Tres y Muerte by Clinock. 17×14 in. 43×46 cm. Acrylic on paper.
Xochi Quetzal Artist and Writer’s Residency. Chapala, Jalisco, Mexico. October 2019.
“there is a place in the heart that
will never be filled
a space
and even during the
best moments
and
the greatest
times
we will know it
we will know it
more than
ever
there is a place in the heart that
will never be filled
and
we will wait
and
wait
in that space.”
― Charles
it was just one time
running from was running to
and the whole world changed
it was only once
twilight of an isolated
and then it was night
it was just one time
two beaten souls smudged by love
and separation
it was only once
but that’s all it took to fly
and the whole world changed
~~~~~~
art and haiku by Clinock.
art: mixed media on panel. 10 x 8 inch. 25 x 20 cm.
For surfers it’s the ultimate wave,
the cosmic and final tsunami
THEBIGONE.
For me it’s the death squad,
the surfer skulls from hell,
the ultimate wave goodbye,
the call for last orders,
Time Gentlemen Please,
A final kick at the can.
Goodnight sweet prince.
There’s nothing bigger
in this waiting room.
do not go gentle
Let them come I say, I can take them all.
Let them try the drowning,
impalement on spiked boards
and evisceration by absurdity.
I’m too dry, too full of fire and too much in love
to be taken without a dance.
Bring it on you hairless, hapless harpies
swarming on sharpened feathers.
You can’t be serious.
I will laugh you into dust.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Art and poem by Clinock.
Waiting For The Big One, 24 x 12 “, (61 x 30.5 cm.), mixed media in cradled panel.
This electric sun
fusing the wiring of me.
How can I not be?
photo and haiku by clinock
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.
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.
art rat cafe 