many have written about rain
how the rain makes you lonely
endless drops echoing in an empty chest
the cold of them creeping up your shirt
shudders into the back bulge
the obvious dullness of the sky
over-burdened clouds unable to ease the mind
wind maybe, no breeze
delicate mint leaves collapse
they don’t know the end of it
never do
endless repetitive pings on pavement
no playing on the drooping lawn
 sucking mulch beds
engorged suburban septic sours
the smell can be bad
so the rain
it is wet
it is sad
it is dark
for a big-eyed kid waiting for the storm to pass
why this face? I’ve no idea…more crayon playing and yes, it was raining.
For Fawn – may rain come your CA way
(there is happy rain, I was in a melodrama moment-perhaps I shouldn’t write while drinking red wine 😉 )
Tag Archives: inspiration
Homage to Doctor Moreau
“The crying sounded even louder…. It was as if all the pain in the world had found a voice.”
“For everyone the want is bad. Some want to go tearing with teeth and hands into the roots of things, snuffing into the earth.”
“An animal may be ferocious and cunning enough, but it takes a real man to tell a lie.”
Quotes from the transformative pen of H.G. Wells, The Island of Doctor Moreau
my creature gal created about 3 weeks ago with no hard-core animalistic intent
I. Doe and Deer II.The Littlest Dear
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
so confident
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
at least
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
lessons earned
you’ve gone about halfway
so close
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
long-winded happiness
so many struggling
wanting more than ‘millimoments’ of euphoria
wondering where to find this fickle contentment
happiness
a promised aftereffect of the human condition
what if
we’re not supposed to be searching
what if
cheerful reflection is too deep in the wishing well
perhaps earth isn’t designed for constant contentment
wouldn’t sunup be iridescent blue
stars illuminate pathways to lovers
tides even-flow with the heavens
maybe
happiness is more like the wind
unpredictable
rustling leaves and racing clouds
never settling
what if
we took solace in these haphazard thermals
where seeds still take root
winged beasts soar
and cool air displaces sweating flesh
let’s not search for happiness
let’s take comfort in its randomness
knowing we’ll all eventually be found
I’ve published this little gal a few times, she keeps wanting to be seen…
against a thick crimson sky
this day is not ours to decide
it is done
some had no choice
sacrifices made
youthful years in hell
bodies and minds disabled
parentless children
forever missing
white markers
against a thick crimson sky
we commemorate those
living daily nightmares
eternal memories stowed
in footlockers
those of us 
untouched by blood
this day stand beside
those who act(ed) honorably
who often return(ed) alone
these dutiful hearts
must never
sense anything
but respect
compassion
evermore…
my father-in-law while stationed in Germany
below, enjoying his US return
with his beautiful girl who was to become my mother-in-law
below that photo, one from 1919 LeMans, France
my father-in-law’s father #95
sailing on terra firma
sadness
suspended by the cool sea
blue on blue
restorative
warm earth anchors
soil sanded tones
floating
directionless
ebb and flow
hope
believe
you can sail
on terra firma
Seabiscuit Shell
delicate daughter as a wayward mermaid – one of my favorite photos
seabiscuit shell created a few months ago after staring at my Breyer’s horse collection that shares my studio (yes, I keep plastic horses – in my defense – they are very pretty)
Maybe a Triple Crown…
I’d Be that Tramp
through entertainment’s prism of 1960
one raging wish have I
to live a single glorious night
swaddled in Rat Pack company
blinded by devilish eyes and wily smiles
as black fedoras set like ascending jet planes
from center stage
swagger and melodies floating effortlessly
I’d inhale those gents’ intoxicating charisma
letting each velvet voice weave through my silk threads
beyond my mind
yes, this lady would be that tramp
not dishing the dirt
but tucking this beguiling dream
where she buries her most romantic schemes and sweetest treasures
and if it wouldn’t be asking too much of the fickle fantasy gods
this lady also pines for Mario Lanza
circa 1950
thank you
that will be all…;)
10 minute sketch composed several hours ago, I’m a bit lazy today – ’cause this sketch needs more than 10 minutes…oh well, it is fantasy
Bluesman
Soul decanter
fluid fingering
pouring
velvet rhythms
transported
to another smokey bar
for us
cool blue nectar
will continue to flow
that is
the eternal gift
a passionate soul leaves behind
guitar guy picked with pencil months back while listening to Sinatra and Ella
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
above my mom at 18, below (and I never lie) my mom at 78
5’x6′ painting done at my mom’s request about eight years ago – all her grandkiddies and all their teeth!
xoxo
anntogether 