I miss my home. All these pics were taken from my window there. My computer desk sat just inside looking out over my gardens. My window was so much more entertaining than any TV. This little guy and I had a wonderful arrangement. He really loved a certain weed with little yellow flowers, which I let grow in my gardens, and in return, he didn't eat any of my other flowers. Such a serious little fellow. Peek-a-boo Caught with the evidence still on his beak. Someone's hungry. Is that a look of guilt? This little guy would get angry at his reflection... every day! Well, he's certainly well fed. And, when they're done eating...
...and haven't been doing much blogging. It seems I've been in the mood for drawing mythological beings instead.
This is a color pencil sketch for a project that I'm working on for a friend. I call him Thor, but he seems to be dressed for a warmer climate, like maybe Greece. Could be because of the 100 degree weather we've been having lately.
I made this one with different colored ball point pens. She was originally just an outline I made for this piece of digital art from several years ago.
The weather we've been having has been wreaking havok on my mood lately. We're six months into a drought right now. I've been trying to save my gardens, but may end out loosing a tree. I've been known to cry when a tree dies, and there are dead trees everywhere I go. These little beauties help lift my spirits when I go out to water.
I like to imagine that little faeries danced on the top of this one and left a trail of their steps.
And, the Faerie Princess left her crown on this one.
But, then I wake to sad dreams in the morning. This morning the dream was about a dog that I had abandoned and then died before I could get back to it. It made me think about a real dog that I used to have years ago, whose death was surrounded by mysterious circumstances. So, I wrote this poem.
Taken to the Woods
taken to the woods by a friendly face did she wonder why he was with her instead of me?
visit to her favorite place ends abruptly with a bullet in her brain I failed her again
old and sickly I left her vulnerable was it a mercy killing? look of horror on his face when I mention that she was getting better
extra effort required isn’t given when needed most another piece of me is gone and the cycle continues
he leads me astray but I follow willingly into the woods looking for peacefulness because it’s just easier he thinks he’s doing me a favor
This last one was written the other morning.
My Conscience is so Much Crueler
while my subconscious whispers to me in my sleep like a compassionate lover “you underestimate yourself†“feel unworthy of giving encouragementâ€
my conscience becomes enraged lies in wait for me to wake to scold with a harsh voice like an angry father humiliates and rejects me until there is no more desire to wake
Well um... I think I'll go back to my mythological world now.
apocalyptic apparitions rain like ash on an otherwise clear day mushrooming delusional brain rash keeps contentment at bay
boredom rolls in befogging a creative high sacrifices begin mediocrity must die!
clarity becomes a blue sky illusion passing clouds irritate scourging syndrome cycles toward confusion when aversions animate
darkening doom locks me in a room imagined tomb infectious fume that consumes
emptiness rolls in befogging a creative high medications begin numbing desires to fly
extremes too surreal what do I really feel? driven to zeal strained and concealed only haziness heals when you’re… locked in a room imagined tomb with infectious fumes that consume
This poem is for my stepson, who's going through a tough time. He's a poet, and is into rap music.
I think they're somebody's pets, because you don't see this in an inner city neighborhood everyday. They wandered in while trying to avoid the dogs on either side of us, and then found a hole in the back fence to continue on their journey.
I count 15 babies.
The only other place I've seen this type of duck was in Mexico. This last pic was taken in Puerto Vallerta. I googled them and discovered they're called Black Bellied Tree Ducks. They are only found in South Texas and Mexico.
outside the air is real and ascends in currents and streams unpolluted
I breathe dust and ash wipe silt deposits from my eyes swim through a smoky mire toward
stage lights cast blue reflections on musicians playing with passionate fury cast highlights on an inebriated audience artificial fog obscures the source that is
shrinking room at one end of a tunnel the other end twists and turns culminating at a dead end with a peep hole
outside the air is real I strain to study and then turn back to the smoky mire
This is for Anita's Drips of Ink blog on myspace. Her featured poet today is Sylvia Plath.
This last one isn't the correct syllable count for a Tyburn, but I really liked the word 'viraling' [I made it up], so I wrote it anyway. They're supposed to be a commentary on the warped weather patterns we've been experiencing lately.
When we can get past seeing ourselves as victims, then we can release the anger and discover our true identity.
anthropological ball
marching absurdities scatter in patterned formations diverging from a Dali painting in undulating spirals summoning – Come inside Come inside
ancient carney clown-faced beasts hail the puppeteers mummies on strings in a sarcophagus strewn tent chanting – See the show See the show
Inspired by ELP's Karn Evil 9, and is a continuation of the poem, 'Nature of Identity'.
Some doodling in my sketchbook. I was going to do more to it, but drew a blank, pardon the pun. After I started drawing it, I decided it fit this poem. I may do more drawing for this poem.
