High Desert Art
  • Jeanette Collins
  • Page I Painting
  • Page II Sculpture
  • Words...

Encore

5/30/2017

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Picture
*Spinditty*
Encore

I wonder
If
Cool
Dudes
Of
Yesteryear
Are
Getting
Paid
For
Songs
Played
Backing
Commercials
For
Trash
No 
One
Should
Buy?
Who
Gives
Permission
And
Why?
Who
Gets
The
Bread
When
Artists
Are
Dead?
Somebody
Is
Collecting
Cash
For
Sixteen
Bars
Of
A
Decades
Old
Smash,
To
Sell
Beer
And
Cars.
The
Greats
Are
Gone,
But
Rock 
On,
I hear
Them
Every
Moonlit
Night,
Playing
It
All 
Just
Right
For
Free,
With
No
Advertising
Fee.
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Sundown

5/28/2017

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Picture
*Journey To Madrid* 20" H X 32" W Oil On Linen
Sundown

As
The
Day
Grows
Old,
The
Grassland
Range
Will
Change
From
Green
To
Gold.
The
Sluggish
River
Will
Quiver
From
Noonday
Brown
Hue
And
Become
Indigo
Blue.
The
Circling
Hawk
Will
Cease
Its
Restless
Flight
And
Shelter
For
The
Night
In
A
Mountain
Crease,
Wings
Furled,
To
Guard
The
Shadowed
Desert
World.
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En Garde

5/26/2017

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Picture
En Garde

Just 
So
You 
Know,
I rebuke
My
Enemy, 
The
Local
Fat
Orange
Cat,
Which
Invades
My
Yard
For
Its
Daily
Shat,
Then
Hides
Beneath
The
Wax
Privet
And
When
A
Song
Bird
Comes,
Attacks.
I Dislike
This
Ambush
Immensely,
And
Hope
Intensely
A
Braver
Soul
Puts
A
Little
Something
In
A
Bowl, 
Arsenic
Would
Do,
And
Don’t
Trouble
Me
With
Pious
Words
Of
Oh,
Poor
Kitty.
Cleaning
Up
Dead
Birds
And
Cat
Turds
Ain’t
Pretty.
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Vision

5/24/2017

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Picture
*WAR* 36 " H X 30" W Oil On Linen
Vision
 
Look
There,
Behind
The
Mountain
Crest
The
Rising
Sun
Is
Doing
Its
Best
To
Illuminate
This
Land
That
Waits
For
Light,
When
Deeds
Of
Man
Bring
Endless
Night,
With
Bloody
War
On
Every
Shore.
Come,
Mighty
Orb,
Give
Human
Warmth
Cruel
Man
Must
Absorb,
Until
Hope
Invades
All
You
See,
As
Surely
The
World
Was
Meant
To
Be.
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Die Zauberflöte

5/22/2017

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Picture
*Mozart*
Die Zauberflöte

The 
Opera
Singer, 
In 
A 
Silken
Tent
Of
Teal,
Hits 
Notes
So 
High,
She 
Seems
Unreal.
She
Moves
Her
Considerable
Heft
Six
Inches
To 
The
Left,
And
Belts
Out
An
F
Flat
Nurtured
In 
The
Depths
Of
Fat,
And
A
Trill
Of 
High
C’s
That
Brings
The
Conductor
To 
His 
Knees.
The
Music 
Swells
And
She 
Rings
Coloratura
Bells
As
She
Sings
Mozart’s
Dreams
Caged
In
Art,
And
Steals
My
Heart. 



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Musicale

5/20/2017

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Picture
*Michael Cheval*
Musicale

I confess
I’m
Thoroughly
Bored
By
The
Harpsicord.
It
Doesn’t
Play,
It
Plucks
A
Tinny
Tune
In
A
Hollow
Boom,
And
I retreat
From
The
Room
As
It
Sprinkles
Metallic
Tinkles.
The
Piano
Is
The
Way
To
Go,
You
Must
Agree,
Emitting
Pleasure
With
Every
Key, 
And
I rejoice
In
Its
Mellow
Voice.
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Passing Through

5/18/2017

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Picture
*Elizabeth Blaylock*
Passing Through

Rain 
Today.
A 
Stately
Robin
Wheels
In
From
The
West,
Lands
And
Takes
A
Rest.
In
Feathered
Tailcoat
And
Rouge
Velvet
Vest,
He
Is
Formally
Dressed,
But
With
No
Umbrella,
Is
A
Very
Wet
Fella.
He
Hops
To
The
Trumpet
Vine,
Spilling
Silver
Drops
In
A
Dangerous
Leafy 
Sway, 
And
Flies
Away. 
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Reverie

5/16/2017

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Picture
*In A Mirror* 40" H X 30" W Acrylic On Canvas
Reverie

Ever
Get
The
Notion
To 
Cross
Time’s
Ocean,
And
Be
Somebody
New?
I do.
I could
Stand
To
Be
A
Duchess
On 
The
Arm
Of
A 
Dashing
Man.
A
Duke,
No
Less,
Would
Do,
Or
A
Handsome
Prince
Or
Two.
Not
Too
Big
A
Task,
You
Know,
Not
Too
Much
To
Ask,
Although,
Royal
Chaps
Are
All
Too
Few,
And
I have
Other
Things
To
Do.
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Epitaph

5/14/2017

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Picture
Epitaph

Those 
Hills
You 
See,
Once
Belonged
To
Me,
Every
Rock,
And
Every
Tree.
In
Truth,
In
Youth,
It
Was
All
Mine, 
Valley
To
Incline,
Rock
To
Gravel.
But
Knitted
Time
Did
Unravel,
And
Despite
My
Overarching
Pride, 
I died.
Now,
Shapeless
And
Gaunt,
I haunt
The
Life
I failed
To
Cherish,
Until
I perished.
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Segue

5/12/2017

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Picture
Segue

I used
To
Be
Taller, 
And
My
Clothes
Were
Smaller.
As
Well,
I fear
I’ve
Begun
To
Shrink,
Until
I stop
To
Think.
What
Do
I care
If
Handsome
Men
No
Longer
Stare?
What
Folks
See
Isn’t
Exactly
Me,
But
A
Hologram
Of
A
Close
Facsimile.
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