I. Doe and Deer toward the back end where the trees grew thick
and adjoining woods within range
she moseyed about the lawn a pair of leggy fawns nearby one did not roam far the other well, the other scampered, hopped, sprinted, leaped jumped over a hedgerow and disappeared
my mind yelled, get back over here!
I held my breath
moments ticked by
measured by my desk timer shaped like an egg
there to ensure I vacate my studio every so often
over those bushes with a freewheeling bound she pranced back into view
her sister remained clinging to mama
with just blades of grass between
all the while the doe continued steadily munching taking no notice of the staying or the leaping she was a constant and they were not
not for a long time, yet…
II. The Littlest Dear
there was a young deer though there were many others none were like this one her back was not quite right things that were supposed to be inside were outside she was dying life was pooling quickly in those somber, black eyes her last place of rest was against the cold cement wall of my home’s foundation I sat ministering her misting her cracked muzzle hoping to keep ignorant flies at bay I rubbed the velvet between her ears, still so very soft I sang songs, my words were choked garble I wondered if she’d had a good life I whispered goodbye and asked anyone listening to please take care of this little dear
art I. while in my studio thinking about an idea, I had the good fortune of a doe and her 2 young ones crossing my backyard, so very enchanting (as long as the vegetable garden gate is closed) – I went a little sappy and put a little smile on the frolicking fawn 🙂
art II. previously published during Xmas
both stories here are true…I think about that littlest ”dear’ more often than I probably should
you’ve gone about halfway
righteous peppers your tongue
your decades of experience
shower unadulterated minds
your determined suggestions
penetrate virginal ears
then the moon flips
your waxing tongue is stifled
nature in her amusing way
has pushed you out
and laughs at your wrinkled brow
she flawlessly accepts
what you won’t admit
children are whirlybirds in the wind
and the only thing you control
is where to sow the little seeds
in your vegetable garden
Photo – delicate daughter (now 17) and big son (now 14) standing in front of mural their mom painted in 2004.
Zebras prisma penciled in 2008
This blog of mine has been through several iterations. While returning from a self-hosted site back to WordPress, many older posts were lost in translation. I’m going to use Sunday evenings to rework, repair and repost some of my favorite 2014 efforts. I hope you don’t mind blogging down Memory Lane with me. If you haven’t read before, I hope you enjoy. Thank you,
The ‘Annagement’ (sorry couldn’t resist)
Hello Dollies, Please Don’t Hurt Us (originally posted 4/15/14)
Returning home from a lovely garden journey, the giant husband and I happened upon an old-timer’s flea market. A pair of cigarette-smoking, timeworn vendors stood outside like cement lions. They wore pensive smiles while observing curious browsers.
The market’s outdoor portion consisted of a few makeshift tables loaded with lopsided frames, 1950’s tools, hat boxes… The indoor portion was housed in a dilapidated and dank-smelling barn that had seen better days. The giant husband and I strapped on our big-boy coveralls and entered the jittery building.
Beside the usual flea market fare of old records, fringed lamps, mildewed books, chipped dinnerware and broken Tonka toys there were boxes of dead dolls. I can’t think of anything more blood-curdling than little plastic people. Dolls used to scare the crap out of me when I was a kid, now they were back to haunt me.
These dolls were broken-hearted. Their tiny scratched lips whispered how long they’d lived without a warm embrace. They’d been abandoned then forgotten… The dolls choked on satin visages of yesteryear. Long ago, they’d been precious… Eyes once marble-bright were now marred dull like the fabric tears of stuffed clowns… The giant husband and I had to look away from the pained grimaces. But the most frightening thing of all was when a little sinister man-doll attempted to steal the giant husband’s soul… Thank you. May you dream of happy dolls in warm homes. All photos taken in April 2014 with iPhone. I’ve made it a personal goal to attempt art for every post, some earlier posts in 2014 have only photos.
What is it about leaving our ‘normal’ lives if only for a few days, that throws off the brain’s trajectory? The trajectory being any forward motion beyond a REM cycle. How different we are from one another, whether two streets or many countries apart. Yet despite distance, we constantly seek out similarities. We ache for common ground on which to rest our feet. Beyond grasping the universal necessities of breathing, drinking, eating, sleeping and reproducing, we are often perplexed. The bravest of us dive deep to skim emotional distances beyond invisible borders. But many of us are not brave. We take comfort in comfort’s sake. Our superficial observations block insight. Languages are walls of jumbled symbols. Unfamiliar comfort zones are not easily navigated.
I wonder – as I’m quite sure many of you do – what non-earthly sentient beings would deduce from our world, both past and present. Would they consider us intelligent, performance-driven, altruistic and neighborly? Or looking down at Earth, would they believe us devoid of any compass, moral or otherwise? Lacking universal sameness, would these sentient beings comprehend our world? Would they conclude we live well together?
This outdoor sculpture stands behind Marble House in Newport, Rhode Island. As I took this photo, the sky bright all around, I contemplated what a non-earth entity would make of this particular subject, hence what they’d think of us earthlings…
The little green visitor below would like to give us, ‘the benefit of the doubt.’
Thank you and goodnight. May you slumber deep and float upon sparkling space dust… Alien Ragoo created July 22, 2014 with Prisma pencil while listening to Lincoln’s Biography.