Consequences of The Solarized Mobile 1995

I would reach,
Deep,
Deep,
Into my being,

Pulling and tucking,
At all the beautiful feelings,
Collected from the mere joy of living,

That furnace in space,
With its heat and light,

Oh,
What energy,

All that solarized force,
Encapsulating this part of the solar system,
Flooding onto every particle created,
And reaching even to this corner,
Of that consequence of immobility,

Cajole me back into the realm of space,
My hands and imagination revealed,
Another painting,

"Could you be real?",

I would like to think so,

As it has become the show,

Another image as real,
As the artist seated,
Or the vegetation thriving,
And all the creatures around surviving,

Just an old car with the sun as a companion,
In this special light of that moment.

A Charcoals Delight 1995

That familiar sound,
Of the sweet scratches of delight,
Falling sometimes towards the earth,
My fingers would grasp another worn down stick,
Permeating the flesh,
With that earth tone pigment,
Those beautiful digits become the tools,
And work in unison,
As the moments proceed,
Another image is realized,
We all know in our hearts where each sketch will go,
More crosshatching and blending,
Tiny indications,
Larger impressions,
A charcoals delight,
I am contented with the results,
Also the muskrat living in the wheel well felt the same.

The Watercolour Ride 1995

A country ride was never a drive,
The fortunate ones stayed alive,

Buckling never became a fact,
Thanks to Heaven we all use that tact,

This image will live again in water detail,
Papers strength and application entail,

I loved everything I saw that day,
Hundreds of different views in May,

Wildflowers and creatures around me a lot,
All us people in this painterly party greet and talk,

When it is time to depart and drive away,
We're so happy our jalopy isn't one from that heyday.

Ghost Trip of the Travelers 1995

That ancient quest,
Of that road traveled,
But not maintained,
Where the breakdowns may occur,
Leaving many a vehicle trapped; and thus forgotten,

Ghost car with its last sputtering and mechanical calamity,
In another century only the living may announce,
It will stall and that is where it will remain,

Our artist club will hike along these trails and discover where to paint,
The calls of the gulls out at the seas edge,
Could be the warnings of the inevitable,
How many have heard those same sea cries,

The mudflats have sometime taken these derelicts on a salty journey,
Dumping them mischievously any which way,
Well those mortals did the same,

Nature gradually recycles and chooses which ones to leave as artifacts,

Metal monuments facing the hikers along those trails,

With those pathways overgrown with the wild asters, fireweed and goldenrod,
And some did good in their own wild, rusty, vehicular, flowerpot arrangements,
Occasionally a crumbling roof buried in the soft ooze of the flats could be seen,

Even those people,
Probably now all spirits; many would like to believe,
Are traveling in that ghost car,
Towards a new plain,
Where they will never breakdown.

Two Thousand And Ten Flowering Lights

In a flash from one year,
Into the next,
The fireworks would strobe dainty flashes of atmosphere,
It was now seconds into Two Thousand And Ten,
Shouting joys from each guest, "Happy New Year!",

The garden with its miniature monuments frozen,
Beautiful abstract forms,

A painting from the night,

With its jet black brilliance,
And hues of dissipating flora,
Will set forth soon,

Even under the snows of this winter,
A glorious year with more flowers,
That will never disappoint the visionaries,

Or the tiny garden fairies.