magical forest
blossoming through yielding touch
coming in colours
canopy caressed
rising wood adheres to hand
viscous sap flowing
thrusting branches stroke
pigmented liquids flooding
sensuality
rooting and seeding
treetops sway and dreams are born
sylvan mystery
photo and haiku by clinock
edited redux 2014
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.
Sailing so close to your shore,
navigating by stars
that fell through dreams,
and burning arcs of light
that spanned the impossible.
When first this chart was drawn
I missed them completely,
the sharp rocks and shallows
between my battered boat
and distant orchestras of you.
Then it was a fair wind on the sea.
Mermaids danced for me as I set sail.
My canvas swelled like swans
and nothing choked my passage
to your anemone arms,
your oyster thighs.
Now,
within reach,
I am scuppered.
Throw a rope
or wade out among these salty teeth,
take my prow,
guide me home.
photograph and poem by clinock.
Deja vu = edited redux from 2013.
Why are we not all born
with a jester attached?
With us until we die.
To keep us awake.
To remind us of the truth.
To fill mortality with laughter
and the jingle of bells?
If the jester
listens to her jester
as the brain listens to the heart
she may eventually find peace
among the flow and thrust
of our twisted ribbons.
Are we finally saved then,
can I relax now
or did i get it wrong again?
I’m certain I saw a family resemblance
and, it was only yesterday was it not
that the ferryman winked at me?
And although the days are losing definition
I’m certain it was the same day
you made a necklace out of acorns
and hung it around my neck, laughing.
The partnership is blessed
and sacrificed
at the same moment.
The breast to the memory stone.
Not a circle after all but an arc.
And all is suddenly Carnival,
bright and loud and gilded,
showing the folds and creases
of pockets and wallets and bags
as we leave them at the door.
Unburdened
we are
free to dance.
The Jester and her Jester. 18×14″. Acrylic on paper on panel.
Painting and poem by clinock.
October’s face
torn by wet winds
erodes and decays,
entering a deep
and melancholic
sleep.
It’s a worn and aging mask
painted with autumn
landscapes,
dreaming of sunflowers
broken by storms,
trees ripped into
spinning kaleidoscopes
of red and gold confetti,
and
tire marks
in the snow.
October’s face,
up against the wall of time
disintegrates,
fragments,
descends with the leaves
towards darker days.
Its beauty is short
but the fall
is long.
poem and photo by clinock (edited redux).
photo: found wall art, Vancouver. Thanks and Credit to unknown artist.
sometimes, even
in the season
of dying and farewells
the broken,
the rusted,
the rejected
are touched by magic,
resurrected,
garlanded in lights
and flowers,
transmogrified
and honoured
as fallen leaves
and a tenuous sun
ride summer memories
through October streets.
photo and poem by clinock.
Click on photo for superior viewing experience.
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