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 *Angel 4* Acrylic On Canvas 36" H X 24" W Ambition
Don’t Says Won’t, Can’t Warns Shan’t. Will, Vows Thrill, Must, Or Turn To Dust. No Gain Cries Brain, Please Start Weeps Heart, As Once Again, I try To Fly.
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 *Profile 3* Acrylic On Canvas 30" H X 24" W Desire
I love To Look At Him, His Figure Trim, His Stride Long. His Voice A Song, He Seems To Shine, But He Is Not Mine. He Is Quite Tall, His Clothes Put Me In Thrall, His Eyes Are True Blue, His Hair Is Fair. In The Night I call, But My Voice Is Too Small. Only For Him I pine, Even Though He Is Not Mine. Were He In My Reach, I would Eat Him Like A Ripe Peach, Drink Him Like Wine In A Crystal Glass, Swallow Him Like Star Shine. Alas, He Is Not Mine.  Late June
Hot And Dry Under A Bleached Denim Sky. Sparrows Shelter Under The Narrow Mimosa Leaves, While We Swelter And The Willow Grieves The Untimely Lack Of Rain, Waiting For Moisture To Come Again.  Draft Horse
Weary To The Bone, Attempting To Hone Night And Day A MS Of 74K. My Editor Is Sharp Of Eye And Writing Tool, And I’m An Ungrammatical Fool. My Back Is Tired From Perching, Like Cratchit, On My Stool. As I ponder Dickens, Master Of His Art And Hero To Me, Far Better At The Game, To My Literary Shame, Than I’ll Ever Be. Write On, As It’s Said, Until It’s Fit To Be Read.  Genocide
“We Have An Obligation As A Nation”, Say The Soulless Republicans, “To Shut Our Door”, So They Jail Helpless Infants And The Frail Poor. It Is A Heinous, Immoral Sin To Make This Country Nazi Berlin, Close The Border By Executive Order And Open The Gate To Such Evil Hate. You Know What You Must Do. For Better Or Worse, Remove This Curse, And Vote Blue. Lift Your Voice, It’s Your Sacred Choice.  Maintenance 101
Have Been Repairing A Hole In The Wall Of My Master Bath That Went Right Through To The Lathe. The Dumb Ass Former Owner Gave It A Pass, Hung A Heavy Mirror Over The Spot, And Guess What? I tried To Replace It, And Lo, Was Left To Face A Pit Deeper Than Hell. Oh, Well. I’ve Learned To Tackle Wallboard Patches, Sanding Blocks And Lovely Spackle.  *Anamarija Obradovic* The Suicide
So, You Have Elected Death, And Quenched Your Own Breath. Friends Mourn, But Not Me, I cannot See The Pity For The Shame You Have Brought Upon Your Name. You Had Riches And Sweet Fame, Love And Glory And A Hard Won Story, But You Pouted And Doubted The Worth Of This Earth, And Fool, Judged It Cruel. As The Poet Said, “Thou Hadst Thy Task, And Laidst It By”. Selfish To The End, You Chose To Die, And I, For One, Refuse To Cry. *Quote from Edna St. Vincent Millay*  *Warren Keating* Shower
Rain At Last, Steady And Slow, To Perhaps Coax My Lazy Brown Grass To Grow, And Nourish My Corner Of New Mexico, Stuck For Months In A Desert Drought, With Scant Hope To Climb Out. Now The Wind Has Changed, The Clouds Have Rearranged, And Sweet Moisture Has Come To Call, In A Welcome, Misty Fall.  Lit-Ra-Ture
I love To Edit. My Manuscript Improves Each Time I’ve Read It And Fixed What Wasn’t Clear. I don’t Care If It Takes All Year. Satisfied At Last, Objections And Corrections Passed, I send It Off With Loving Hope, Sorry It’s Gone, And After An Eon, Receive A Resounding “Nope”. I sigh, Wipe A Tear From My Eye, And Begin Again.  Pop Cycle
My Neighbor Has A Guest Who Wears A Harley Davidson Emblem On Her Imposing Chest. In The Back Of Her Black Pickup Truck Is Lashed A Massive Bike She Must Like, All Gleaming Chrome, Which She Has Carried From Some Far Off Home. Myself, I cannot Think Why Anyone Would Put Their Body On The Brink, Goad Fate And Ride That Monster Straight Toward Hell, But Well, She Has To Justify Such Senseless Expense, Go Out On The Road And Try To Die, And Never Wonder Why. |
AuthorJeanette Collins Archives
January 2020
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