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.

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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

February 18, 2011 Sunday Whirl #44

Far From Home

I nestle into my seat

Hear the whistle blow

Toss and turn — restless

Anxious for the destination

The scorched plains of the desert

Follow the shadowy canyons

Sprinkled with seeps

The landscape appears smudgy

As the heat rises

Base camp for ghosts

The blinding sun light

Creates bizarre territory

Balance hard to find

And hard to know the core

Sores appear on heels and ankles

But still I pull up boot straps

Alone in the desert

Far from home