Month: September 2015

Ain’t it just like the night?

With these last few raptor paintings I have slowed myself down a lot. Putting additional hours into smaller details than I had before. I have enjoyed taking as much time as I can, it has yielded a new quality and depth.

But honestly I am just glad to be sitting on a chair in California drawing birds and I want to draw those moments out as long as I can (no pun intended).

Thank you for having me here to document your birds Earth. And thank you for stopping by to read my nonsense.

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A night in the woods sitting on a tailgate looking up.

Sitting on the tailgate watching the stars emerge from their hiding places in the sky.
Between the branches they come around one after another.
Like disorganized fire ants at a picnic.

I watched their tiny circus act till my eyelids were too heavy to hold up.
My concrete bridges over Fox river eyes.

I slept on the bed liner and woke the morning to a pair of squirrels playing target practice with pine cones.
The first making its mark on the hood of my truck, awakening me with a start.
Only to end in laughter when I saw the guilty parties scurry away.

Some good days begin with laughter.

A poem with stones and rocks in it.

I wanted to write you a note and put it in a bottle.
I got as far as the pencil before the radio turned on and the music played.
There are still songs I hear that you can’t be shaken from.
They take me to a golden sienna morning either long ago or that maybe never happened.
There’s a pitcher of water on the table by the door.
The lyrics in your eyes beckon a smile from under the rock pile that is my days since you left.

It’s different here now. I wouldn’t know how to explain it. Though if I had the chance to talk, I could think of better things to discuss.

Like water, dreams, poems, and maps.
Through the incense of nostalgia and the rosy haze, a truth rolls towards me like a stone wheel.
Slowly grinding.
You live now only in my heart and in the notes of these songs as they make their way through the fog.
And that is all right.

A poem about dinner.

An icebox theory:
I was taking all the ice cube trays out of the freezer and climbing inside.
My hope was to remain frozen till a cure was found for the human condition.
So I bundled up in my winter parka and climbed my way in.
Took a seat on a bag of frozen peas and waited around.

While waiting I went through the pockets of my coat. I hadn’t worn it in years. (There isn’t need for such a coat here in the East Bay).

I found a note from her written years back and it read:
“Goodness gracious it’s alright”.

And I agreed and climbed back out of the freezer and returned the ice cube trays to their proper place. As well as the frozen peas.

“What’s for dinner?”