Changes. Cause i just can’t seem to get me right.
Fading friends
stand proud
erect with broken spine
on wooden ledges
missing inventory
taking count
this civil story
of war and peace
in all man’s glory
of whitened sheets
of mass hiss
moan and groan
these prayers to burn
in oaken coals
brightly lit
for all to see
man’s misery
and forged history.
Another person doing his thankless job and keeping all safe on the slick Chicago streets. This post is for those who do their job, not knowing who is noticing their hard work, “Thank you!”
When your heart
lacks love for today
a mere shadow, chasing the sun away
close the curtains
ban the songs
people got in your way.
I remember
a time -certainly
now, not to be high
perhaps it was last night
the outline of a face
traced in the dust, aroused.
You wait for your ship
a turn around
right about face
float until the motion -going
shifts your head.
It’s this tread you dread.
Fear this
wide open space -exists
to construct walls
add windows
and doors
to enjoy the view.
If life isn’t fragments
what is the big picture?
tears witness death
storms wash me to sea
tides say goodbye, evidently.
this weekend in Chicago is invigorating. it’s cold and light snow fell. ice crusts the shore. broken spaces release the energy.
being with another person is confining. we rarely agree because i am slow, quiet and want to savor the feelings the sounds and sights produce. he is fast, loud and out of touch. annoyed by everyone and everything. but i managed to make him wait in the snow while i took a few pictures.
i am tired but a good tired. i am existing in a sacred place.
this Chicago visit was to see Rodin’s sculptures at the Art Institute. i have not completely digested the experience. his sculptures pull so much out of me. the locked cage, broken open. infiltration welcomed.
while at the Institute, we decided to check out more of the contemporary art and revisit a few favorites.
Energy and motion made visible – memories arrested in space –Jackson Pollock
The Key Jackson Pollock, 1946
Part of the Accabonac Creek series and a prelude to his drip paintings.
Number 17A Jackson Pollack, 1948
this. being surrounded by art. it all makes me jealous. i want to paint. i imagine myself painting. i feel my body shifting, as i lift the brush. the canvas never stationary and neither am i. the color calling. my hips sway and i feel eyes watching me. i want to be bold but gravity keeps me from flying.
City Landscape Joan Mitchell, 1955
a close-up of the favorite place i would reside in Joan’s landscape. a happy place indeed. certainly lost but found to me. splashes of red, pink… orange. Enveloped by reality of black, white, grey, brown… blue.
yes, i am referring to myself. after all, borderline crossing is all about me. my willingness to share a glimpse of me, with you. tear a piece off and toss it. wait. scrutinize your intentions.
we all need order to heal the crags of depression that consume. perhaps we are all lost in Joan’s landscape. hanging around the wrong colors. worshipping the pain in our lives. i am learning to cross the river and enjoy the other side.
Church is poetry. Poetry is life. A life well-lived.
Good morning…
Living poetry today. Bless you🧡🕊
does anybody really know what time it is? -Chicago
Photography is more than capturing time, it celebrates moments that otherwise might be forgotten. Rolling through the car wash is always a memory jogger…
An image without so much a smile or frown keeps my imagination in a tizzy over a lack of direction to take. Until! and only until i relax and go along for the ride…
Thanks for riding along with me. 😘<<<
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urban legends leap
unbound wheels turn round and round
nurture invention
The windows acted as mirrors while I took these photographs at the Central Library, Downtown Indianapolis. The Festival of Lights tree was still lit as pictured in the second photo.
