Icy Light

The stars are stripped naked
Heathens
Burning on winter’s pyre
Icy light
Reflected
Refracted
Dancing illusions
Scenes from within the prism
Distant heat
Chilled in its closeness

The stars stare
Austere
While generations rise and fall
In a heartbeat
Each life
All its dreams
A cold and distant spark
The shimmer
In a single crystal of ice

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. 🙂

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

Asia

A world beyond dreams
Exotic face of mystique
Asia is beauty

Kelvin over at dVerse has given us the prompt of writing about Asia for Poetics this week, so I figured I’d go with a haiku.
Though I’ve never been to Asia, it has held a fascination for me since I was young.  I love Asian music, food, literature, art, history, tv, etc, regardless of which culture across the continent it comes from.

Worry

Now the world is bright
And childlike eyes can gleam
For there is naught to worry
But whether the sun shall beam

And “worry”, such a dreadful word
Let us go outside and play
For the world controls not my bliss
Come what will, come what may

Fools will spread their nonsense
Politicians will bluster
But why, within these rolling hills,
Should they dull my eyes’ luster?

My eyes view a world of beauty
Tinged with a hint of shame
But those who fill their hearts with darkness
Have only themselves to blame

This globe is both the yin and yang
There is good (and evil) here
But worldly evils castrate man
And I will not live in tears

Now the world is bright
And childlike, my dreams,
Consist of naught but tears of joy
Let the world be as it seems

NaPoWriMo 2013 post #13…This is a re-write of a poem I originally wrote in 1993

A Thing of Beauty

Memories are jewels

Set in the foggy fabric of time

I keep them polished and gleaming

So that every thought of you

Is a thing of beauty

That will never fade

 

I originally posted this for a challenge on another blog back in April, but I don’t think that blog is active anymore.  Instead I’ll re-post it for Open Link Night #78 on dVerse.

Decorated

It was my own tradition

Briefly

Those few torturous years

Between a young man

Or an old child

I walked my hometown streets

Booted feet squeak-crunching on snow

Wrapped up in plaid scarf

And an old olive army coat

I walked in cold night air

Breath a sparkling mist before my face

Headphones feeding

Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker to my imagination

Street after small town street

Across Maple Avenue, up to Queen Anne’s Place

Alone I walked

The warm glow of Christmas lights

Like a shattered electric rainbow

Sprinkled against the pristine whiteness

Of lake-effect snow

And the soundless depths of evergreen

I walked for that moment

Stillness

Snowflakes embracing me

The night softly humming “Silent Night” to itself

Witnessing the beauty

Of a small town Christmas

In which I and all the world around me

Were decorations

 

As a teenager I loved walking around my hometown on a December evening to look at all the Christmas lights and decorations.  It was always so peaceful and the lights were very pretty.  This is for the prompt on dVerse about first person perspective in poetry.

Paper Doll

I originally posted this back in March of this year, but a post by Gabbie on her blog

Tell me, when will my life begin made me decide to re-post it.

 

She’s a paper doll

The kind you’d like to pin up on the wall

So it seems

That questions always follow from my dreams

And where, why, who has left this paperdoll upon my door?

I see her, but my eyesight’s very poor

And I want more

 

She’s a paper doll

Thing’s just aren’t as obvious after all

Clinging to

All my old thoughts, while this is nothing new

Just as I reached through the hanging mist and touched the day

The day was cold and sterile anyway

And yet I stay

 

New feelings call from another room

And I must answer their cry soon

Or leave the paper doll

Upon the table

Ink blue eyes

On the paper doll

Pencil tears

Drawn from my eyes

Over the paper doll

 

-March 1992