my crayon box

hmm, this might be sixth grade-don’t miss the snap tie and blue knee socks
awhile back I wrote about my childhood crayon thievery – if you’d like to read just tap the magic red here 😊

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do you (think you) know me

do you (think you) know me
inside my words
on top of my art
are your elbows leaning at your side(s) as you read along
do they comfort you
your elbows, not my word(s)
not my art
maybe you’re only getting to know me
if you don’t know me, (I dislike math)
these thing(s) xx2f (art+writing) are no source of comfort
rather(!) representational of all I don’t know

I do know–if we lived closer
we might be (great) friends

I am told I smile most of the time

when I write dark(ly)
or when I write in darkness
(lights are sleeping. I’m not)
I grin
unintentionally
like mad grimacing
once long long ago in a generous glass grocery store window of epic proportions I spied my reflection she was smiling. I wasn’t happy

I want you to be comfortable
inside my words
on top of my art
with your elbows at your side(s)
and tell me something
about yourself
I might even get to know what it is I don’t know
about myself

PS (person singing)
when we meet on that special day
in that secret place (where I wait for you)
we will smile at one another
I stop looking in a generous glass grocery store window of epic proportions to see another smiling face
my personal shopper

how to find a lover

The portent outside Bell’s glass is reflected here in the doorway–
where the welcome mat is soiled glum grey
Dead leaves mimic the worn out bar’s foot traffic–
they blow in lost but looking
There is a staleness to the light that no one seems to notice
But me
I’m either special or nor drunk enough
“…you’re just too good to be true…”
Background mocks everyone in the damn place
The only thing too good to be true–
matching Powerball numbers or getting free refills
I opt for the latter
They tell me the kind of money that frees you from worries–
never alters the conversation an earthworm might whisper into your blue ear
Pour me another and double the double
The barmaid’s hair shines like the missing sun
My hair lost its luster when I lost other things
Three stools over, a shapely glass hits the mahogany
I’m watching cream liqueur swirl into a “Lady Luck”
I might just be observing someone who is worse off than me
I don’t need luck
I need a break
Don’t you, I mean when does the shit part end and the good crap start hitting the fan
That’s all I’m waiting for
Nothing too complicated
Like pouring a drink, or two, or three
I hear someone chatting up, Billy Eckstine
Maybe this poor soul is more lost in time than me
Well, something has just cheered me up, inexplicably so
There on the wall–
a seascape, its lighthouse back-illuminated, and I see him–
he’s behind the window–
a dark, handsome man wearing a sea captain’s hat
He’s waving to me
Finally, someone I can talk to who will listen

five cent pump pencil

five cent pump pencil

 

making art

he asks
why do I have to take art
I respond
art is not something you take
it is something you give

she says
I can’t even draw a stick figure
I respond
life saving fire has been born
of simple sticks

he says
I can’t do anything right
I respond
you’re in good company
now put all your wrongs together

and make beautiful art

tiger mouth/acrylicI really like this verse (first posted last year) but not because I wrote it.
I wish we said this to young creative hearts more often.

tiger – acrylic on canvas, long ago-thank you

it’s different today

alone with people 
lonely inside himself
like her
it’s different today

there are those who are complete
with Barbie accessories
used to be days-of-the-week underwear
she’s dating herself
how fun it was back then to misplace Friday
nothing humorous about G-strings
unless you count the wedge itch
you can’t scratch in public
that’s the problem with this new crop of lovers
no sense of humor
‘cleverness’ is their wheelhouse

those pouting cell phone faces
hair calculatingly tousled
upper and lower bulges endlessly optimized
in faux snake scale

elegant mystery lost on past illusions
the past

he covets one
a sense of humor
present when
he’s not trying to be so hard
with thoughts
or backstories
like her
prancing around boldness
except on the dance floor
’80’s disco gloriously simplistic

they are alike
they are alone
in a world beset by shiny upstarts
bedazzled with
Barbie accessories
they summon old-school dreams
and pray these fading thoughts will keep them company
when they are alone
snake-lady-long-neck-edited
slithered out of my head last night-thank you

know, knowing, knew

I don’t ever know what I mean
I don’t ever mean what I say
does that help
if you know me
you’d know
I miss knowing
not knowing what it was
I never knew
about you
I hope you’re following
me right now
are you
or is this too
confusing
this not knowing
makes me a bit blue
not stockings around the neck blue
just sad, quite sad
knowing you’re out there
floating
makes things better in here
“clever girl”
that’s what the hatted Jurassic Park hunter utters
before velociraptors enjoy their steak tartar
let’s backup
start over
I’m tired of searching
not knowing

I’m tired of marching forward
time does not play fair

can you follow this
me?

I speak in tongues
forked

no one can know
not even me
follow?
or are you as confused
as I am

swirl skating

swirl skating

’tis Fried Day and the brain has not escaped the frying pan fire this week – happy weekend – thank you

I got your back

he’s broad chested with muscular legs
the earmarks of a pugilist
certainly channels the spirit of one
dark eyes, alert and piercing
we walk together every day
chatting about the weather
guessing what time the mail will arrive
every once in awhile
not far off
we hear a garrulous and bellowing
call of the wild
neither of us are
too wild
(I pray I still am a little)
the deep hoarse sounds are taller than
his six inch to shoulder height
he tosses me up a knowing gaze
he will do what he must to protect
the one who often places him in shadow
on the sunniest of days
gazing down at my little Dachshund
I whisper loudly enough for my words
to enter those flopping velvet ears
“I got your back, Mojo”
I got your back

Dog Kite

Dog Kite

on windy days like today, while walking Mojo, I often imagine him flying up in the air like a little kite – silly graphic created last year

she likes curves as much as the next guy

she likes curves as much as the next guy
your supple lips create a secret shadow
she dreams of hiding in
those amazing shoulders of yours
burst into perfect half-moons
she adores the curve of your back
how your lats run down into a sinewy v
on your well-formed biceps
she imagines suns rising and setting
on those glutes
ah, yes those magnificent rounded caps
leading to the sweeping arcs of your sculpted tendons
she visualizes your body thrusting into forward motion
with all those powerful curves
yes, my friends
the ladies like curves too

Ra

Ra

 

this fellow sketched last year at a wrestling match

could it be so simple

I wonder what you’d say
if I wasn’t kissing your lips right now
is there someone else on your mind
or do I alone
satisfy all the places in your body
entering by mouth
would your words place feathers
into my wings
serve as a silk path
beneath my bare feet
could it be so simple
this kiss
inertia in relationship time
I crave the honor of knowing your mouth
I desire the ability of understanding your motivation
your lips are etching lines into my heart
I’m usually so much more resilient
this is a bit unnerving
too many explosions going off
in my head
you are in there lighting up cannons
if I let go
gravity will pull me into you
I’m not sure why you can do this to me
when so many others have failed
I fear failure

if this kiss is authentic
I might just be in love
with your lips
and all the other spaces in your body
could it be so simple

MM super close up

did I ever tell you this story

did I ever tell you this story
she doesn’t actually ask
if she did, I’d lie anyway
why not
she often relives these moments
snared in an autobiographical time warp
when her smile bared genuine enamel
and her skin was fleshy seashell pink
she flashes through these moments
speaking with an age from back then

the crystal ball stops rolling
arthritis ceases its assault on her worn-down bones
her long gorgeous model’s legs take a catwalk
voted best legs in the class
did I tell you that
yes, but you don’t remember do you
lying for those legs
lying for this woman
she cartwheels back
memories are liquified Ponce de León
bottled water I would steal
she continues
regaling in moments of perfect laughter
with a doctor friend
sharing smokes, drinks
things I can’t share here
I’m driving the highway so I can’t keep looking her way
and nodding in the “newness” of this memory
I’ve heard this particular tale
many times
don’t know if someone will be around to listen
to my stories
I’m glad her beautiful legs aren’t causing her pain now
in this crystallized moment
studio
glossy from one of my mother-in-law’s modelling studio sessions
(can’t recall photographer’s name to give proper credit)