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
I harvest signs,
glean among wispy omens,
scavenge in pyramids and middens
aching to unwrap the unknown,
reveal the secret names,
unfold the silence.
I am nothing if not voracious for the real.
Auguries reflect
our faces
fragmented in store windows.
Barely recognizable.
Blurred and staring masks
passing.
Oh and then there was the black scarf
blown into my patio by a February storm,
winding itself around the bare branches
of the Japanese Maple
sheltering
the small stone Buddha.
I wake each day to miracles.
sometimes
she says,
she has nothing to say.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Poem and photo by clinock
Que Pasa?
Well yes,
indeed,
who ever really
knows
what’s happening
man.
Who ever really knows
which way
to go
next
and why?
I make
the old vaudevillian
double take,
laughing in night shirts,
at the crossroads
of possibilities
lost in the mirror of masks
searching for my name.
But it wasn’t me
anyway
after all
was it?
We are so many faces.
Que Pasa. 18×14″. Acrylic on paper on panel. By clinock.
*(see fāz/ Ada and Anna for back story)*
it was
a torrid tango,
intimate touches
in shimmering heat
and cold blue air.
it was
a racing blood
fandango,
a simmering
amniotic rendezvous.
it was
a sizzling cauldron of
salty wet desire,
a full moon
roiling ocean rumba.
it was all
raw lips and basted thighs,
tangled flesh falling apart,
restless limbs losing ground
immersed and drowning.
it was lines forgotten,
identities scrambled
naked, masked, revealed,
dissolved, fragmented,
whole and healed.
and it was hide and seek
and blind man’s bluff
and catch me if you can
with a stiff oar in a feral sea
dipping and thrusting
through oscillating fluids
in a wavering boat
floating, flooding, rising
bodies liquifying,
spurting like whales.
it was a forming and melting,
a mute transfiguration
lost in translation and found
again under sultry layering
of transmogrified faces.
it was always in flux
through shifting perspectives
of steam where nothing was ever
what it seemed
in the hot tub dance.
drawing and poem by clinock
All credits and an admiring thank you to Steven @ http://poemimage.wordpress.com for the idea and inspiration for the design of this post. You are the Master my friend…
carnival of life
willingly or not
masks disappear
This is the last Duetto in this series. Thank you again Ese for an inspiring and delightful dance – your haiku brought another dimension to my drawings and I hope my art did the same for your poetry.
Ese’s blog – http://esengasvoice.wordpress.com
art rat cafe 