flapper saint

this painting is part of a new series I’m working on
what you see here is a version of the final which is a bit different
so you shall see this gal again somewhere along the way
thank you

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new love

you’ve made me sense the nearness of my years
and I don’t mind at all
possibilities are as rampant as raindrops on an April morning
I can see quite plainly how your smile is different
this is where I thought I might feel nervous
losing you to THAT world
the very same world, I once hurt my hands punching walls to reach–
hobnobbing like some awkward figurine whose two legs were sculpted as one–
and whose tiny Victorian shoes were forever jammed in a loaded pedestal
you are now primed to enter THAT world, but walking elegantly through the door
so you see my son, my smile is different too

max-yankee-smaller-filepainted this when Max only reached my elbow, now he towers over me

escaping

the young athlete in purple and gold was trying to escape
his muscles maxing out in length beneath his sweating skin
each time crawling on knees and palms to reach the outer ring
to safety
every wrestler knows when you reach that white circle, the whistle blows
out of bounds
you get another chance
he was fierce
yes he was
in his determination

the other wrestler wearing the baby-blue and white singlet
continued lunging at his fleeing opponent
baby-blue and white wanted the win badly
purple and gold was trying with all his power to escape

on the other side of the large wrestling mat,
a bulbous-bellied man in a bright yellow shirt
was positioned like the sun
he stood there eclipsing all else around him with
his giant flashing camera and smashing fists
he was a bright star
without the warmth
but with all the heat
loads of hot air bursting out
through a constant barrage of bellows
screaming at the young wrestler–his son
“YOU HAVE TO DO BETTER THAN THAT”
“GOTTA PULL YOUR LEG ‘ROUND FASTER”
“QUIT RUNNING FOR THE RING”
“YOU’RE NOT TRYING”

and secretly, the young wrestler in the purple and gold and I both knew
he was trying
trying very hard
to escape
to reach that white circle
and never stop running
Love Tackleart previously published
unfortunately, this is a true story, colors of singlets were changed to protect the innocent:)

These Faces

Did I ever see my children
as these faces I see now
My eyes periscope across the ocean of manila brown desks
I’m thinking many thoughts
especially how to remain afloat today
and not sink like a sub
The endless falsetto voices lost in the banter of youth
are not affected by the tepid grey tile and dull institutional cinder block
as am I
On these first days
when teachers gaze across that sea of bright, clear eyes
do they see my children
as I see them
Not evaluating as an instructor
but visualizing with the hopeful heart of a parent
I wonder

Max and Caroline

Max and Caroline

painted oh, so long ago

In my six years as a substitute teacher for all grade levels, just about every teacher I’ve had the honor of working with goes above and beyond what is expected, in an ever changing educational environment. Teachers are a compassionate group. Many educators’ patience is wider than an ocean of manila brown desks.

this time of year

may I call you out
it’s time
the nights are growing colder
the mornings chilly
leaves are weary and falling
the trees want to sleep
their shadows have cooled
and something is pressing in the wind
like a secret around the corner
this time of year
the minute hand seems to
overpower the hour
transitions
stepping through that next door
another calendar to markup with activity
summer is worn out
it’s time
for the harvest to begin
though
every time you change
I wish they could stay the same
and play with dolls just a little longer
Gallean with ragdoll
Galeen on a ‘shroom painted on paper a few weeks back

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