Blog Archives - High Desert Art

High Desert Art

Insurrection

4/27/2021

Suicidal
Self
Deception
Finds
Refuge
In
The
Dulled
Impressions
Of
The
Misinformed,
Who
Sew
The
Rhetoric
Of
Unrest
To
Their
Chest
Like
A
Button
To
A
Coat,
And
Gloat
At
Violence
Now
And
To
Come,
Frightening
Their
Leather
Hearts
When
Caught,
Deluded
Thieves
Who
Ought
To
Know,
To
Save
Your
Worthless
Soul
From
Fear,
A
Gun
Will
Be
Too
Slow.

Refurbishing

4/25/2021

Tomorrow,
Men
Will
Come
To
Replace
The
Studio
Floor.
I May
Have
To
Hide,
Or
Take
My
Work
Outside.
Then
They’ll
Do
The
Foyer
And
The
Hall.
It’s
Plain
To
See
They
Will
Upend
It
All.
My
Bedroom
Is
Stacked
With
Paintings
And
Gear,
But
I’ve
Put
Off
This
Job
For
More
Than
A
Year.
Wish
Me
Luck;
For
The
Next
Few
Days,
I’m
Stuck.

Bait

4/23/2021

Thank
You,
Harper-
Collins,
For
Sort
Of
Calling.
You
Were
Out
There
Twitter
Trawling
And
I Took
Your
Hook.
Please
Read
My
Books
Or
The
Poetry
I Daily
Construct,
And
With
Luck,
My
Fetching
Charm,
And
Not
A
Hint
Of
Meanness,
You’ll
Soon
See
That
I’m
A
Genius.

Sowing

4/21/2021

Several
Years
Ago,
I Scattered
Orange
Poppy
Seeds
Across
The
Street,
Among
The
Rocks.
Time
Went
By,
And
Nothing
Happened.
Then,
Just
Today,
There
They
Are,
Nodding
In
The
Sun,
Proof
That
Hope
Can
Find
Root
And
Delight
Long
After,
Like
Remembered
Laughter.

Oban

4/19/2021

A
Hundred
Pipers
Climb
The
Hill,
Every
Highland
Trill
A
Thrill.
The
Stately
Walk,
On
Parade,
In
An
Ancient
Cascade
Of
Sound,
Marching
Over
Scottish
Ground.
At
Home,
Triumphant
In
The
Sun,
Done
With
Battles
Of
The
Clan,
And
To
A
Man,
Scotland
Blessed,
In
The
Finest
Tartan
Dress.

Sojourning

4/17/2021

We
Lived
In
Florida
For
A
Year
When
I Was
A
Kid,
We
Surely
Did.
Oranges
Grew
On
Our
Front
Yard
Tree,
All
For
Free.
No
One
Ate
Them
But
Me,
And
I Recall
They
Tasted
Of
The
Sea.
Old
Folks
Were
Everywhere,
Inhaling
Salt
Air,
Tanned
To
Leather
In
The
Steamy
Weather,
Each
One
Baking
Like
Biscuits
In
The
Sun.
I Was
Very
Young
And
Whiled
Away
The
Days
And
Soon,
We
Left,
To
Live
Another
Way.

Matrimonium

4/15/2021

My
Mother’s
Family
Of
Sturdy
Sons,
Didn’t
Exactly
Approve
Of
The
Livingston’s,
Whom
They
Knew
Sat
In
Their
Big
House
Writing
Poetry,
While
The
Curtains
Blew
Out
The
Window.
There
You
Have
My
Heritage,
All
Wrapped
Up
In
A
Cross
Current
Marriage.
Perfect
Unions,
I’ve
Found,
Are
A
Complex
Myth
Of
Living
With
A
Member
Of
Another
Troop,
Different
From
A
Persons
Group.
The
Tall,
Strong,
Silent
Ones,
While
Our
Side
Chatters,
Never
Quite
Knowing
What
Really
Matters
To
This
Alien
Other,
Who
Keeps
Mistaking
You
For
His
Mother.

Documentary

4/13/2021

*The New Yorker*

Analysts
Will
Prise
Apart
His
Art
Like
A
Chest
Cavity,
Exposing
How
The
Heart,
Now
Still,
Once
Beat
A
Spill
Of
Velvet
Words,
Forged
In
The
Heady
Thrill
Of
A
Manufactured,
Novelistic
Life.
He
Kept
A
Constant
Wife,
Drank
His
Fill,
Until
With
Age,
He
Shrank
Into
A
Rage
Against
His
Hollow
Shell,
And
Blew
Himself
To
Hell.

Conformity

4/11/2021

*Woman Speaking* 20" H X 16" W Acrylic On Canvas

Just
A
Shadow,
The
In
Between,
The
Marrow
Center,
The
Absolute
Mean,
All,
All,
Seldom
Seen.
The
Inner
Inward
We
All
Gestate,
Then
Almost
Always
Suffocate.
The
Rules
Step
In
Before
The
Soul
Begins,
And
Ends
The
Glimpse
Of
Exactly
What
We
Almost
Knew
And
Then
Forgot.

Analysis

4/9/2021

What
Does
It
Mean,
What
Does
It
Mean,
The
Experts
Ask,
Wholly
Devoted
To
The
Task
Of
Picking
The
Bones
Of
A
Poem
Clean,
Or
Washing
Down
Prose
With
A
Fire
Hose.
No
One
Can
Know
What
The
Writer
Meant,
But
What
They
Said
Becomes
Wise
And
True
For
Me
And
You,
A
Mirror
In
Which
To
See
What
Art
Can
Be,
Supporting
Many
Metaphors,
Like
Shining
Leaves
On
A
Golden
Tree.