wooden horse

See how the wooden horse enters the scene–
on a silent dolly from stage right it gallops
Do you fancy Montague or Capulet
The show goes on, ending when the star-crossed lovers die
Isn’t that beautiful, how the royal velvet curtains cradle the set
All hand-stitched by Venetian cobblers, who were bored out of their minds–
stringing mandolins with leather shoestrings
The stiff horse has seen better days
Its low-budget cedar ass is splintering
Someone hiding in the pit had to be mindful of costs
The wooden equine doesn’t even belong on this set
The driver missed his cue for Cinderella this morning
In her pink world, no one commits suicide–
except maybe the mice, upon learning they are no longer stallions–
and that their playhouse curtains are a machine-stitched polyblend

animated refuse

this character sketch reminds me of an ornery Shakespearean spirit, I couldn’t tell you why

 

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illuminated with dark thoughts

this morning like so many other mornings
waiting for the sun to rise up and grant us
another opportunity to make it right
anything or anyone we may have wronged
or perhaps
more in the drama of later moonlight
the subtle possibility
we might make something of ourselves
while we are gifted here to earth
gravity holding us
balancing our bodies
we can’t do it alone
we are
each like a small sparkle
brighter than starlight
if you believe in such frivolous gaiety

I for one do not
you see
I am illuminated with dark thoughts
I am a lying pessimist
yearning for the truth of optimism
in a world peppered with road rage salt
silly in fact am I
that I would compose such a lifeless line
seasoned with black and white culinary fare
thinking how clever
how wise
three of them
one of me
guided by northern light
yea I can keep going with this crap
like I said
I am illuminated with dark thoughts
brightened only by the singular prospect
of you
in you

I am a most excellent liar
for I am not a lying pessimist
in truth
I am an eternal optimist
I am a gut-wrenching lame ass
I do believe in humanity
I do believe that behind words
cast like fishermen nets
people dwell
behind all the world’s false twinkling
the light of some truth bleeds out
through infinitesimal skin scrapes
the largest wounds

why do I believe myself an optimist
my one technological treasure
in the 1980’s when VCRs were introduced
many adults fancied themselves harbingers of theatrical doom
“there go the movie houses”
“there die our cinematic experiences”
a lame ass heart quietly rallied
the same lame ass heart always praying for white Christmases
to this day
“my local theatre won’t go out of business people need people”
“people need people”
“we want to enjoy experiences together”
“hear laughter”
“communally sob – not sad alone”
“clap”
“eat popcorn and slurp giants”
“we want to suck face in the back row”
“hold hands in the middle”
“wait for his arm to wrap my shoulder”

I am a most excellent liar
fooling my own heart into believing
if I can do this
it will bleed out
others will sense my fake joy
they might smile
it will start
this morning like so many other mornings
waiting for the sun to rise up and grant us
another opportunity to make it right
there is a sneaking warmth
creeping like crackling fire
and Christmas snow

Harem Eyes

Harem Eyes

 

faith and a full cup

I believe in quiet miracles of love
selflessness of the human heart
the breadth of compassion
the faith of Heaven above
tucked in floating clouds
and the people below
colors of rainbows
both on this side
and the other
I believe
one day
we will

fully realize
our humanity
and peace
will settle
across the land

duck apple
“…Faith is believing in something when commonsense tells you not to…”
–from the movie, Miracle on 34th Street

To those who celebrate, Happy Easter
To those who don’t, have a lovely weekend

art titled, “Friends” – created at nine years of age, when I had much shorter hair and much longer sleeps 😉

not what I expected

so far behind where I normally am for this time of year
as I suffer from HOHO OCD
don’t like doing the crazed shopping thing
with the reindeer-like snorting
and elfin foot twitching on some store’s yule tile

many changes ’round my gingerbread house this year
nothing horrid
just many needles simultaneously falling off the evergreen
this mad dropping conifer has been obstructing my path to
holiday hype preparedness

it happened today
while I was feeling very sorry for myself
and all that I had to accomplish
to create another Merry Memory

on the sick side of the pediatrician’s office
two little girls sharing the common bond
of a Christmas Cough and Holiday Hack
I sat there with the delicate daughter
(mind you, not so delicate when it comes to a throat culture, without a helmet she could take out Odell)
one of these precious little girls began singing,
Silver and Gold
then the other darling chimed in

my self-involved brain began singing along with them
an octave lower for the chorus
when they changed up the lyrics
they didn’t sing, “…silver and gold, silver and gold…”
they sang, “…silver and gold and blue and green and red…”
and they kept going
giggling while adding colors

before I knew it
I was giggling along with them
and the cranky old lady that had been sitting on my heart all day
reunited with her Christmas spirit
not what I expected
not at all

For those of you who celebrate, I extend a Merry Christmas
For all, I wish you a warm and exciting New Year full of hope and possibility

Peace, Love and Light,
am:)

A Gift

A Gift

 

restroom ruminating

Leave it to a small desk
propped in the corner of a long hallway
vanishing to a point
In this bland corridor
classroom doors will soon close
after the cantankerous bell tolls
I feel a bit like Tiny Tim Cratchit
or Cinderella (before the change)
Sitting in a lonely little chair
wishing I was near dead embers
rather than sitting sentry by kiddie restrooms, Period 2
Time to dwell
Time to write
Time to think
Time to ask security guard Frank
what’s going on with his Florida dream
He holds out hope for cheaper citrus
At the far end of the cinder block
a gaggle of giggling girls
is headed outdoors for gym
now called PE
Like revised timeline terms
once AD (Anno Domini/”in the year of our Lord”) and BC (Before Christ)
now BCE (Before the Common Era) and CE (Common Era)
We’re living commonly now
Did you know?
I can see through the bolted steel fire door
the rain has stopped
Today while heading home from subbing
I learned not to drive beneath trees with the sunroof open
after a rainstorm
Geez,
you’d think with all the time I’m spending back in school lately
I’d be a lot smarter by now 😉
sasquatcheven Big Foot finds little rocks to sit on
this guy created last summer with Tombow marker and Prisma pencil

happy wardsday

Steel bars
Rubber rooms
Cement cells
Padded enclosures
Underground wards

If you don’t occasionally seek asylum in your life
you just might end up in one

blogger g

blogger g

I wanted an excuse to use this fella again. He might be an amalgam of Jason and Hannibal stitched by Dr. Moreau – just the sort you’d find in the Asylum of Angst

mondayster, boosday, wardsday, fursday, frieday…hell-o-ween;)

the spirit of a cloud

sometimes it would be nice to
slice off a mountain top
throw it on the back of your bicycle
pedal to a hot air balloon
load it up in the basket
float with the trade winds
set down on an island
let the mountain top find purchase
out comes the duffle bag
stuffed with books, pens, pencils, paper
you sit in the cradle of a crevice
while cumulus clouds
wrap smokey wreaths
around a newly discovered peak

think about those clouds
and what elevates their being
a veil of interest
a touch of form
lay the pens, the pencils
and the books to rest
take the paper
fold birds and planes
let them catch the thermals
some will disappear into the light blue white
a few will sail onto the water’s surface
those will sink
but not the spirit
in which they were made
nor the clouds floating onward to
other fantastical islands
Spirit Mural16′ x 9′ mural painted 13 years ago in big son’s room, horse characters from the DreamWorks movie, Spirit; Stallion of the Cimarron

My excuse for still loving ROCKY… Do I need one?

“In the warriors code
There’s no surrender
Though his body says stop
His spirit cries – never!
Deep in our soul
A quiet ember
Know it’s you against you
It’s the paradox
That drives us on
It’s a battle of wills
In the heat of attack
It’s the passion that kills
The victory is yours alone”

–from Burning Heart song, Survivor
rocky torsoDo I need to an excuse for still loving ROCKY?
I freely admit it here, is that enough?
Has my boot-shaped heritage all these years, made me swear allegiance to Stallone?
Are the gloves off because my father and brother are former college pugilists?
Will bulging biceps and baritone voices forever titillate my girlish senses?
Do I remain under the influence of the ROCKY poster–
tacked long ago in my purple bedroom?
Win or lose, “just go the distance…”
Has this underdog’s remarkable tale, present through almost every phase of my life,
given me the strength to keep moving forward?
(queue Rocky’s Theme)
Perhaps it is much simpler than that–
Rocky Balboa has been a warm-hearted friend, sometimes simple, often silly,
but endearingly life-affirming.
and that’s my excuse…

Let me tell you something you already know. The world ain’t all sunshine and rainbows. It is a very mean and nasty place and I don’t care how tough you are, it will beat you to your knees and keep you there permanently if you let it. You, me or nobody is gonna hit as hard as life.

But it ain’t about how hard you hit; it’s about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward.. It’s how much you can take, and keep moving forward. That’s how winning is done.

Now, if you know what you’re worth, then go out and get what you’re worth. But you gotta be willing to take the hits, and not point fingers and blame other people. Cowards do that and that ain’t you. You’re better than that!” – Rocky Balboa

muscle torso – sketched a few weeks back
(truth-to this day I often workout to the Rocky soundtrack – Yo, don’t judge me ;))

beautiful Cyrano

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

Gethsemane/acrylic

another painting from yesteryear