Art Show

Someone’s dog will be there
In an endearing pose
Watercolor eyes peering upward
From lovingly framed canvas
A child will be there too
Graphite grandchildren
Captured in repose
Precociously lifelike
And the barns!
Oh, the barns will be there to be sure
Rustic, Idyllic
Nestled between pastel hills
Staring across golden fields
Where fence posts always seem
In need of repair

I haven’t seen them yet
But they will be there
Obligatory as the irises,
Sunflowers and daisies
Oil based blossoms and pastel blooms
Time-frozen
Like amber imprisoned insects in gilt frames
All skillfully rendered
Beautiful reality
Again
And again
And again

But I have seen them
The dogs and grandchildren
The barns and flowers
They speak of technique
Of talent, patience and- yes- beauty
But they do not speak
To me

That small- Oh, so small- section
That wall of abstraction
Of emotion and illusion
Where most linger a moment
“Hmm, interesting.”
And move on
Those artistic explosions
Of color and shape
Form, contrast and texture
Expression of a world
Within
There I hear
Voices of truth
Singing through
From oil and canvas
In frames not frames
But windows
On another world

2012 Art Show abstract entries.  The two on the right are my creations.

2012 Art Show abstract entries. The two on the right are my creations.

More 2012 Art Show abstracts.  The one on the far right is also one of mine.

More 2012 Art Show abstracts. The one on the far right is also one of mine.

I certainly don’t mean to belittle the work of more realistic artists in any way.  The skill and patience needed for that kind of art boggles my mind.  But, let’s face it, after a few art shows all those paintings and drawings of dogs, grandchildren, barns and flowers all start to look the same.  At least to me.  But the abstract work never fails to fascinate me. 🙂

Let Ink Be Spilled!

Paper calls out
Pens beg to be grasped
Create!  Create!
They plead
Let ink be spilled this night!
Pages
A white, virgin expanse
Unexplored land
Lines waiting to be filled
Fill them with diamonds and jewels
Fill them with the basest
Lead and ink
Chart the unknown
Un-blank the page
And map the labyrinth
Of thought

dVerse Open Link Night #115

Seekers

Walking invisible
Seeking
Ever seeking
The one who can see me

Searching for oneness
For laughter and life
For hands that seek to touch
And lips that seek to kiss
For eyes that seek to speak
Words that need not be spoken
Searching for the spark
That flares contentment
Into happiness

Invisibly walking
Someone somewhere
Seeks as I seek
Longing to see
And be seen

 

Good Old Days

The good old days
Simpler times
Innocent
Things, safer
People, more polite
When neighbors were friends
And everyone
Had a hand to lend

A myth
An illusion
There are no “good old days”
Nothing changes
We bemoan the loss
The theft
Of something remembered
Through the rose colored glasses
Of vanished childhood
As our parents did
And their parents before them
Every generation
Mourning a past
Simple and innocent

Those days were not
Simple and innocent
We were
As days and times do not change
We do
And mourn the loss
Of innocent selves

And children still play-
Though not the same as we
Once did-
Blissfully unaware
Of their own innocence
Until the day comes
When they, too, will look backwards
Through the blurry haze of growing up
And rue the loss
Of these
Good old days

Kisses Missed

There were many kisses
So many kisses I missed
While walking blind
Down dead end paths
Following mirages of futures
That never arrived
Passing doors of possibility
Oblivious
Heedless of the sweet lights
Glowing inside
Which hindsight revealed
Far, far too late
Looking backwards with a pang
Of lost opportunity

How many unseen doors
How many pathways lie hidden
Blurred by the present
And the chase of foggy futures
How many more kisses am I adding
Every year
To that list
Of kisses missed?

dVerse Open Link Night Week 109

Fire

Against my better judgement
I believe in love
The most bittersweet illusion
Ephemeral
Something that can not be held
Or contained
A flame the hand passes through
As if it wasn’t there
Leaving pain
And the desire
The longing
To touch it one more time

It is there
But it is not
A shimmering of heat devils
(Or angels?)
In the distance
Luring
Beckoning
The Siren song singing
That love is real
And waiting
As elusive and dangerous
As fire
In the palm of your hand

This was inspired by a brilliant post by Toasha on her blog Pain is Universal.  Please go check out her fantastic poetry!
This also fits pretty well with Claudia’s prompt over at the dVerse pub. 😉

Beauty and Ugliness

Notions of beauty
And ugliness
Are feral
Animal
Impulses and impressions
From some deep forgotten place
An unconscious division
Between
Desires and fears

Art exists
To show both sides
Unappologetically
Scaling ethereal heights
Dredging unknown depths
Uncovering that place
Where beauty and ugliness
Become one

Kids With Guns by David Eric Cummins (inspired by Gorillaz- Kids With Guns-Jamie T's Mix)

Kids With Guns by David Eric Cummins (inspired by Gorillaz- Kids With Guns-Jamie T’s Mix)

For dVerse Open Link Night #102…The picture is a painting I entered in a local art show in 2011.  I very nearly didn’t enter it at all because I was afraid it was “too ugly”.  In the end I reminded myself that I should not apologize for my artwork, but let it speak for itself.

Model

Model
Something plastic
Imitation of reality
The standard
Fake representation
Of what someone has deemed
Ideal

A model
Living mannequin
Subconscious critique
Of inglorious imperfection
Not standard or norm
Someone’s absurd ideal
Taken too far
Representing
Nothing

The model
Of true beauty
Lives in glorious
Imperfection

Heretic

The odd ones
Questioners
Doubters
Non-conformists

Ones who walk
Off the path
Not followers
Not sheep
Thinking for themselves
Finding
Not accepting
Searching
For their own answers
Within the mysteries

Unabashed and unashamed
Individuals

They used to burn people like us

At the stake

Creatures of the Night

Fierce creatures wait in the night
Wait for us to join them
To break the light and seize the darkness
Our birthright
Held with eager sweaty hands
In a box hidden deep
Within the psyche
Lies our own divinity

Stark white hands
And neon flowers
With scents like the pealing of bells
Tolling for death
And ringing in rebirth
Mortal hands
Filled with creation and destruction
Able to raise a shiver of passion
Or invent a god

The infinite voice
Sleeps within
As the creatures call us to speak
To pierce the unclaimed night
With our own
Forgotten wildness

For dVerse Open Link Night #99.