High Desert Art
  • Jeanette Collins
  • Page I Painting
  • Page II Sculpture
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Passerby

1/31/2018

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Picture
Passerby

In
The
Late
Afternoon,
She
Walks
Past
My
Gate
And
Into
The
Falling
Sun.
My
Chores
Are
Done,
But
She
Is
Going
To
Work,
Where
She
Is
A
Server
Or
A
Clerk.
It
Seems
A
Pity
That
To
Earn
Her
Pay,
She
Labors 
Into
The
Night,
Missing
Twilight
And
The
Peace
Of
Rest
Hard
Won,
When
The
Day
Is
Gone.
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Avoirdupois

1/29/2018

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Picture
Avoirdupois

I don’t
Care
To
Diet,
But
I’m
Gonna
Have
To
Try
It,
Since
I’ve
Developed
A
Complete
And
Utter
Dependency
On
Peanut
Butter.
I also
Must
Cut
To
Zero
The
Beguiling
Dorito.
My
Clothes
Fit,
But
That
Isn’t
It,
The
Number
On
The
Bathroom
Scale
Suggests
I am
A
Whale.
I’ll
Get
My
Chubby
Train
Back
On
The
Tracks,
But 
In
The
Meantime, 
Hide
Those
Snacks.




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Alienated

1/27/2018

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Picture
Alienated

I’m
Thinking
Of
Immigrating
To
Mars,
That
Fine
Resort
Beyond
The
Stars.
I would
Bask
In
The
Sun
All
Day,
Absorbing
Every
Cosmic
Ray
Until
I turned
Slightly
Grey.
But
I can
Say
On
Mars
There
Is
No
Crime,
No
War,
No
Strife,
And
I could
Lead
The
Jolly
Life
For
All
It’s
Worth,
Far
From
Troubled
Earth,
Alone
In
The
Asteroid
Zone.



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Over And Out

1/25/2018

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Picture
Over And Out

Watching
The
Nightly
News
Can
Leave
A
Nasty
Bruise,
Raise
A
Welt
By
Pain
Felt
As
Innocent
Souls
Get
A
Rotten
Deal,
And
How
Much
Brazen
Politicians
Steal.
Needs
Are
Massive,
But
Government
Is
Passive.
All
This
Is
Presented
By
Folks
Who
Sound
Obsessively
Demented.
I strive
To
Keep
It
All
In
Check,
Or
Else
Become
A
Hopeless
Wreck.




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Departed

1/23/2018

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Picture
*Douglas Prince* Entangled Man
Departed

Never
A
Man
Secure
In
Himself,
Abruptly,
He
Was
On
The
Shelf.
No
One
Read
His
Lengthy
Books,
And
On
The
Street
There
Were
No 
Longer
Furtive
Looks,
With
Whispers
Of
“It’s
Him,
It’s 
Him”.
Fame
Is
Thin,
And
A
Sucker’s
Game.
Chances
Are,
Even
If
You
Reach
The
Top,
In
Only
Moments,
It
All
Can
Stop.
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The Writer's Life

1/21/2018

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Picture
*August Macke* Woman Writing
The Writer’s Life

I keep
Rejection
Letters
In
A
File.
End
To
End,
They
Might
Span
A
Quarter
Mile.
They
Usually
Complain
Of
My
POV,
Which
Is
A
Mystery
To
Me.
I read
My
Stuff
Through
And
Find
Nothing
More
I care
To
Do.
I don’t
Seem
To
Fit
The
Accepted
Norm, 
Hence, 
The
Rejection 
Form,
Printed
Out
By
The
Score
And
Sent
Not
Just
To
Me,
But
Thousands
More.
I go
Right
On,
Only 
Slightly
Dented,
With 
The
Stories
I’ve
Fomented.
I’m
Not
Hemingway,
But
Then, 
I think
With
Wicked
Glee, 
By
The
End,
Neither
Was
He.
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Antares

1/19/2018

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Picture
Antares

After
You
Got
All
Sparkly,
Ready
For
The
Night,
Glittering
Bright,
A
Gaseous
Cloud
Came, 
Dimmed
Your
Light,
Then
Spun
You
Away,
Only
An
Insignificant
Star,
Far,
Far,
Into
The
Milky
Way,
To
Be
Clearly
Seen,
Even
At
Midday,
Unmindful
Of
What
Astronomers
Say.



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Antares

1/19/2018

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Picture
Antares

After
You
Got
All
Sparkly,
Ready
For
The
Night,
Glittering
Bright,
A
Gaseous
Cloud
Came, 
Dimmed
Your
Light,
Then
Spun
You
Away,
Only
An
Insignificant
Star,
Far,
Far,
Into
The
Milky
Way,
To
Be
Clearly
Seen,
Even
At
Midday,
Unmindful
Of
What
Astronomers
Say.



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January Blues

1/17/2018

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Picture
*The Good Soldier* 36" H X 30" W Oil On Linen
January Blues

When 
The
Sun
Doesn’t
Shine,
This
Desert
House
Of
Mine
Sinks
Into
Gloom,
And
I freeze
In
Every
Room.
I well
Know
Half
The
Nation
Is
Deep
In
Snow,
But
It’s
A
Vexation,
And
I don’t
Feel
Fully
Alive
When
It’s
Cold 
And
Dark
By
Five.
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Dark Rose

1/15/2018

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Picture
Dark Rose
 
I don’t
Find
Much
To
Say
On
This
Holiday,
When
We
Try
To
Remember
MLK.
Poor
Devil,
Murdered
In
The
South,
Despised
For
The
Honest
Words
In
His
Mouth,
And
Because
He
Did
Not
Stand
Back,
His
Goodness
Denied,
Since
He
Was
Black.
Struck
Dead
Before
He
Won
The
Fight
To
Make
Matters
Right,
Gunned
Down
By
Tools
Of
Hateful
Fools
Who
Were
White.
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