just because…

italian manikins

 

 

Photo by Clinock

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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.

the Wonder, the Love, the Tears

 

To do the useful thing,

to say the courageous thing,

to contemplate the beautiful thing,

that is enough for one man’s life.

Sept 2014 – Ghosts – Joan of Arc

joan of arc

 

Seeking sanctuary from the burn

I trespass her ice and holy dance

and am caught, unmasked,

between flaming carapace and tundric flesh.

 

She rises with a purer love

in fiery blizzards I cannot name,

consuming me in smoldering tears

by which I navigate her bright beauty.

 

There are red mysteries in her conflagration

binding me with smoking tongues,

releasing me in blinding light,

fusing me forever to this silent ghost of ash and passion.

 

Painting and Poem by Clinock