light (angel)

Doors opened in light.

Light arrowed

to winged promises

of flight.

Floating.

Falling.

Rising.

By this illusion of paint

and light

beacons are ignited.

Old desires,

not yet too rained upon

to catch a spark,

burn, fierce flaming

for my remembered

fallen angel.

They are not all

as they appear to be,

the angelic ones.

Some wear paper wings

easily dissolved by tears and time

or ashed by fires of passion.

Some wear cardboard halos,

pinned carelessly to fragrant hair,

creased and crushed by kisses.

She was not at all

as she appeared to be,

my angel.

Her moonlit votive

melted in the sun

blistering the heart

with burning tongues of wax.

Her skin absolved mine

with scents of white lilies.

Her fingertips traced

ecstatic ascensions to heaven.

Her miraculous eyes,

a mirage of turquoise lakes

in an empty desert,

blinded all seeing

like god at high noon.

Photo and poem by clinock.

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This Gives Us Wings…

I am still talking to my paintings – trying to open a conversation. There is no longer complete silence but the response is hesitant and often unintelligible. The struggle has changed to a dance but I stumble and tread on toes. I trust and honour the process and continue to flow with what is. I found this poem that spoke to me about the tenacity, perseverance and wonder of being human – and for awhile it gave me wings…

WINGS by Miroslav Holub

We have 
a microscopic anatomy 
of the whale 
this 
gives 
Man 
assurance
William Carlos Williams

We have   / a map of the universe / for microbes,

we have / a map of a microbe / for the universe.

we have / a Grand Master of chess / made of electronic circuits.

But above all / we have / the ability

to sort peas, / to cup water in our hands,

to seek / the right screw

under the sofa / for hours

This

gives us

wings.

Photo, of wood carving, on a street in San Miguel De Allende, Mexico, by clinock.