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 *Glance* 48" H X 36" W Acrylic On Canvas Forgotten
I’ve Tried To Store My Memories On A Mental Shelf, But The Past Swallows Itself, Or Fades To Grey, Slips Away, And Leaves Me Holding Onto Today, Just As I should, Which Is Good.
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 Ars Longa, Etc.
I hate To Be Griping, But I’ve Got A Cut On My Finger Caused By Excessive Typing. How Can I achieve Deathless Art When Every Time I start, Before A Paragraph Is Made, I must Apply Another Band-Aid?  Dilemma
Hello Out There. I don’t Know Where It Will End, But I am Accepting The Fact That Facebook, Caught In The Act, Is Not My Friend. Sooner Or Later I must Refuse To Be Mined For Data, Or Allow Myself To Be Used In Devious Ways As Everything I say Is Stored Away. I no Longer Play The Mindless Games Or Seek My Medieval Names, One Click, And I am Tricked, But Gee, It’s Lonesome To Be Solitary Me.  *Woman With White Rose* 70"H X 28" W Oil On Linen Archive
I leave Behind Me A Trail Of Ink, Noting Everything I think, And No Longer Care If It’s Printed Elsewhere. The Glory Is To Fashion A Story To Bring Alive What I derive From All I see And Am And Do, And Offer It To Posterity And You, The Understanding Friend I have Not Met, And Yet, Cannot Forget.  April Bluster
Springs Winds Blow Mighty In New Mexico. I hold My Hat Wherever I go, As They Move Arizona Sand To Texas, Simply To Vex Us. It Shakes The Trees And Scatters Leaves, Pushes My Car At Intersections, Urging Me In Other Directions. Today The Mountain Is Obscured With Dust, And I wait For Summer Calm, As I must.  *Rufino Tamayo* Grrrr
It Takes Considerable Psychic Labor To Hate My Next Door Neighbor. A Barking Canine Can Undermine Good Will And Give Rise To A Desire To Slay The Mutt, Whose Mouth Will Not Shut Regardless Of The Hour. I glower When The Owner Passes By, And Wish To Poison Fido’s Dish, Or Perhaps It’s Keeper Would Be Just As Good, And Clean Up The Neighborhood.  *Blaine Harrington III* Arc
If You Stand Just Here, He Said To Me, Beside This Sycamore Tree, You Will See The Mountain Clear The Morning Mist, Kissed By The Rising Sun. On The Lowland Side, The Day Has Already Begun And We Are An Hour Slow To Feel The Glow. But We Will Triumph With The Sunset, In This Very Park, And They Will Be An Hour In The Dark.  *David Collins, MD* Graduation, Brown University D. April 13, 2009 Recollection
Yesterday Or the day before We walked from the Metropolitan Talking about the show, Over to Madison Avenue Stopping at all the bookstores. You bought me those Slender books on art We made a collection of, Two rare ones, One Matisse, One Modigliani. And on down Madison Past the antique shops And the restaurants and That funny hardware store Which never had What we were looking for. And the stores full of gaud And the crowds pulsing And the traffic churning by, All the way to Thirty-Third Street. All the way holding hands, Only yesterday Or the day before? I only remember It was spring.  Remembrance
Now And Then, I never Know When, I think Of Martha, A School Friend. Her Mama Was A Drunk, And Her Father A Skunk Of The First Water, And Neither Considered The Effect On Their Daughter. What Do I recall? Hardly Anything At All. Martha Was Left Handed And With A Delicate Frown, Wrote Backward With Her Hand Upside Down. She Had Lovers, Which At That Time, Was Considered A Heinous Crime. To My Surprise, She Married One Of These Guys. Later, I learned The Poor Goof Went Up On The Roof To Fix The TV Dish, Was Electrocuted And Fell, Dead As Tinned Fish. Martha Got A Job Modelling Clothes At A Department Store, And I heard No More, But Often I think Of The Girl, And Wish Her Well. Martha, Honey, Wherever You Dwell, Give ‘Em Hell. |
AuthorJeanette Collins Archives
January 2021
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