Ghost Ride

resurrection

Sometimes,

in this season

of dying and farewells,

even the broken,

the rusted,

the rejected

are touched by magic,

garlanded in lights

and flowers,

resurrected

and honoured

among fallen leaves.

 

Hereabouts

autumn ghosts

still peddle summer,

wheeling and whistling

through

the tenuous sunlight

of October streets.

 

Photo and Poem by Clinock

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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

 

 

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

May Redux – 2013 – Dreams For Sale

dreams for sale

Walking a city afternoon I made this photo through the window of an antique store.

I continued to gaze, fascinated by my reflection superimposed on the bed. It was as if I was laying down and drifting with the ghosts of all who had ever slept, dreamed, loved, laughed and cried, been born and died there, tangled in baroque light.

I was moved to free us from all this sleeping around.

Above, but out of the frame, was a sign in antiquarian lettering.

It said ‘Dreams For Sale’.

 

ghosts cannot rest

in this dislocated bed

 

perplexed by labyrinths of iron

and the endless touch of the living

 

their spines and cheeks

never crease the haunted sheets and pillows

 

outside looking in I’m inside looking out

whispering to the reflected dead

you are loved and you are loved

and you are free

 

Walk on

Photo and Poem by clinock.

a temporary hiatus (Dragon Renovation)

dsc09905

It seems that everything

is trying to tell me

It’s renovation time again.

The dragon needs new clothes,

renewed ignition and a volcano full

of revivification.

The rat and lion share this

unholy

predicament.

It’s October. Renovation time again.

Changes wind in the air

with squirrels and drifting leaves

and winter winks

from shadowed corners

and misty horizons.

Changes arrive like a parade

of jesters and ghosts.

I must follow.

And so, my friends,

I leave you once more

for a temporary yet purposeful hiatus…

Until next time,

A la prochaine,

Hasta Luego,

Art Rat❤

art rat image with pa#10EDE

poem and photo by clinock

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.

Ghosts – Dreams for Sale

bed1Ghosts sleep

behind this window glass,

their memories confused

by labyrinths of iron

and caresses

of prospective buyers.

 

Their spines and cheeks

leave no impression

but I see them,

layered deep in time,

all who slept and dreamed and loved

on this Baroque and dislocated bed

embraced in the arms of Morpheus.

 

The antique sign says

“Dreams for Sale.”

Outside looking in

I am inside looking out.

My face reflects

on haunted pillows.

I pause,

whisper

“You are loved”

and walk on.

 

 Photo and Poem by clinock. (edited redux)