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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Shaman (renovation art 3)

shaman-3

shaman

Shape shifter,

Sometimes winged,

Sometimes four legged.

Woman, man, fish, amoeba,

Bone and card reader,

Weaver of dreams,

Midwife and mortician,

Magician and Fool.

 

Beyond right and wrong,

Always and forever

He is deeply here

At the pulsing center

Of my life,

And I dance his mystery

Into drumming kaleidoscopes

Of wonder.

 

Art and Poem by Clinock.

Sculpture: Shaman, by Clinock. H. 13″ x W. 5″ x D. 5″. Fired and stained clay.

Harvest Moon

Harvest-Moon-Image-Courtesy-of

She spells and conjures me

beyond resistance.

She strings and dances me

through frantic streets,

her hapless marionette,

clacking limbs

and wooden heart.

 

I am played and plucked

with ivory fingers

my strings vibrating

as she paints me

with this lunar grin,

new moon on her back

Cheshire feline fading.

 

It cannot last, this phantom face,

this bright madness.

She has me by the balls

and won’t let go.

She pulls me inside out

and whispers secrets

I don’t want to know.

 

Mistress, muse and madam,

Priestess and lover.

She commands me

and all my gestures.

Such brief moments

of elaborate ecstasy,

endlessly repeated,

is all i ask.

 

moon photo thanks to Google Images / poem by clinock

fāz/Wise Women

Wise Women

 

“And we’ll walk the paths that the old ones walk
And we’ll dance the dances they taught us
And we’ll sing the songs that the old ones sang
For the magick now has caught us.”

 

Wise Women. 18×14″. Acrylic on paper on panel. by clinock.

fāz/Spirit Voices

Spirit Voices

I listened to Paul Simon’s album over and over

as I painted this in the heat of Mexico,

and my brushes danced,

and I danced.

 

Are these images my spirit guides?

Is this how spirit guides are sent?

Is it possible that ‘grace’ can still be?

 

 

Spirit Voices. 18×14″. Acrylic on paper on panel. By clinock.

 

Spirit Voices

 

 

Harvest Moon

Harvest Moon 2

Full moon conjuring

beyond resistance.

She strings and dances me

along electric streets,

her hapless marionette,

clacking limbs

and wooden heart.

 

I am strummed and plucked

by ivory fingers

a lunar mandolin,

and she paints me

with this grin

for everyone I meet

and their dog.

 

It is not my doing,

this bright madness,

she has me by the balls

and won’t let go.

She pulls my eyes

into her pulsing orb,

blinding me.

 

She commands me

and all my gestures,

but when I look

into her autumn face

I see only you,

born of fields of gold,

sweet moonshine.

 

moon photo thanks to Google Images / poem by clinock

Baptismos.

entering

Whispers answered

from behind the veil.

Invitations to dance

accepted.

Absorbed in blue

succulent wetness,

entering

deep rooms of warm release.

 

Dissolved in wonder,

confirmed by touch,

embraced with namelessness,

diving into light,

drowning

in the confluence,

moisture and flesh,

sliding into rebirth.

 

Painting and Poem by clinock.