curves that matter

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/pencil

Gea drawn long ago when my name was much shorter đŸ™‚

I miss playing monsters with you

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 robUncle 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.

orientation

when two human beings
cherish each other enough
to link as one,
the only orientation
that should matter
is that of their hearts

Piggyback/acrylic

frog and friend (detail) painted years ago

And to all you terrific moms out there, HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!

my treasure

I didn’t know your history
your smile never let on
I didn’t know your struggles
you lifted us without complaint
I didn’t know you cried yourself to sleep
you kissed us so gently
I didn’t know you grew up shunned
your embrace included all who entered
I didn’t know your ninth Christmas
you wished only for peace
I didn’t know your childhood
you gave your own children love without conditions

I was a teen, when you told me
how your father drank
all the fights, the smashing glass, the screaming
you were kicked out and had to move nine times
your childhood was a dark story
one you never used to fan futile flames
you welcomed life
donned a brave face
put yourself through college
and never looked back

you are my role model
you are my treasure
you are my dearest friend
Happy Mother’s Day
millie b:wabove my mom at 18, below (and I never lie) my mom at 78
millie at 79

Teeth and grandkids/acrylic

5’x6′ painting done at my mom’s request about eight years ago – all her grandkiddies and all their teeth!

xoxo

mudder

you know what hurts
besides hitting the bold key by accident
knowing
he will never love you
too many of ‘those’ women
prancing the inside lane
you’re not even allowed near the thoroughbreds
at best, you’re a mudder –
on a good day
if he enjoyed plowing the fields
and sweating under winter’s sun
he might appreciate your broad shoulders
wide wrists
and footsteps that echo

Horaffe/acrylic

horses, giraffes – who knows – painted for an exhibit long ago entitled, “Creatured”

the ocean’s power

twenty lifetimes of burden for one to bear
is unjust
life asks so much of some
while requesting so little of others
the waves you cherish
float sorrow along
when you’re ready to let go
let the bad memories sink
to a place where they can no longer drown your thoughts
or consume your heart
perhaps there will come a time
where the waters won’t be so tumultuous
peace will ripple
and sailing on a cool breeze
through silent ocean blue
an aqua-eyed mermaid
with delicate feet
and hair spun of flaxen gold
will find you
welcome her with open arms
allow yourself
happiness
and the power of
the magical ocean
find the peace you seek

dolphindolphin created with markers, a touch of acrylic and some ‘ocean’ water đŸ˜‰ for an upcoming project

cliff driving

breaking inside
so this is what it feels like
not so bad
I can ride this out
my Harley is jacked
chiseled with painted flames
and gassed up
plan on doing the 218
you know, the black zigzag along the Hudson
when me and the Harley squeeze
the sharpest cliffs and steepest drop
I’m gonna leap off the saddle
and let that tricked-out bike fly solo
there goes my pain
crashing with mortal heat
into the frigid river

bike babea bicycle she rides, but we can pretend it’s a big, awesome Harley

Thoughts to Nepal – may the death toll stop rising and the injured get the help they need

life is a line

we sometimes spend our lives concerned over –
being first on line
choosing the right path
towing the line
being offline
being online
going down the wrong road
border lines
bylines
lineups
crossing the line
traffic lines
skylines
tree lines
the waterline
the shoreline
outlines
tan lines
following dotted lines
our waistlines
defense lines
taking the shortest line
getting wires crossed or knotted up
sniffing lines
hem lines
panty lines
firing lines
signing on the line
communication lines
wrinkle lines
writing lines
lines of demarcation
timelines
fault lines
waiting in line
making headlines, avoiding them
picket lines
yellow lines
assembly lines
coloring in the lines
cutting on the lines
perfect lines
making beelines
memorizing lines
first lines
last lines
stepping out of line
lining up
drawing lines in the sand
pickup lines
party lines
lines of crap
a line of bullshit
lifelines…
the only line missing
is the only line that matters
it is the line cut into our flesh upon conception
the thin, supple line that separates our life from our death

there is a line.
walk it well
cycleLife Cycle, acrylic on paper painted thirty years prior

Goodbye My Nina

her body is vacant
a thin layer of flesh keeps the bones warm
this contorted figure is not one I recognize
this is not her anymore
gone is the root of the cherry blossom
or the ledge before the precipice
she is elsewhere
but her eyes, those eyes still dark and breathing
through those dark, glassy windows
a beautiful soul prepares to make its escape
Godspeed, sweet Nina

Curl/charcoal

Curl/charcoal

For my beautiful aunt, may she go swiftly into the night…
May cancer cures be found…
Charcoal figure drawn when Nina was healthy and much younger.

about birds

Ah, we female birds
so plain and dull
sitting upon our nests
obliged to keep our eggs warm
and what do you do
fly off with your freshly preened
brilliant red plumage
to seduce another dull female
while we colorless squatters
do not complain
understanding the urge to wander
is in your nature
so we dust-feathered, will teach troops of earnest chicks
and you will be crowned master of ceremony
for a parade of dull females
red-crested woodpeckerI was just light-hearting the prose up a bit – no offense to many a good man.  đŸ™‚
Red-crested woodpecker done with watercolor marker and Prisma pencil a few weeks ago