super moon mellow angst blues

Version 2

four in the morning

there’s clouds but I can feel her

pulling at my heart

 

Haiku, pastel and conte Drawing Full Moon by Clinock

Advertisements

We Rise

Dove

There are periods of moments

strung together like seagulls

along the white wake of time

that seem to glow with more light,

more intense shadows sliding,

more music in their foam.

 

There have been days like this

leading to the now of writing

on this poignant day of remembrance:

I shivered, sweating and sleepless

through nights of fevered demons

the medicines invoked in the blood.

 

And at the same time needing

to solve incomprehensible clues

leading to solutions of puzzles

I didn’t ask for or want.

And always the rumors of war

we didn’t ask for or want.

 

There were the anniversary rituals too.

One year after the crowning of the mad king,

and the previous day, because he knew to leave

before the Ace of Spades became the trump,

Mister Cohen waved farewell.

I bled tears that day for a man I loved.

 

And today, the eleventh day of the eleventh month,

we enact our agreed rituals of mourning:

Silence, remembering, honouring the dead

of the wars that never end.

People, we can do better than this,

isn’t it time we gave all our children  peace?

 

“From bitter searching of the heart,

we rise to play a greater part.”

 

 

broken-blue-window1

 

 

Mixed media art, photo and poem by Clinock

El Dia de los Muertos

425440-dia-de-los-muertos

What is death? It is the glass of life broken into a
thousand pieces, where the soul disperses like
perfume from a flask, into the silence of the eternal
night.

425430-dia-de-los-muertos

When your time comes to die, be not like those whose hearts are filled with fear of death, so that when their time comes they weep and pray for a little more time to live their lives over again in a different way. Sing your death song, and die like a hero going home. / Tecumseh

 

family shrine

And this for you, my dear, dead family.

Sweet and bitter memories of you

in a shoe box. Rough art, but true,

with love and honour in my heart.

 

just because…

italian manikins

 

 

Photo by Clinock

Autumn Blues

autumnblues12

My blood thinned by foghorns.

Chilled rain instead of cold beer

on the puddled patio.

Night reflections shimmering

on downtown streets

enter me with a shivering,

stuttering neon.

 

My skin, stretched by winds of change,

tightens into geometries

of angled cold and weak light.

My eyes struggle against sleep.

The season moves

with the languorous throb and angst

of autumn blues.

 

Are these the fallen glories

of the winded wings of trees?

or the ragged motley

of a jester at a wake?

I jump in leaves

and bury myself in their smell

as we enter dark.

 

 

painting and poem by Clinock (edited redux – 2014)

Tom’s Moon

October moon

Tom Petty died Oct 2, 2017, age 66.

another Wilbury gone,

another empty chair,

another orphaned guitar.

 Rest in Peace Tom,

this full moon’s for you, and thank you

from my heart

for all your rockin music.

 

 

 

Demented Confessions 14 – Enigma

Version 2

Veiled whispers are reversed.

 Putti are lobotomized.

 The Tree of Life dries and withers.

 Language crumbles

and

disintegrates.

 

Beware of straight black lines she says

and

listen carefully

to the poetry

of clouds.

 

The sky is smudged charcoal.

Birds fly upside down through falling ash.

Time cracks open

torturing music,

fragmenting silence.

 

A mad man wears The Crown.

Oh don’t you hear

the old gods

laughing?

 

 

Poem and art by clinock.

Enigma. 8″ x 8″ (20 x 20 cm). Mixed media relief in cradled panel.