you sexy things

Posted on June 21, 2016 by AM Roselli

seven am
returning from a school drop
two older gals
walking, striding, smiling
sun
yea, it’s shining
not as brightly as these two powder-fresh sprites
their white Sketchers impossibly polished
like their well-seasoned eyes
almost see facial twinkling from my car
I’ve lowered speed
decelerating
crawling my Ford tires
slow the rushing axles
beaming at these living cherubs
while I sing along with Sirius ’70’s
wouldn’t you know
you sexy thing
starts playing
too freakin’ perfect
exuberant I’ve grown while observing these fine ladies
damn, still buckled in
I wanna get out and dance
run, sprint
stride step with these great smiling ladies
I picture them shakin’
moving their tried and true derriéres like they were 25
and in their minds, they still are
easy to deduce by their meandering glitter trail
I bet these 2 beauties were live wires
the kind that stretched and sprang back
knocking all them young lads for a loop
and a tongue tie
with their bedazzling smiles
and fine fighting features
you go girls!
you sexy things!

even more perfect ’cause I love hot chocolate especially after wine;)

HoNest

Posted on October 18, 2015 by AM Roselli

nested internal thoughts
resistant to the bearer’s weight
honesty to ourselves each time
form healthy embryos
protected by truth

lies crack under pressure
less than honorable thoughts
eventually break our souls
eagle done a few months ago, Tombow water color marker, Prisma pencil and a touch of white acrylic

We nearly lost the bald eagle in the 1960’s. DDT weakened shells to the point of cutting down this raptor population from 500,000 strong to a scant 1,000. Through conservation programs and legal protection the bald eagle has made a miraculous return to the US landscape. DDT was banned in 1972.
Fun Fact: The bald eagle is the only eagle unique to North America

curves that matter

Posted on May 15, 2015 by AM Roselli

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 drawn long ago when my name was much shorter 🙂

mudder

Posted on May 4, 2015 by AM Roselli

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

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

beautiful Cyrano

Posted on April 16, 2015 by AM Roselli

it is easy to imagine
you hiding down below
beneath balcony shadows
in the dark velvet grass
like Cyrano
confessing his love
hiding his sin
concealing his flesh
his wracked passion floating up
to Roxane’s heaving bosom
ripe to receive
the soft erotic words
the raging love
the chiseled form
but she doesn’t desire
the beautiful man
whose imperfections bind his soul
whose fear knots the chords of his heart
anon
the goddess embraces clarity
but it is too late
the beautiful man can no longer speak
his desperate lips have been forever silenced
had he not feared the light
he would have been dazzled

Gethsemane/acrylic

another painting from yesteryear

In an Elephant’s Eye

Posted on July 15, 2014 by AM Roselli

Dear Friends,
Do you ever have one of those outer-body experiences? It usually happens when you pose the intrusive question, “Who am I really?” Then you become aptly concerned when you don’t have enough solid information to answer yourself. Sometimes outer-body occurs after staring at your reflection too long. You investigate the mask you happen to be wearing at the time and think, “Is this what they see when they see me?”

The elephant is one of a handful of mammals who recognizes its own reflection. This beautiful creature doesn’t get caught up in human over-analyzations. In an elephant’s eye it sees who it is – nothing more, nothing less – it sees itself and simply knows its purpose for the day…

I had a little fun with this beautiful creature, imparting human qualities upon its regal form. I thought if elephants were people they might become a tad self-concious after watching, The Biggest Loser.

Belly Mask

Thank you and goodnight. May you dream of tutu-clad elephants dancing a lullaby…

Elephant close-up rendered in Prisma on construction paper, 2009
Belly Mask rendered in Prisma July 14, 2014

The Talking Mushroom and the Little Red Fox

Posted on July 10, 2014 by AM Roselli

Dear Friends,
There once lived a little red fox-

fox

Her auburn fur edged with gold, flickered in the sunlight whenever she ran about the forest. She was smart and lovely, yet she was unhappy. Though she could do all things in perfect fox-form, she dreamt of being a kangaroo. Daily she practiced graceful long jumps. The little red fox could even leap much higher than her older brothers. But this amazing athletic prowess, didn’t satiate her bounding appetite. She wanted to be a kangaroo. One misty morning with dew saturating her delicate toes, the little red fox came upon a purple-spotted mushroom. It was a purple-spotted fungus, the likes of which she’d never seen.

“My dear child,” bubbled the purple-spotted mushroom from his damp earthen throne, “you are unhappy.”

“Yes,” replied the little fox, not even a bit concerned she was talking to a purple-spotted fungus.

“I can make you happy,” whispered the mushroom low, as not to share his secret.

“How?” asked the little red fox, unable to contain her excitement.

“One bite of me and your dream will come true.”

The little red fox wasted not a moment, she chomped on the purple-spotted mushroom. When she awoke next morning, she could not push up on her strong front paws as she done all the previous days of her life. She rolled to her side, then much to her surprise, sprang up. So forceful was the leap, she soared fifty feet across the forest floor. The little red fox landed by a large puddle that had collected between gnarly tree roots and rock. She caught her reflection in the shimmering water. Her wish had been granted – her dream realized. Instead of being jubilant for the change, she sobbed mightily. She was neither a little red fox nor a complete kangaroo…

There was once a snowman who wished he was a fox-

Snow Fox

Hope you enjoyed my little fable.
Thank you and goodnight. May you dream of being content in your own skin…

(Fox Up Close: Prisma, 2000, Foxroo: acrylic on canvas, 1999, Snowman with Fox Mask: Prisma, two days ago)

Trapped

Posted on May 24, 2014 by AM Roselli

Dear Friends,
Once again, I was trapped in a dark room for seven hours. Keeping large classes focused on laborious computerized tests can make one quite mad. There were brief moments where student test takers dwindled. In these brief respites – white noise humming in my ears – my frazzled fingers sketched with a chewed pencil. There’s something lovable about printer paper.
I had time to doodle out two sketches, the woman above and the dude below-