leaving the eye nest
diving into green man
this is who we were
risking everything
confessing nothing
because we could
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Art and poem by clinock.
The Dive. 8″ (20.32 cm) x 6″ (15.24 cm).
Mixed media relief in cradled panel.
memories
Deja vu – haiku – Shadows
shadows on my wall
memories of your sweet light
now you are away
photo and haiku by clinock
2013 redux.
Autumn Blues.
Summer’s blood
thinned by foghorns
and chilling rain
turns tentative,
injecting veins
with a shivering
stuttering neon.
Stretched by wind
skin is tightened
into geometries
of angled cold,
light weakens,
eyes struggle
against sleep.
The season moves
with the languorous
throb and angst
of Tchaikovsky
grinding October blues
through the smoky air
of burning leaves.
Are these the colours
of rusting memories
of a summer gone?
the falling glories
of the wings of trees?
or the ragged motley
of a jester at a wake?
painting and poem by clinock (edited redux)
Ghosts – Dreams for Sale
Ghosts 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)
Ghosts – the alone
Cracked and whispering,
smeared
across frayed and faded
veils of memory,
dissolving
fractured interstices
of stained days,
the one alone,
lost.
Loss and paradox
chime
dried bones in dank tunnels
beneath a burning bridge
where bright darkness
casts an eye,
staring down my soul,
stirring my cells
translucent.
Intimate spirit
trapped,
struggling for escape
but chained
to rusting remnants
and luminous ice,
a nameless shadow
craving release,
freedom
to be loved into
tree skin,
sleeping rocks and gulls,
wolf and worm,
petal and seed.
To enter floods and dust,
and the rising moon.
To let go.
Transcend.
Mixed media painting and poem by clinock.
map of my heart
In case I disappear here is a map of my heart,
a patched up job, repeatedly reassembled.
With a little patience it can still be understood
and if gently handled it won’t fall apart,
but please do not fold, spindle or mutilate.
Its paths and crossroads are still echoing
with songs of travelers passing through,
tears too are heard, of the wandering lost,
for though the roads are straight they are also worn
and collapsed with confusions and misdirections.
Notice how the blue of fallen sky becomes an ocean
where angels and mermaids dance in arcs of light.
I rest on these beaches when I lose myself,
cool my feet in the waves and sleep for awhile,
then I remember, this is the way back home.
And here are the greens of meadows where I lay
deep in new growth, my thrusting blossoms
seeding the verdant winds and high forests of isolation
with pollinations of laughter, longing and desire.
I smudge the map with unseen words against forgetting.
And there the golden glow of a thousand votive flames
illuminates the holy dark, recalls the first January sun,
places lamps in all the windows, engorges summer heat,
reflects itself in conjured forms of island fantasies
and shapes of full moon dreams in fields of wheat.
The signatures of red I will not hide beneath the surface,
they are its surging life and are crying for acceptance.
These bleeds of love seep through the gauze of landscape
however many bandages of colour I apply.
No compass needed here. This is a map of my heart.
torn and reassembled acrylic painting and poem by clinock
art rat cafe 