Barbara Bush and Ima Hogg: Two Texas Matriarchs, One Common Vision

Miss Barbara Bush = Miss Ima Hogg = Two Texas matriarchs and kindred spirits with one common goal, purpose and vision. Miss Ima was a very influential Texas philanthropist and was, among many other things, an arts magnate, one of its fiercest advocates and most prolific patrons of the 20th century. She was an early champion of racial equality and believed that one of the ways it could be achieved was through equal access to and immersion in the arts, and was the architect of

I’ve Heard the Echoes

I’ve heard the echoes, chased the shadows, danced with the reveries of phantom caresses. Retreat with me to a safe space ‘neath the snow-laden burrows behind the curtain of remembrances where we will carve out the annals of innocence and mirth, and ascend the smoky hills by night’s end. Art: “The Road in front of Saint-Siméon Farm in Winter” Claude Monet #FrenchArt #writing #art #painting #Artwork #literature #creativewriting #poetry #artists #poem #ClaudeMonet #imp

Tremble Not…

Tremble not when the forest of extreme desire becomes overgrown, when the trees pant and beg for eyes that never blinked during a moment of caprice, when pulsating worlds became intertwined and flowers laced with traces of virgin earth. Art: “Beating Heart” SarArt Sari #art #painting #contemporaryart #Artwork #literature #creativewriting #poetry #poem #ModernArt #Artist #Poet

Quickened

Quickened by faint remembrances of a void desperate for her touch… Art: Odette Hayon Itah #writing #art #painting #contemporaryart #Artwork #literature #creativewriting #poetry #poem #ModernArt #Artist #Poet

The Spirit makes its rounds…

The Spirit makes its rounds, It warbles and gyrates. It graces my hand. It bends, glides, swishes, Drains. But it doesn’t see me, yet. For I am not ready. It will come back soon. And then it will engulf me, Perhaps while I am asleep. Art: “La Branche de Prunier, fond ocre” Henri Matisse #art #painting #Artwork #creativewriting #poetry #20thCenturyArt #poem #Artist #HenriMatisse #Poet

Briefly…

Briefly Things take shape Then disappear. When the eye blinks, The reverie is dead And new light becomes The angel in you. For a time, Then you are whisked away By gratuitous moments Undefined and barely in view. When I think of crying, Something awakens And you are there, Listening, breathing, A simple melody Exhorting me to rest Before you arrive again And I extend my hands To greet you Wordless. Art: “The Three Candles” Marc Chagall #art #painting #cha

Where We Are Going…

Where we are going, Enigmas await With hands extended Bearing ripe stones, Expressionless cabochon Droplets of stilted rain, Or a petty curse from The fountains below. Beyond this threshold You are masked, Surrounded by ever-advancing Entrails of an abandoned Spring. Without movement You’ve become an efflorescent statue Mocking time and Pilfering its colors Until the last one is drawn Patiently and elegantly devoured, Just in time for the advent Of the weak

Innocence has returned briefly…

Innocence has returned briefly To gather his loose ends And then off to the next Excursion. Perhaps whereupon his subsequent return He may find that the borders Have been compressed and smoothed out, But still glistening under scarcely-palpable Zephyrs and perpetually unraveling Seams of disconnected light. That will be the day when The rivers drown themselves in forgetfulness While the poppy fields look on In amusement, shame, Or a mixture of both. Art: “Edge of

Light: An Elegy

A light shimmers in the fore, Joined by the hand Of song and rhythm And lambent dances Along a moonlit creek in repose. What does it see Beyond this specter Of jaded spirits And world-weary migrations To parts hitherto untold That beckons its uncompromising smile? From whence does its melody arise That it traverses so calmly Through dimensions and landscapes Hitherto unseen? When will a world Left in silent agony Learn its dance And free itself from These wind

“What is Eternity?”

“What is eternity?” she asked. “Here, take a look, as far as the crow flies.” “Where?” “Straight ahead. That’s eternity.” “How so?” “Just keep looking, far and wide, but without searching.” “How does that work?” “Just stare into the offing, without guile or expectation, and eternity will settle right here, in the moment, encapsulated in the breadth of your very gaze.” “And what happens when I find it?” “It will find you.” Art: “Near Sydenham Hill” Camille Pissarro #

Flash of the Crow

These eyes have laid bare A tendency to drift Among currents of Impalpable impressions of thought, Wherein only the wither’d vestiges Of youthful wings doth abound, Now intermittently aflutter To the last plainchant of the grave warden Resolutely resigned to his own extinction: ——————————— A solitary wind meanders on, Too noble for stagnation, But too humble for forgiveness. Every color is uprooted and scattered Along this serpentine path, Until usurped by velvet

Look Away…

Look away, And in time you will see them. They persist As little droplets of unrequited passion, Given to merciful hands That excise all relation to thought. In this moment Allow your truth to reveal its scars; Let them dry and close up. Let them cry at will. Let them stare back at you Until you are moved And incapacitated. There is no wind here to carry you. There are no shadows to cajole you. Run, then sleep. If you awaken early, run again. Forget your futu

Sultana of the Sun…

Sultana of the Sun, Light your candles. Hold them against your earthly casting Until it awakens and begins to melt. Watch it as it seeps into current, Separating, coalescing, separating anew. What is the color of a waxen womb That sculpts and molds Its own exodus toward atonement? Feel your awareness blossom into A procession of softened flesh Coruscating with the abandoned sway Of particles infused with Harmonies perpetually-reborn. Move with them through darkened

The Lane

…Where one minute drifts forward, The other behind me, Another to my side. They extend and retract, Bending crosswise and releasing. An infinity of them, perpetually shifting, Reacting, building, weaving steadily Along this well-worn path, Searching for a beginning. Art: “A Lane of Plane Trees” Jean-François Raffaëlli #art #painting #Realism #JeanFrançoisRaffaëlli #poetry #20thCenturyArt #poem #FrenchRealism #NaturePoem

Doubt…

Doubt is a black jacquard veil, worn frequently; Gently accentuating ridges Along valleys of high dudgeon and low spirits. All that is left to passion remains concealed. Art: “Self Portrait With Down-Pulled Lower Lid” Egon Schiele #art #painting #Expressionism #AustrianArt #poetry #poem #Artist #SelfPortrait #EgonSchiele

How might I sound the depths…

How might I sound the depths Of this unbridled verdure That bursts forth unforeseen From the silken grass Along the edges of your watered eyes Glimmering helplessly Across a thousand lost Springs? How might your light be multiplied Among darkened ranges Lush with uncertain hands That glide conspicuously Along the base of my neck, Coming to rest upon my lips, Where your name seeps in gently Through drip after anonymous drip, As I begin to recall The path your melod

Falling leaves…

Atumnal tears of joy, Whisked away by a faint zephyr No less familiar to me Than the one I knew And surrendered to In my youth; That cooled my veins, That caressed my budding heart, That still whispers songs without words On those days when I am all but Convinced that the familiar melodies Were never forgotten. Art: “Falling Autumn Leaves” Vincent van Gogh #art #painting #Nature #poetry #artists #FallingAutumnLeaves #poem #VincentvanGogh

Groping along…

Groping along renascent bursts of pastoral virility, Almost liquid now. We can laugh soon, And shake hands with the red-blooded lutenist Just across the bank, Just before the last note. Art: “The Red Vineyards near Arles” Vincent Van Gogh #art #painting #Nature #TheRedVineyardsnearArles #poetry #poem #VanGogh

Each moment…

Each moment brings me closer To the delicate bounties that course Along the of seams of her spirit, Slowly lifting the nainsook lace veil From her trembling visage. She is new to this season, But her tender fruit yields In the stillness of courage. I will sing her accolades until I lose myself In the embryo of her lost time. Art: “Paisaje Mallorquín con Naranjos” Joaquín Mir Trinxet #art #painting #poetry #JoaquínMirTrinxet #OrangeTreesinMajorca #poem

Fortune confronts a shadow…

Fortune confronts a shadow Drunk with aberrant exultations To instincts that dare to wonder. Clarity is a majolica elephant flush with Socratic thoughts and regrets; But in time he awakens to grace And lumbers quietly across Electric pathways Frozen in space. Art: “Nichols Canyon” David Hockney #art #painting #DavidHockney #Painter #Cubism #poetry #poem #Poet #NicholsCanyon