in the blueless

back and forth back and forth back and forth
splattering rain, this redundancy of motion
the last hopeful sky un-recalled
this bleak morning, too early for the sun
a thousand immolating balls can’t bring warmth to this day
God is false hope manufactured by bible companies
angels are myths playing dress-up for lingerie chains
a broken deer on the side of the road
wonder if she knew
from the looks of her cracked torso, I doubt it
some car folded her body like a dollar store blanket
the lifeless trees are no better than emaciated throats and fingers
nothing for them to swallow
nothing to grab onto
nothing for me
nothing for us
they will remain naked
I remember you, inside me
moonlight and indigo lovemaking
tick tock tick tock tick tock
blinker irritating
another road, same lousy scenery
silver lining lately on a bottle of red and designer label
paying a bit more than usual for spirits, cheer costs
this blueless is overwhelming
the radio melodies on
gently at first
she floats into my interior dystopia
Sarah Vaughan’s nuanced soul
and I know, I will believe in angels again
someday

leonada’s earring

 

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a garden of peace, child

A garden of peace, child
Bowed lips, each a cherry blossom petal
Cheeks, satin and pink-rosed pinched by heaven
Your small hands–the hands of an angel, clasping their hidden treasures of bees balm and forever dreams
Diamond clusters of baby’s breath adorn your wrist, delicate dewdrops on wind and wing
How your dark chestnut hair swirls with endless copper beech highlights–so warm and inviting, the soft yellow ducks have come to slumber beside you
Blankets of hyacinth and lavendar protect your perfect skin, white as daffodils
You, a beautiful, sweet Lily, to forever bloom in the loving heart of your adoring mother and all those who cherished and nurtured your blessed life
for my cousin, Marie and her sweet, Lily

walk away from it all

walk away from it all
we could
you and I
me and you
get the hell out
from the open cell we imprison ourselves in
on knees begging for peace
craning sore necks to fix our eyes between the bars
where we covet the sun
and allow moonglow to paint romantic prison garb across our shoulders
except it’s not passionate, it’s depressing
peace should be easy
as easy as wild blackbent thriving on a prairie
but we over-complicate it
we over-complicate love
it’s all this place needs to shine
easier than switchgrass exploding during warm season
but we can’t because we seem to enjoy the drama of ourselves
and we are thickly dramatic, aren’t we
you and I
me and you
craving eyes more often to desire than to implore
what if we woke up outside our mirrored boxes
and spent one day, sunrise to sunset, watching the grass grow
inhaling saltwater calm on sanded breeze
caressing a possibility of new growth nurtured by common good
God, we could do it
take complicated out of the equation
practice peace and love until our seeds fall from the sky
like cool rain saturating a burning planet
simple, simple harmony

or
we could just walk away from it all
you and I
me and you
ignore the dust kicking up behind our cracked heels
dry grass stalks dangling from our mouths
and fake smile ’til our lips bleed

Earth's Angel

Earth’s Angel

heaven or hell

it’s probably a big mistake to be pressing these keys right now
there are so many things pressing inside my chest
is it possible to come out of this
as one person with one dream
when everything leading up to the dream is fantasy
the impressionists began as an anonymous group
maybe I could be unknown
a founding member of the “what the hell” group
we could laugh and never care
about anything until we have to
and at that point we’d only need worry about two options
no more than that
heaven or hell
I’d simply select
which ever one has the best wine list
and maybe a tattoo parlor

Angel Cone

billowy tail

this morning, my friend
I thought I heard you
thumping the stairs
more excited for my arrival
than old socks
warm from the dryer
I expected to see you there
a big smile for me
and the new day
rays of sun
reaching with tender heat
my friend
I must remember not to gaze down
to the bottom step
every sunup
the thumps I hear
are not yours
but my heart
stuck in sad echo
still missing you
so I must work harder
at remembering to look up
to find your smile there
 in a billowy cloud
the one with a thumping tail
ROcky and Mojo head tilt

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 😉

uptight angels

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

angel cone created before Christmas and previously published…a guilt story behind my cone angel…sorry grandma

Lying for an Angel

My Friends,
Sadly this tale is not a yarn. It is a true story, one that I’m not proud of. I was nine when hallowed inspiration struck. This creative shining moment in 1972 continues to cause me pangs of guilt. Even now I await delivery of a Time Machine ordered on Amazon, so I might return to the scene of my crime – the moment I lied for an angel.

My Grandmother’s Closet
My grandmother had her own bedroom in our home. It was a magical place. There was candy and small treasures wrapped in gift paper in her dresser. In the walk-in closet, she kept packages of Wrigley’s. The gum often called to me. I occasionally answered by sneaking a stick or two hoping it would never be missed. It never was. I thought myself clever.

The Inspiration
It was nearing Christmas – that most magical time in ‘kiddom.’ I can’t recall why I needed gum this particular morning but I did. I tiptoed into Grandma’s room and into the big closet. While borrowing a stick of gum, I heard footsteps and was forced to wait. As I held my breath, I began perusing Grandma’s knitting supplies. This closet was loaded with rainbow balls of wool and oodles of parchment patterns. Some wool was in balls while other threads were wrapped around cardboard cones. With my laser vision, I saw naked cones – I saw angels.
Ice Angel Cone

The Crime
In the blindness of inspired excitement, I threw caution to the wind. I took two large wool skeins and unravelled both until I held two precious cardboard cones in my thieving hands. I was going to make angels. There were swatches of fabric in our attic. One in particular, a beautiful light blue with silver and gold threads would be perfect for my angels’ gowns and the metallic pipe cleaners in my room could be fashioned into halos and wings.

The Lie
I cleverly concealed the heaping wool piles behind Grandma’s shoes. With the evidence camouflaged so was the crime. How did Grandma find the displaced wool so quickly? Hadn’t I been stealth? Hadn’t I swiped gum without a single repercussion ever? With five other siblings, there might be a chance to frame someone else, or I could outright lie when prosecuted. I remember Grandma calling me into her room and pointing to the woolen spaghetti. I remember her asking me if I unravelled the wool. I remember, with Christmas only weeks away, lying for an angel.

The Guilt
I don’t know what became of the first angel. The second, wearing a doily gown (there wasn’t enough blue fabric) remains with me. She hangs in my studio always nearby. I never admitted my crime to Grandma. And whenever I look at my cone angel she whispers, “Grandma knew all along. She kept the first angel, the one with the beautiful gown of blue, because she thought her precious.”
Angel ConeThank you. Dream of being the most honest version of yourself you can be 🙂

HAPPINESS AND PEACE IN THIS NEW YEAR, MY FRIENDS

 

Earth’s Angel

Dear Friends,
As glorious as this time of year can be for some, for others it can be quite sad and horrific. Dreaming of peace on earth is juvenile. Hoping that mankind can protect every child is naive. But asking each one of us to help someone in need – adult or child – in some small way is possible.

Earth AngelThank you. Dream like a child this night…
And never stop believing in dreams or hope…

Earth’s Angel created this afternoon.
Earth logo for blog

The Big White Kitchen in the Sky

Dear Friends,
When I was twelve, my grandfather passed away. It was my first experience with losing a loved one. I recall two specific things from that time. In life, my grandfather had a horrid sense of direction. In death, the hearse made a wrong turn. The road was an unmarked dead end and the entire procession had to turn around. The other thing I remember has long become a fixed image in my brain.

During my grandfather’s wake and funeral, I did not cry. I remember thinking, ‘”Everyone is trying to make me cry. The sad words, the sad music, the other crying people are all trying to make me cry. I’m not going to cry.” This mantra worked until it didn’t. I held in my tears for three days. I almost made it to the finish line. As I began walking away from Papa’s freshly dug plot, it hit – like a ton of salty wet bricks. I was body-jerk sobbing when a surreal image popped into my head. There was Papa, burly and thick, his great sausage fingers throwing meatballs into a deep silver pot. His head was turned to the right so I could see the big smile on his face. A smile so wide, his horn-rimmed glasses rode up his cheeks. I could smell the tomato sauce – there in that big beautiful white kitchen.

Winged

Winged

 

Everyone who departs earth joins Papa in The Big White Kitchen. My grandparents are playing cards on the round white table, nearby a gallon of Carlo Rossi rests. There’s nothing but laughter and smiles all around. It’s sunny and smells of tomato sauce and meatballs. Everyone is joyful in The Big White Kitchen, even the dogs running around the table legs.

Thank you. May you dream of your loved ones in wonderful places…
Wings created with Prisma pencil 2 weeks ago after observing a butterfly.