I KNOW THAT PLACE

I have a pocket of tied threads, gathered colors from shirts, parts of old coats, hats, the cuffs of pant legs scrapping roads, the front of hats like cross hairs pointing my head to someplace and from gloves that don’t match, pieces of reminders to count and remember the place they were freed, now protected

A COLOR THAT FITS

there,   standing beside a forest,   its green declaring war with one color,   victorious,   capturing the eyes with intimidating power   a meadow, jealous of rough barked guardians without voice   reaching to, almost touching infinity

TRAPPED

Observing the art casually standing lightly combing her hair the painting shouts out creating a mythical character of many faces without fear a champion of gardens the temptress of storms and mid ocean currents her authority stands on the dust within the tiles beneath her the foundation of the colors drawn from them half a … More TRAPPED

BETWEEN DROPS

The march of umbrellas.  Half stretched domes against turbulent clouds. Faces pitched forward.  The rhythm of drops is the exhaust from heaven.  It’s a temporary wash of mankind, touching coats and hats but not the heart.  There’s a walk of escape to a point up ahead. People blur the canvas of motion, fighting against the … More BETWEEN DROPS

EACH CORNER

There was a glass reflection of sky and overhanging branches as we passaged down river, slipping through calm water; an excursion through nature’s lyrics. Each wide corner revealed another portrait in perfect color; small gatherings of birds swept silently above. There was a balance.  A quiet tempest of greatness.  An undercurrent of power not seen. … More EACH CORNER