They Wait For The Roses 2012

They'll sigh into the sky,
For those Spring rains cast a gloom,
To long and way into our wet June,
Summer you do not shine,
As that bright star should always be,
It is the clouds which are shameless,
We miss our suns glow,
All that is alive will know,
They dare mystify all the sweet birds below,
Adhere charcoal to this damp place,
Wild roses should make their way,
Blossoms so red, I cannot hardly bare,
For once upon a sunny day,
Bees which were never just a few,
The perfume of the abundant hues,
Now nootka rose buds wait for their cue,
Maybe we should all remember to forget the spell,
For that long play cries out,
They wait for the roses, tale.

Buttercup Meadows of Manning Park 2012

We just got back from a lovely day in Manning Park and I painted many lovely expressionistic oils of a meadow with thousands of buttercups in full bloom. There was lots of wildflowers in the other meadows and along the hillside but we just had a lunch at the picnic tables nearer to this particular meadow. I'm happy how these paintings looked and so spontaneous and I just squeezed the yellow tube of oil paint directly onto the canvas paper. It's so easy and convenient for quick compositions, rather then having to set up an easel and then anchor the stretch canvas with the wooden dowels. I've naturally enjoyed all the postings on my blog with those very detailed paintings done nearly thirty years ago. I still have dozens and dozens more of them, in that art style I did in those days. They'll all be published eventually and I located another folder of poems and prose I wrote years ago too.

I'm still looking at the other wet buttercup paintings which are still drying. One of them especially looks like many miniature suns and that we haven't seen much of on the West Coast lately. It's rained and was so cold and our garden is very green but no flowers yet. The bumblebees along the Southerly part of our property are feeding on and collecting the pollen from the dandelions today. And the sun has actually made an appearance today but more rain is forecast for this coming week.

Cultus Lake Cottage Garden 2012

Efficacy of the floral bouquet,
Which awaits at madams gate,
Such perfume dares to wonder in aimless praise,
Lilies sweet with vanilla scents,
Our eyes devour such pretty white sights,
Your bell flowers shimmer to no surprise,
I place you divine as the dreams along the grape vines,
Lily of the valley your nemeses,
Worthy with her pretty white dress too!
But it is your perfume that no one mourns,
Which will only love is you!
Snowdrops on their early languid visits,
Stayed those snow filled days,
Sad is when you’ve passed the lavender flowers,
Their anointed fragrant sachets displayed,
Oh, that suns request exchanged,
For the nights are for our moon,
It is us that will stay at our cottage play,
This garden on this day in May I dare say,
Our visit too brief as the butterflies breathe in life to short,
That city so far below in our thoughts,
Merely to sustain what matters we have sought,
Dear cottage garden life we will return and defend,
For the flowers which reply are there for that happy end.
　

What Will Spring Bring 2012?

From these scratchings where the charcoal falls,
Glorious from beneath that alders’ knoll,
A study perhaps to a life,
For she’s the mother and a wife,
Children will never know,
For their games taught so long ago,
It's the luscious song from high,
And from below, our sweet 'hellos',
Sing to us your serenade for the warblers are in tune,
They’ll play no other song,
To an empty stage but not for very long,
What will spring bring?
It is the warmth and rains,
The view transformed, aware for winters pain,
We’ve traveled to this rivers bend,
The sentinel from the middle end,
Along those emerald washes,
They'll quench the charcoals pledge,
Sweet as that rivers sedge,
It will be your silhouette that takes shape,
And motions me back for this visions so great.

Happy Easter Sunday Everyone!

Tempest at Skidegate 2012

A February storm brewed out,
In that delicious Pacific cocktail,
Its oceans cold with waters that devoured this shore,
No one holds those intense winds,
As we hear their passive wails,
They'll lick violently against those cedars and prevail,
Drifts refuse to float no more and beat against the rocks,
Wooden splintered shapes polished by land,
Search the passage within this safe place and shine,
All is known for Haida Gwaii and their land of hope is divine,
Waves crest and the Pacific surges forward,
This storm at Skidegate never overthrows,
But will conquer as its own tempest and wane,
Those Haida poles know of this land and have seen the pain.

Maine Island Duck Family 2011

There had been more before,
The ducklings which play are now in four,
A coyote which lives behind the birch trees,
She’ll hide and hunt using the tidal reeds,
Three of her little pups sun on the trails,
Oh, those dirty sandy colored coats,
Glimmer like the boat sails,
That ocean around with its own drama,
Plays with these marshlands and leaves all to clamor,
Even the clouds drift about and never stay the same,
We will move about and paint and they will lay claim,
The mallards will feed and play and float all day,
Coyote can’t make a meal anymore for they know of her ways,
Their watchful and learned now too scatter with haste,
Where the deeper waters are a safe place,
And I've just scattered these colors the same way,
These expressionistic movements still beautiful I must say.