this creative world

here’s to entering 2018 with eyes open

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why fix this broken machine

why fix this broken machine
the urgency in uplifting messages
broadcast with heavy hearts
misguided mobs leveling cruel ends
by hideous means
refusing to behave
as a beautiful homogeneous group
faith shaken to the core
our vast home, shriveling
wicked minds vexed by calculating brains
broad strokes of ignorance painting world murals
why fix this broken machine
pulling loads up the mountain
carts inundated with hopeless direction
greed, avarice, folly, sickness
wishing upon flesh stars

…still…

despite every sour moment
we suck into our spongy hearts
there is something undeniable
in the endless beauty of man

we are not machines
we are not broken
we fix the pieces that wear over time
we readjust the parts because we have the ability to do so
we restart the stops in the moments we catch our breath
we reignite the stalls when our brothers collapse upon themselves
we do not crush ourselves, over and over again
we reinvent
despite the few who dare to rip the road from beneath our feet
we continue walking up the mountain

there are those who choose to break
there are many who refuse to be broken

Dream Catcher

Dream Catcher

I wish you all a more hopeful, beautiful and peaceful New Year. Here’s to gentility, civility and warm embraces in 2017
am:)
xoxo

my silly secret

like a blazing stogie dangling from determined lips
all other luminous pricks lured away by post-holiday sales
my eyes navigate the smudged thermal pane
a lone gleaming star outside the milky glass
I must get closer
I’ve got no answers for anyone this year
and more questions for myself with less time to respond
the kitchen slider is an obstinate fucking portal
I remember falling on scabby knees
praying beneath the Northern Star
for wisdom and ‘wiseness’
crying for everything I couldn’t find
and God knows I still look for
the star
storybook glitter brilliant enough to sustain my disbelief another year
pulling at the door handle, dropping f-bombs with each yank to the right
gotta fix the damn slider in 2017
I must get closer
to this sparkling beacon of Christmas birth and glowing yuletide renewal
this year, this year it’s more important than ever
shit, you know I declared the same thing last year
shivering in the dark, I’m standing on my splintered deck
finally nearer to the star
I whisper to her pointing ears, ‘guide us somewhere safe’
we must believe in something more than ourselves
or we will implode upon our self righteousness
I’d pat myself on the back too, if I didn’t hurt my shoulder opening the fucking slider
the pulsing star
limitless hymns composed for her singular brilliance
orbiting existential principles
liquid onyx landscapes and oceanic skies
I lift my watery eyes
my lips smiling with their silly secret
this isn’t the prominent Christmas Star shining brightly 19 degrees above the horizon
it is Venus
she’s the one who lured me to heavenly hopes all those years ago
when I was a child and didn’t know which way was North

wood nymph

 

“ball is life”

our children start moving away
our parents begin moving closer
the circle of life is a shape
that falls flat on its side
with no dimension
just one 360
and your time is over

I prefer a sphere
the sphere of living
the globe of going
the ball of bounty
you may go ’round
and around again
so let that dazzling ball drop
and roll into
a blessed and hopeful future

maybe sport advertisers
do know best
“ball is life”

Little Tree

Little Tree

art published last Christmas season

Lying for an Angel

My Friends,
Sadly this tale is not a yarn. It is a true story, one that I’m not proud of. I was nine when hallowed inspiration struck. This creative shining moment in 1972 continues to cause me pangs of guilt. Even now I await delivery of a Time Machine ordered on Amazon, so I might return to the scene of my crime – the moment I lied for an angel.

My Grandmother’s Closet
My grandmother had her own bedroom in our home. It was a magical place. There was candy and small treasures wrapped in gift paper in her dresser. In the walk-in closet, she kept packages of Wrigley’s. The gum often called to me. I occasionally answered by sneaking a stick or two hoping it would never be missed. It never was. I thought myself clever.

The Inspiration
It was nearing Christmas – that most magical time in ‘kiddom.’ I can’t recall why I needed gum this particular morning but I did. I tiptoed into Grandma’s room and into the big closet. While borrowing a stick of gum, I heard footsteps and was forced to wait. As I held my breath, I began perusing Grandma’s knitting supplies. This closet was loaded with rainbow balls of wool and oodles of parchment patterns. Some wool was in balls while other threads were wrapped around cardboard cones. With my laser vision, I saw naked cones – I saw angels.
Ice Angel Cone

The Crime
In the blindness of inspired excitement, I threw caution to the wind. I took two large wool skeins and unravelled both until I held two precious cardboard cones in my thieving hands. I was going to make angels. There were swatches of fabric in our attic. One in particular, a beautiful light blue with silver and gold threads would be perfect for my angels’ gowns and the metallic pipe cleaners in my room could be fashioned into halos and wings.

The Lie
I cleverly concealed the heaping wool piles behind Grandma’s shoes. With the evidence camouflaged so was the crime. How did Grandma find the displaced wool so quickly? Hadn’t I been stealth? Hadn’t I swiped gum without a single repercussion ever? With five other siblings, there might be a chance to frame someone else, or I could outright lie when prosecuted. I remember Grandma calling me into her room and pointing to the woolen spaghetti. I remember her asking me if I unravelled the wool. I remember, with Christmas only weeks away, lying for an angel.

The Guilt
I don’t know what became of the first angel. The second, wearing a doily gown (there wasn’t enough blue fabric) remains with me. She hangs in my studio always nearby. I never admitted my crime to Grandma. And whenever I look at my cone angel she whispers, “Grandma knew all along. She kept the first angel, the one with the beautiful gown of blue, because she thought her precious.”
Angel ConeThank you. Dream of being the most honest version of yourself you can be 🙂

HAPPINESS AND PEACE IN THIS NEW YEAR, MY FRIENDS