By: Mary Bone Art Is Rest A model rests on a draped cloth,as artists capture her form on paper.Lights and shadows appearusing charcoal to shade.Tendons are stretched in movement,as blue veins are highlightedwith light pastels. Poetry Is Restful Our minds…
By: Jim Bates Mourning Dove cooingSweet sure sign of early springCalming to the soul. Briskly blowing windWaves lapping along the shoreSpecial serenade. Bitter blowing windIce and snow pelting windowsSpring stepping backward. First day of AprilLight fluffy snowflakes fallingSuch a fickle…
By: James Aitchison Take refuge in theinner self, the pure heartof your being.This is the storehouseof your soul, where thevoice speaks in the coreof the subconscious.Here are all your life’sactions and emotions,the hopes and the goodness,the self that has livedall…
By: Bruce Levine Picasso Good artists borrow Great artists steal A Picasso quote I look in the mirror I see myself And yet I paint With Picasso strokes Picasso lines Picasso designs Am I possessed By Picasso? Do I have…
By: James Aitchison A flute playsin the snowas the soulexaminesthe self,each noteresonatingin the eternalsilence,and the fibresof truth are woveninto a clothof gold.
By: Cynthia Pitman to the Harmeling sisters, Fran and Lilah My little sister has the Vision.Born breach at midnight,she was guided into the worldby the gnarled handsof the old shaman-midwife.When my sister wouldn’t stop crying,the shaman spun a spelland gave…
By: John Ziegler The Black Strap We snitched coins from the Japanese lacquer trayon father’s dresser, cigarettes from mother’s pocketbook. Manners were taught by father. No elbows on the dinner table.No singing.Robert hummed. No humming. Don’t talk with your mouth…
By: Jim Bates White swans on the wingFlying over frozen lakesSpring so elusive. Spring creeping slowlyPlants lie in fallow slumberWaiting to burst forth. Swamps coming aliveBirds flocking chirping madlyGulls soaring overhead. Another day of sunCloudless sky over open lakeWild geese…
By: James Aitchison Why keep the mindshadowed and suppressed?Plunge truth’s razor edgeinto the darkest corners.Cut the threads which tiethe soul to the self.Let no earthly fault beburied in your being.Order and wisdom willbe yours, for youwill not be bound tothis…
By Carl Papa Palmer player support three different breakfasts forthree grumpy grouches slowlybecoming two grand girls and a papatalking about the early game of theirfast pitch series forgetting to thankgrandma for getting them out thedoor in time to arrive at…