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8 minutes door to daughter

wishing them closer for awhile
now that while has arrived
in a few weeks time
8 minutes door to door
8 minutes door to daughter
in a new year
destined to be filled with surprises
rediscovering parents from a new perspective
geographically tighter
the wisdom of years they will bring
along with ailments
both still dogmatically independent
a beautiful thing
in a world they’ve watched
grow older too
more naked
more stripped of dignity
not always, but often

I hope to learn
I hope to help
as they have helped me
in more ways than
I will ever understand
in this reversal of life

five cent pump pencil

art previously published

past echoes

There is an oddness in the distance
faceless voices
disappearing 
between the rush of cars
Years ago, it would have been a herd of cattle

running for the lunch bell
on the road
, past my house

I sit on the front porch
perched on a yellow plastic Adirondack chair
drinking wine from a tumbler
pretending it’s a brown bag
and fantasizing I don’t have to work

Those faraway voices 
echo now
like dairy farmers’ spirits
loading Bessie’s milk onto Old Erie railroad cars
bound for the city

Retired sounds 
I imagine floating up
to the sun that once fed the cows golden grass

The birds, the flitty ones
with bright yellow bellies like my chair
flutter by my porch

saying their good nights or goodbyes
depending on how cold
this early autumn eve turns

warbler

natural deselection

trexearth time past
folds before man laid claim
magnificent giants roamed
this planet’s hide
legged, tentacled, devoid of sense
spawning stuff of nightmares
breathing light of dreams
ambiguous
specific
cloaked
creatures of fantasy
bestowed as masterpieces
sharply enameled
horn heralded
club tailed
extraordinary strength
deselected
castrated by nature
on a sunless whim

t’rex duel created long ago while learning Adobe Illustrator, previously published

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
Caroline and Max spirit

zebras/Prisma

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

cloud dancing

april 21
three am
her spirit smashes the institutional window
the glass doesn’t shatter
what is left behind
the peace in knowing
her suffering is the only thing that has died
let it stay dead
on she goes
dancing with her petite feet
pain no more
glenn miller is in the mood
upper teeth biting her lower lip as she spins
she’ll use those teeth when she laughs
she laughs backwards, sucking in lots of air
the clouds are sailing across the sky today
nina must be on a roll

Winged

Winged

Keep those clouds moving, beautiful nina…xoxo


nina2012 (left to right) big son, aunt dee, giant husband, aunt nina, uncle bucky, sis dolores, delicate daughter

 

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

Sparkling

breath just out of reach
in the lungs
in the soul
her heart was tired
her eyes more so

those lovely fingers
nails thin and yellow
once strung delicate white lights
on every willowy houseplant
claiming the toasted-cream living room

a mechanical bed usurping
the mahogany coffee table
those vertical houseplants
sparkling oxygen
into dying black irises

feathers and leaves usher her
to papa’s homeland
embracing over cobblestones
pattering bustling streets
inhaling baked flour

smiling at
a bouncing soccer ball
little white lights dripping
across canopies
warm bistros and red wine

her breath
whispering
I am home
I am home
I am home

those houseplants
sparkling

Robin's Tree

Robin’s Tree

May you dream of a full, beautiful life…
Tree painted about 2 years ago for Robin