a misplaced comma,
nor do they don’t require representation by the, Now You’re Mine Agency
Pubwish Inc. receives one-thousand manuscripts per day,
yet they appreciate being held in such high regard
Pubwish’s benevolent editors always remember
what it was like when they started out
the cold hard of rejection
the very word REJECTION
arriving crooked on a lopsided postcard
or dinging in through email before your fingers even dot the last manuscript “i”
Pubwish Inc. never wants creative souls to feel devalued
so
that’s why my manuscript is going to Pubwish Inc.
They accept unsolicited ms by the ‘unagented’ and the unpublished
Upon receipt of your first child manuscript,
Pubwish Inc. gifts all courageous inkers with
a lifetime supply of free beer
and an everlasting red lollipop

CanDo

CanDo

I know–Christmas when it ain’t even Halloween–this has beer and that’s what I’m pourin’ on my head if and when I ever get published.;)

And to D.S. – row, row, row…:)

it was just a room

studio gone
it’s just a room
isn’t it
wasn’t it
what has been lost
it was just a room
if one is passionate
about their work
walls shouldn’t matter
or doors
only the spirit
only the heart
the room might be empty
but the mind is full
always full
if one is passionate
it was just a room
after all

Curl/charcoal

Curl/charcoal

 

 

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

goddamn this disease

goddamn this disease
sucker punching from behind
there aren’t enough pink elephants in the world
to stamp out its wicked growth

we are a planetary society of starship thinkers
strings of theories
infinity awareness
and all that shit
we are smarter than this
aren’t we
no more pink elephants
no more flesh torn away

no more fuckin’
goodbyes
at the wrong time
super villian homageput a face on it then send it away…forever…
sorry for the cussing

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

Please forgive me for not listening

I think I made you sick after you showed up on my blue canvas. A painting I patted my shoulder for. I’m so very sorry, my dear friend. Did I do that to you? And it is too late now. I can take nothing back. Not one thing. I should have castrated my selfish fingers. You were saying you were sick. I didn’t hear the silent words. I wasn’t listening. For two months, I think it was two months, I can’t remember exactly–I was buried in my meaningful life. You kept visiting my studio. You hadn’t ever done that before. Well you had, but not to stay. You’d enter, do a sideswipe visit and leave. A gentle hello then you’d return to the usual places, ones of comfort like the sofa by the piano. We called it “your bed,” not our couch. Actually it is a love seat. The couch knew more than I. It knew how to comfort and be there accepting the additional weight of the masses growing inside you. The casual invaders I was too busy to notice.

And now, I watch your chest heaving up and down. It is your heart saying goodbye. I’m listening now my friend. I am listening now. Please forgive me when I must say my final goodbye to you and mean it from the depth of my selfish soul.

Autumn Leaves

Autumn Leaves