Tag Archives: politics

The Woodpecker

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The Woodpecker

outside my daughter’s window, the woodpecker hammering the aluminum gutter
knows nothing other—than what he knows

this incensed bird will wake my teen who already sleeps fitfully
beneath the creatures who suffocate her dreams:
they claw earth; pollute water; rape land;
tear friendships; rend families; decimate futures
they alter climates
they type in ALL CAPS

the woodpecker continues his assault on the gutter outside my daughter’s window
if this red-headed madcap mirrored humanity at all, he might desist
but he doesn’t know anything other—than what he knows

the hammering bird hunts for his brand of love;
his brand of sustenance;
his right to expand his territory;
his need to collect like-minded-birds who would adore his amplified walloping

so, I must continue thinking of ways to deter him—or at the very least send him elsewhere
but how unkind would that be—he’s only a bird after all
the inane walloping is coming from elsewhere


(Prisma pencil pecker created about ten years ago)


I hope you’re all managing okay.
I take in every headline without breathing

Barney

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This is Barney. He was created with 25 lbs of air dry clay. This is my third creature sculpt – and to-date I’ve learned 1,000 ways how not to sculpt. Working toward 1,000 more…

How I wish I could waken him and send him to D.C. – Barney enjoys eating orange men whose chests beat with dark hearts…

Hey Dad, It’s Happening Just Like You Said

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In 2016, a year before you died, you told me quite emphatically, “I don’t like Hillary Clinton, but Trump will wreck this country.” I don’t know how you voted that year. Did you give your Republican vote anyway? Or did you vote conservative along the party line and leave the top row blank? (That’s the image I hold onto.)

A child of immigrants, a career FBI agent, a lifelong conservative who produced four liberal daughters and two conservative sons, a man who taught by example, ‘nothing is more important than family.’ A man who loathed those who carried no moral compass,…

You’ve been on my mind more than usual. Several people in your family have been the recipients of those taunting White House emails and degrading messages. Russia is supposed to be a cozy partner… What’s going on in America right now would break your patriotic heart. I know it’s breaking mine.

Love, AnnMarie

Heartbreak

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Beside the bright berries of the mountain ash, the bird’s eyes are dull. His heart — races. Will this be the creature I save? Into its parched mouth, I administer a drop of water. The frail ribs expand up and down like a bullfrog’s throat. The dull eyes go glassy. The breast stops flying.

My small sweating hands wrap the limp bird in tissue. I dig out a hole and bury the tiny thing beside the tree. Tears fall. The ground turns moist. I mutter a child’s prayer for things I don’t understand. The morning sun shifts. The ground has nearly dried.

Should I stand beside this grave for the remainder of my life—




This piece is dedicated to my children

Created

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Monsters do not exist – they are created.

Voting draws near – choose wisely

I’m ready for Halloween. 3,000 pieces of candy purchased. (I do not exaggerate – Trick-or-Treat is rather insane here in upstate NY:)
(Boris Karloff’s likeness served as my inspiration for this Frankenstein art. Photo background is from Canva)


am:)

Happy-ish Halloween Countdown

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These days I don’t get around to WP as often as I should, but it’s not for lack of desire. I’ve been spending the bulk of my creative time, offline, repurposing my cryptids and creatures. Additionally, I’ve been sketching, painting, barrelling through my menagerie of books and listening to history podcasts on my way to the gym. I’ve discovered, since reteaching myself history, not much has changed, yet everything has. And each day, after reading the news, I return to my quiet, non-territorial creatures who live, accept and love more honestly than mankind.

Art above – (Front of a blank card) I’ve been creating bookmarks, blank cards and good old-fashion postcards (remember those). Using the designer-light program, Canva, I merge my art with manipulated backgrounds then download the files for printing. I hope to bring these printed items to local shops, and I plan on selling them at the next enormous UFO Fair, June ’25.

I hope you’re all doing okay.

am

going backwards ain’t how growin’ goes

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blue grass blew up under there, landed there, over there
you see, look here bled blue on this over here
so they sang over there, banjo’d blues ‘round those mountains
got a banjo too, but no bluegrass livin’ in these olive eyes
listen here, do you hear the weary sky humming da blues
below her womb, flesh ‘n bone spawning bitter gods
swelling wellsprings of madness
manic rivers drying, warm water shattering man-walls
cause he be screwing the planet ‘n mother earth be pissed

don’t we know, going backwards ain’t how growing goes

great grandpapa’s mighty oak just felled by climbing fire
man ‘n his man-guns knocking things ‘neath blue-blue sky
no seed sown with lead, no gilded heart embraces love 
listen here, do you hear the weary sky, how she hums da blues
she be blue, oh, so blue hummin’ above —
this mankind of ours screeching and scratching below

don’t we know, going backwards ain’t how growing goes


this piece inspired by a newly black-topped parking lot
here’s to looking up at the sky – still blue – still lovely
am:)

The man across the street

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  just stepped up the little stairs to reach his steering wheel. This vehicle is not required for his line of work. My studio, a converted porch, faces his yellow house, his big truck. My home, rising during the Great Depression, has withstood many assaults over time. Her old bones don’t deserve to be rattled.

The sky is bright, the birds are singing, and every morning the man across the street shatters this peaceful illusion. His truck’s reverb frazzles the neighborhood, echoes through my chest. Maybe the man across the street needs the sleepy world agitated at 5:45 AM, maybe tremors make his shadow grow.

If someday he should acknowledge the next phase of life, I pray he doesn’t buy a bigger truck. I don’t want to become another person in this burning world who adds more noise to the hate. I dislike the man across the street. I do not hate him. I will admit, however, to hating his fucking truck.

I painted this a few months ago. Reference taken from a photo of Chris Lee as Dracula. Thought this image was somewhat fitting for this piece:)

I hope you’re all keeping cool.
am:)

The Bowl of Clavicles

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The Bowl of Clavicles

Late last night, my stocky papa who smiled and made great Italian meals died
This morning my father’s steel face melted into my mother’s collarbone

Early this morning, my fierce father died quietly in his sleep
Moments later my mother’s tear-laden eyes poured into my collarbone


A sad piece of subtle strength and perseverance dedicated to this day of Memorial tribute.

am

Sometimes Painting a Dog

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I hope you and your loved ones are well.

I believe every human being should paint a dog. This is our Mojo. My daughter, who will miss him when she leaves in August to study Sustainability, asked me to paint his endearing face for one of her blank walls.

Mojo


I’ve been on a personal mission to improve my word and art mind while trying to avoid deep media dives. I generally remain off-politic on this site, maintaining this space as my creative respite. But there’s so much going on out there, and I worry what this world will be like for my young adult children and their future families. The heat isn’t only climate-related.

I believe every human being is entitled to:
be whoever they believe they are
love whoever they choose
A woman’s body is her own as are her personal choices
I pray my daughter has the freedom to make her own choices
(Mojo’s background was originally purple, my daughter requested more earthly tones:) )

mojo purple