Carnivales
butterfly
us.
we paint our faces
decorate our bodies with coloured music
emerge into ritual
we transform our selves
shedding skins we thought were us
casting our masks into fire
Carnivales
butterfly
us.
the Old Ones open their arms
welcome us
singing our secret names
we prepare our hearts
to dance with the spirits
of the sun
~~~~~~
Photo and Poem by Clinock
Photo by Clinock
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
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.
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
“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.
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