Redux September 2011 – Night Dance

night-dance-pastel1

 

Haunted, he wears his ghost lightly.

Woven on phantom air

the dream descends like spent ashes.

 

Singing, with pointed sticks

he marks the wing of the lightning,

 as only a father might do.

 

Entangled in ghost tossed clouds

he follows his fractured dreaming

like a mother’s goodbye.

 

Haunted and enchanted,

he summons the cast of the moon,

the wash and cry of the sea.

 

The borders of sleep are burning.

 

 

Poem and pastel drawing by Clinock

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June Redux – 2013 – Be Here Now

be-here-now_2

 

“The moving finger writes; and having writ, moves on: nor all thy piety nor wit shall lure it back to cancel half a line, nor all thy tears wash out a word of it.”

from the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam.

 

 

“We’re fascinated by the words–but where we meet is in the silence behind them.”

Ram Dass

 

Be Here Now. 20″ x 16″ (50.8 x 40.64 cm) acrylic ink drawing on paper, by clinock.

May Redux – 2014 – Hot Tub Dance

hot tub

it was

a torrid tango

a slipping of skin along skin

through shimmering heat

and cold blue air

 

it was

a surging blood

fandango

a simmering amniotic

rendezvous

 

it was

a sizzling cauldron

of salty sensuality

a full moon

roiling ocean rumba

 

it was all

raw lips and basted thighs

tangled flesh sliding together

falling limbs losing ground

and coming apart

 

it was hide and seek

and blind man’s bluff

and catch me if you can

with a stiff oar in a feral sea

dipping and thrusting

through oscillating fluids

floating, flooding, rising,

bodies liquefying

spurting like whales

 

it was lines forgotten

identities melting

transfigured bodies

lost in translation

and the wavering light

 

it was faces transmogrified

in shifting perspectives of steam

 

nothing was ever what it seemed

when we danced

the hot tub

dance

 

Mixed media drawing and poem by Clinock

Deja vu – Self Portrait as parquet flooring under renovation

sp-as-parquet-flooring

mostly it’s just a matter

of moving things around

until names disappear.

 

what was there before,

the elusive, fragile,

smudged and brittle

is rearranged.

 

I try for laughter

but it’s exhausting,

this renovation thing,

this endless penitential kneeling,

inhaling sawdust and glue

to make new

that which was broken.

 

It can be

like living in a smashed mirror

or walking on ice

that’s cracking like thunder

all around you.

 

It can be

like the sting of a zen stick,

every molecule of attention

suddenly, brilliantly

there,

or

it can be

everything begins to fragment

and the danger then is

forgetting

which part

fits where.

 

drawing and poem by clinock.

Deja vu = edited redux from 2014.

Comic Relief

art_critics

Scanned from a comic in my collection. All thanks and credit to Bill Griffith.

Offline, for a time…

is-okask the old question,

Is everything okay or not?

and Trickster appears.

 

photo and haiku by clinock. Credit to unknown artist.

I will be off-line for a while, the essential needs attention.

Art Rat.

art rat

 

Ghosts – silence

silence

An investigation for jesters

and saints,

this sadness of a man,

this separated ghost,

this disconnected stare

in brittle glass,

unrecognized reflection

of nothing known

in this frozen liquid sand,

pinned to a drawing board,

crucified

in clouds of calendars

and an ambiance

of echoing silence.

 

Ghost of a ghost

exiled from connection

to all familiar senses,

wandering lost

in a papier-mache world

filled with mute puppets

and the creeping feet of madness

drifting on autumn leaves,

the dumb changing of seasons

and the cold winds to come.

 

There was a voice once

filling days and nights,

sweet ectoplasms of love

buried now in the heavy quiet

of collapsing bridges

and the broken entities of light.

 

There was a precious presence

partnering in mirrors,

a twinning wholeness

held gently in his hands,

now crumbling into dust

and blown on September winds

across a face

that is a stranger to itself.

 

There was music and whispers

tongued and lipped

across vibrating cells,

songs of angels and dreamers

gagged now and gone,

leaving a face alone

to face itself,

a double haunting.

ex silentio.

 

 

self-portrait drawing and poem by clinock.