Demented Confessions 5 – The Key

The Key

The Key is offered.

The Angel of Paradox

reveals the riddle.

~~~~~~~

All I can confess

is I cannot find the lock

and so remain blind.

~~~~~~~

The Key is offered,

but I’m too used to being

the beyond belief.

~~~~~~~~

Art and Haiku by clinock.

The Key. 8″ x 8″ (20.32 x 20.32 cm). Mixed media relief in cradled panel.

Demented Confessions 3 – The Red Stool

The Red Stool

Lonely child you were,

is it too late to be your friend?

Selfish child you were,

always wanting what you could not have,

red ball, red stool.

I give them to you today.

 

Pretty child you were,

transformed into an old man now.

Is it too late to fold you into me

and love you for who we are

and who we were

and who we will be?

 

I confess I abandoned you,

I was out of my mind and

you were lost in the mazes of my heart.

I confess I believed

I could walk the years

without you.

 

Art and poem by clinock.

The Red Stool. 10″ x 8″ (25.4 x 20.32 cm). Mixed media relief in cradled panel.

 

October’s face.

October's faceOctober’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.

The 100 # 99 – going

going

This is the original image of #1 of ‘The 100series. Sprayed onto a particularly uninspiring example of city architecture in East Vancouver this single word “going” attracted me because of its carefully inscribed Grade 6 style of writing, so different from most urban wall graffiti. Its simple one word power of mystery, poetic evocation and pathos enchanted me.

I considered the obvious, that this was the beginning so it should also be the end. However, I am placing it at #99,  just before the cycle finishes, because I need to contradict the obvious.

going-gone2_2_2

I have made some changes to the image and use it here as the penultimate #99. I cropped and added text to the photo creating a poem of sorts, or perhaps more realistically, a primitive chant, of leaving, of departure…The illuminated ‘One’ was unintentional but when it happened it gave me pause…despite our going and separation we are still one, always one, here together…

going gone

going gone

going

going going

gone

going gone

gone going

gone going

gone

going going

gone.

the song of the sailor raising the sails,

the drums of the warriors leaving forever,

the pounding heart of the  refugee,

the hurt voice of lovers

walking away,

the boots of the restless

embracing the highway,

the cry of the imprisoned

as iron doors crash close,

the breath of the dying

on their final beds of light,

time, seasons, love,

friendships,

life.

Photo and poem by clinock.

Credit and thanks to the unknown street writer.

Time

cap dam 1_2

Time will not be tamed

by tidy boxes

on calendars and screens,

Roman numerals on wrists

or New Year countdowns.

 

Time drowns us

like a broken dam,

steals our breath

like a full moon ocean

in a raging storm.

 

Time is a tsunami,

burial at sea,

waters of the womb,

Noah’s flood.

a dripping tap.

 

Time is a rushing river

in which we are reflected

briefly, like a star,

a flight of geese,

a falling leaf.

 

Photo and poem by clinock.

Photo: Cleveland Dam, North Vancouver.

Broken

Broken. 18" x 22". graphite, conte & charcoal on paper. (Dwg #28)

broken in the rain,

repair is complicated

and plans misplaced.

 

all parts are fallen,

sanguine and separated,

vulnerable to rust.

 

solitary fragments

wait for the miracle

of reattachment.

 

magic craves time,

sacrifice and surrender

to reanimate

this static wreckage

that still pulsates with dreaming,

and magic must be fed.

 

drawing and poem by clinock.

Ese’s Shoot and Quote Challenge – ‘Beginning’

time may not be all

“What we call the beginning is often the end.

 And to make an end is to make a beginning.

 The end is where we start from.”

T.S. Eliot.

This is my response to Ese’s new weekly challenge. You can find it at:

http://esengasvoice.wordpress.com/2013/08/18/eses-weekly-shoot-quote-challenge/

photo and poem by clinock. (#83 in my ‘The 100’ series)