"armchair psychology'

For some damn reason that finally

I don’t want to understand,

it took me 4 decades of adult life

to learn how to procure an easy chair

 

for my living room and I can tell you

for a fact that those soft and simpleton

gods of COMFORT and EASE never

loafed in a more grateful home.

Winter's Rose

Sunrise West of Otay Mtn

'MALE AND FEMALE'

'Dames and Din'

'Rosebud' original painting-- 36"x30" acrylic on canvas

Rose Who's Beginning to Think It's a Rose

"Rosebuds" new paintings 30"x36" acrylic on canvas

the rose who thought it was a strawberry

the rose who thought it was an owl....

AN EVENING, SITTING

 "He knows that all paths are impossible and thus he walks them calmly in the night.”  Federico Garcia Lorca on ‘the poet’

 

The smell of books in a public library contains infinities, these well ordered shelves call my name in a seductive whispering of words within words within houses of secrets.

That feeling returns unbidden when aloneness and a moody half-dark basement collude to bring me somewhere strange yet also almost known like a home from another life.

Wind rustles tree leaves outside my upstairs window in a chilled November night. The street outside is quiet and waits like a maiden emptied for her meandering man.

Where is fertility to be found asked the barren merchant? Not in crumpled money nor in tomorrow’s schoolbook promise. We must look lightly into scary darkness, sense the moist breath of foreign artists there. See first for ourselves, then others shall be included surely.

They speak in unknown colors, curved sounds and barely ascending fragrances. Listen with your secret ears.  Skin can sense the touch of invisibilities before summer’s tallest corn is tasted by hillside’s unshorn sheep who linger on and on past the softest dusk.

Can you allow the world to languish, to linger in such perfect slowness? Perhaps not knowing is the clearest path to understanding….’Perhaps’ may be the finest word. Perhaps.

'blue blew in on a lazy grey day'

'When She Shuffles'

When she shuffles into

your church, your bar,

 

your school or café

today with unkempt

 

greasy hair and 

ancient smells

so stiff and thick

 

they shock and sting 

your offended

upturned nose --

 

Will you gaze into her

crusted eyes and see

 

yourself reflected there

hungry and all alone,

 

or will you thank your

stars above or your

special pseudo-god

 

for your job, your car

and healthy kids,

 

your successful friends

and well-stocked,

heated home,

 

as you falsely

buy what you

tell yourself

 

that it's ok

to turn

away?

"LIFE, DOWN UNDER"

"THE GYPSY AND IRISH RAIN"

walking near home....I am lucky enough to walk only minutes to be in this silent, windswept, solace of nature

"la gitana, la virgen, la musica!"