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 *Landscape* 20"H X 24" W Oil On Linen Today,
The Sky Is A Grey Shag Carpet Of Mountain Mist, Snow Kissed. Clouds Roll And Reshape To Fill The Shifting Hills And Valleys Of Drifting Air, Free Floating, Frosty, Able To Roam Anywhere.
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 *Tamara De Lempicka* Once,
I Drove As Fast As I Could Go, Staying Ahead Of New York Snow, To San Francisco, In A Fine Mercedes 200D, To Learn Who I Might Be Living Beside Another Sea. Out There, The Whole Country At My Back, It Was Easy To Lose Track, And After Lingering Through Several Seasons, For A Number Of Reasons, I Drove Back.  *Torso* Cast Bronze 3" H I Have
A Suit Of Armor That I Wear. Folks Can’t See It, But It’s There. I’m Shielded From Attack Front And Back, Protected From Daunting Interactions With Indifferent Factions Apt To Take Drastic Actions. My Verbal Sword At The Ready, I Stand Steady And Hold My Ground, Even If I’m Turned Down.  Has
Anybody Seen The Shirt Of This Handsome Holiday Flirt, Coming With His Bag Of Tricks To Gift You With A Christmas Fix? He’s Parked His Sleigh, Allowing Ample Time To Play And Grant Your Every Yuletide Wish, All For Milk And Cookies On A Dish.  It
Appears That Again This Year I Won’t Reach That Convenient Beach Where, All Tasks Done, I Can Lounge In The Sun, Not Pursed By Creeping Debt And Viral Disease, Totally At My Ease. Ah, Well, Life Is Hell, But I’ll Take My Share, Carrying My Load Of Human Care, There Will Be Rest Ahead Somewhere.  It
Occurs To Me Almost Every Day, That I Have Nothing More To Say. I Think Of Turning Away From Words Everybody Has Heard And Go Back To Art, To Speak My Heart. Paint Is Silent And Pliable, Always Reliable, Never Turns Down My Little Song, Or Tells Me My Work Is Wrong, Has No Objection To My Style, No Rejection, No Editor With A Form Letter Shooing Me Away. I Go On With My Little Shout, Trying To Work It Out In Prose, And Frequently, Bumping My Nose.  Uh-oh.
Not Feeling Right? Hair A Mess, Shoes Too Tight? Mouth Gone Dry, Watery Eye, Tricky Knee, Broken Nail? Well, What The Hell. How To Take It, Twist And Shake It One More Time, And Make The Whole Thing Rhyme.  *Georg Achen* Eventually,
She Came To Feel Nothing Was Quite Real, Her Quiet Wish A Crazed Dish, Empty As She Waits, Anxiously Abiding, Her Heart In Hiding. The Ordinary Eats Her Days, Waiting, Anticipating Some Wondrous, Sparkling Prince Will Surely Come To Take Her To Wife, And Save Her From This Humdrum Life.  The
Light Dies Out Of The Day And Work Is Once More Put Away. December Nights Are Long, The Planets Coldly Strung Among The Winking Stars. A Moon Of Ice And Stealthy Mars Contrive To Keep It All Aligned And Until Morning, Guard This Little Life Of Mine.  *White Horse Mesa* 24" H X 30" W Oil On Linen Sunstruck,
Sliced By Shadow, Chiseled, Carved Into Crevices And Broken Shards, A Dorsal Fin Of Earth In Constant Movement Undetected As The Planet Spins, Hovers And Glides Through Watery Space, Divides Infinity In Two, And Hides It All From View. |
AuthorJeanette Collins Archives
August 2024
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