June 1, 2013 Sunday Whirl #111 Deep in the Bones/Prompt: http://mindlovemisery.wordpress.com

Sunday Whirl  #111

vault, halls, swirl, crave, throat, wind, limbs, nimble, prairie, rapture, train, each

SAM_0526

Deep in the Bones
You have raided the vault
For the personal/universal
A plethora of images
Memory swirls with time
Deck the halls

Breath caught in throat
Wind knocked from lungs
Limbs useless
Like an insect
Trapped in your web
Skillfully woven

A magician
A wizard
A seer
Nimble in your ability
To explore past and present
Piece together
What is visible
Then imperceptible
Autobiographical/pandemic

Perhaps a surgeon
Who opens the viewer
And draws out from the bone
What is not known
Or consciously remembered

Ride the train
Across open prairie
Each image fading
As it appears

The viewer
Craves to know
What is behind each image
Why was it chosen
What is this about

Is in rapture
As he fills in the blanks
Tells his story
Minds his own memory
The story of man
Hidden deep in the bones

Note: Yesterday after a long day in the studio. The sun still shining, the wind howling like a banshie, I found in the mailbox, and catalogue from Glen Skien, about his show Mytho-poetic. His work is stunning. And I want you to know about him.  A rare and authentic artist! He has a blog:http://silentparrotpress.blogspot.com/2013/05/mytho-poetic-catalogue.html You can google Glen Skien for images.

________________________________

th-2

http://mindlovemisery.wordpress.com

The Yellow Flowerpot

I lie on my back

Curled into the bottom

Of the yellow flower pot

How long have I been lying here

I cannot say

As my brain quit

The minute I died

And left the scene

My body dried

I lie upside down in

A yellow flower pot

When living

I lead a secret life

Stealth was my trade

So good at my job

No one noticed

When I dropped

Into the pot

And died

Without a sound

Lying on my back

Curled in the bottom

Of the yellow flower pot

September 22, 2012 Sunday Whirl Wordle #75

(The mountains south of Taos, NM)

Burn Site
It is winter
I sort through the ashes of my life
Remember the storms past
And yet…I remain

All is quiet
Waiting with expectation
Each day a short climb
Bundles of ideas in every corner
Thunderbolts light the landscape in all directions

You bring joy to me
Trapped in the desert
Where all is dry, nothing damp
We are but husks of our former selves
Rustle like dry stalks in the corn fields
Sounds heard in hot summer wind
I might be shook up by this thought
Were it not true

Sunday August 19, 2012 Sunday Whirl #70

Sunday Whirl

Memory of Winter’s Cold Breath
The morning breaks
Like a crystal goblet
Shattering to the floor
You are there
On the tip of dreams

The world of the mesa is tinted
A vivid pink by early morning light
Tiny sparkles glitter
Gently nick memory bubble

Drifts of snow from years past
Split past and present
The tide rises
Waves of memory
Wash over me
Crash to the shore

There is nothing to be fixed
Tinny sounds of church bells
In faraway distance
Prelude to coming of
Winter’s cold breath
Insidious down my jacket
Freezing limbs
Which never seem to wake