Long walks on the beach
Are safe
If you avoid 
Vertical sandstone

Sandstone is unstable
Can fall apart
At any time
And smother you

So much better
To walk on it
After is has weakened
And fallen apart

Tread underfoot
All the little 
Broken pieces
‘Til properly in place

Never mind
The singularity
Of intent or will
N’er a thought to that

All things in its place
The surface smooth
Flat as glass
Flat, perfect glass

Waiting to break
To explode
Revealing the chasm
Under self-exiled steps

Flowers Near Water

Defines the perceptive analysis.
Becomes the label of preference.

And so much has become
This lazy polarization
Of labels

There is power 
In marginalizing
Whether intentionally bigoted
Or by way of “righteous vengeance”

Have a good “place”
There is only darkness
When hatred 
Is the motive

“Flowers Near Water” has lived with me for some five years or so. It hasn’t always looked this way. It started as an 1/8″ plywood board that I gesso coated….then dried. 
Oils were brushed on…then removed, then reapplied. At some point, I may have used a palette knife or two.
The smell of oils is intoxicating, suffocating. I let it dry for a week or two and worked on it some more. Applying, removing, drying. This went on for months.
I made a frame for it. Hung it. But always felt it needed more. On some occasions while I was painting another piece….if my colors were right, I would add more touches to my friend “Flowers Near Water”.
Recently, I noticed that some of the white paint had too much drying agent and is turning yellow. I will return to this piece to freshen it up….to do my best to make it whole. 
Or I could just throw it away.


There’s Bears

“Careful when you go in them woods boy.
There’s bears.”
“Will they kill me?”
“They’ll eat you alive”
“Should I run?”
“No, that provokes ’em.”
“Can they climb trees?”
“Can I shoot ’em?”
“No guns.”
“So, why are we doing this?”
“It’ll be fun. You’ll see.”

Of Mountains and Islands

Strength to strength
Mountain crumbles slowly
Holding fast
Against the torrents
Of one-thousand millennium

Brother had lost all confidence
So many summers ago
Splitting off
In a rage so violent
The chasm too wide to traverse

All life rushes headlong
Into their abyss
Revealing the turbulence
Of a long held grudge

Chained to the wrist
Of its keeper
The other hand
Clenched too tight
With keys of redemption

I have no idea where this came from….but I do know that there are some things that will twist my life unless I remove their power and just set them free.

November’s Ambiance

Summer was squarely bumped
Unusual here in the southland
She was marked cool and wet
And in complete dark, freezing

It was a good month
With cloud and shadow
Displays of light and color

Here in this place of respite
Inspiration moves the hands
Daydreams control the mind

A few photos from November’s meditations. Includes a simple dark adagio.

A Little Rain Must Fall

Older than many I am.
So Cal man.

When I was ten years old
I wrote a poem about a “windy day”.
My teacher was impressed.
She was so beautiful.

So I wrote an entire book of poems.
Mostly about rain and butterflies and such.

We never did marry.

Thought about that today.
It’s raining outside.
And California kids celebrate.
We walk right into it and just get wet.

Thirty-something’s make snarky remarks
When the old man steps into the falling clouds.
Does he have no reasoning?

Pretty good chance I don’t.
Care much about reason.
When a bit of wet.
Can make me ten again.

’67 was a pretty good year