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 Nature
Abhors A Vacuum, And So Do I. Combing Long Hair From The Carpet, Moping Flour From The Floor, And I Must Dust. Each Task Brings More Yet, Filling The Trash With Crumbs Of Regret That Housework Is Such A Bore.
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 *Spirit Of Water* 36" H X 30" W Oil On Linen The
Weatherman Promises Local Rain, And Every Day, He Says It Again. Hard Rain Falls To The North And The East, The Swollen River Rushes Past, A Raging Beast, But All We Get Is The Very Least Monsoon Rain, And It’s Hard To Explain. It’s Hot, The Humidity’s High, The Sky Rolls Blankly By, The Grass Is Bone Dry And So Am I, In This Parched July.  An
Addled Woman Broke Into My Day To Say God Saved The ‘Chosen One’, But Let’s School Children Be Killed According His Will. For Shame, To Use Your God’s Name To Justify Their Death With Religion’s Call To Explain All. Not His Time, You Insist? I Resist! Not Yet Time To Stop The Liar’s Slime Of Hate, And Leave The Gate Of His Moral Sin Open Wide? No, Save The Children From The Gun, And Let The Evil One Be Done. Your God Has No Plan To Save This Man, And Sacrifice The Child. It Is Too Cruel, And To Spread Such Hollow Dogma, You Are A Fool.  Miss
Peabody Sleeps At My Feet While I Eat Lunch, And Dreams. She Makes Nursing Sounds, Grinds Her Teeth, Moves Her Feet, And Her Whole Body Shakes Until Abruptly, She Wakes. I Wonder Where She Goes, Chasing Her Foes, And What She Does When Wild And Free, But She Never Tells Me.  *Raised Copper Figure Mounted On Rosewood* 14" High Memory,
With It’s Tricks, Chooses A Point And Fixes There, To Blindly Share Remembered Grief And Pain, To Once Again Bring Clear Everything Held Dear. I Watch The Darkness Fade, Recalling The Mistakes I Made, But Slowly Rise Above To Savor All Those I Loved, And Calmly Rest Among The Best Of Life’s Parade, Both Light And Shade.  I Find
No Joy In This Holiday, While Our Freedom’s Slip Away As Cruel Men Strip Bare What The Founders Had To Say, Care Only For Money, And The Rancid Flower Of Stolen Power. I Hear Ignorant Mobs Of Rabble Cheer While Evil Tyrants Babble. Raise Up Your Hand, Take A Stand To Save This Land, Or Be Enslaved.  If
It Happens You Feel Heartsick, Playing A Little Chopin Will Do The Trick, Take You Back A Century Of Years And Quell Your Useless Tears. Exquisite Notes Fall Like Kisses, And The Magic Lingers On In Every Song, Will Right Every Wrong And Calm All Fear, If You Only Stop, And Listen To Hear. |
AuthorJeanette Collins Archives
August 2024
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