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.
quick lights in the sky
forest spirits gathering
to be my compass
haiku and photo by clinock
She has been with me for a very long time, winged animal woman, keeper of the sacred heart, protector of the veil, moonlight jungle hunter, card reader and fire dancer
Her mystery lingers in the air…lilacs, burning leaves, holy copal, sun touched skin, ocean salt on the tongue
This image is a single breath in her eternity, caught and released. The next breath and the next she is not this at all, or this,
or this, or this
I can never know her, and yet, she is all my life.
Gypsy Priestess. 18×14. Acrylic on paper on panel. By clinock
Seeking sanctuary from the burn
I enter her cold and holy dance,
and am unmasked, and frozen
between unseen armor
and tundric nakedness
as she avalanches
to a purer love.
She moves in fires I cannot enter
and consumes my night in flames.
She pours herself through me,
a radiant and smoldering lava
scorching a charcoal path
on which I follow
her bright beauty.
There is mystery in her conflagration
binding me with smoky tongues
and releasing me in blinding light.
Her immaculate impossibility remains
and I am fused forever
to this sighing ghost
of ash and passion.
painting and poem by clinock
Aching to be clothed
in warm flesh again,
feeling it tight and smooth
against muscle and bone.
Hating this cold nakedness,
exposed to the core.
Waiting beyond time
for another skin to slide across
this osseous frame,
liquid, soft and trembling,
smelling of sun,
a fitting sensuality
once so tenderly touched
by a lover’s hands.
It is desires such as these
that binds a spirit
to this physical plane
of sweat and body,
this glistening intimacy.
Under the chill September sun
I deadhead the hydrangeas
and geraniums with shining
secateurs.
The withered blossoms fall
into my hand
and soon enough the foliage
will follow, dropping,
brown and wrinkled
onto the palm of earth,
and the garden will become
a murmuration of skeletons
waiting for new growth
to golden on their surfaces.
It is not so easy to face
this bone racked spirit in my night.
Its rattling visage is not pretty
and its pleading cries
come howling through my dreams.
I peer beneath desires
it breathes,
beneath its mask of dying,
into an endless nightmare
of longing,
reaching to be whole again,
refusing to accept
the flaying of time,
the peeling away
of the surfaces of care,
layer by layer
until there is nowhere else to go
except the beauty of the armature
flying free, released.
And you, my haunting,
whipping my heart
with cold filaments of silence.
It hurts, but you are freed now
and covered
by the bleeding veils of love.
mixed media painting and poem by clinock
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.
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