I create art with the images I collect. A few other blogs have asked me to share more of my images. The following are a few of them.
Category: Uncategorized
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22 comments on Images
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Such were our soft hands.
We thought we spoke a new language
Of skin – untarnished, a sweet sweat
When our tongues touched
And our fingers found their old purpose
Sprawling out a blanket upon the beach
Where the sun (or was it the sand?)
Burned the soles of feet. Our love’s
Stern arm, heavy as tenderness. ——
There were specks, sand on our lips
Licking fresh words or wounds
None knew the difference, but they slipped,
Travelled unscathed.
The embrace welcomed, encouraged
As if we were simply heat.
Such are our hardened hands.
Unable to speak the old language.
Remnants written on paper, a poor papyrus of
Conjugated verbs, glittering adjectives
Slippery nouns, tucked between brittle envelopes
Placed underneath threads and sewing needles
Inside Mason Jars and old tobacco tins
On basement shelves, a form of containment
Where the stairway creaks, the furnace flickers. ——
So much fire, two feet, just a walk
To the vague haze of old words or wounds
None know the difference, but they slip,
Travel unscathed.
The embrace welcomed, unwelcomed
As if we were… simply heat.
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Stop treating us like a lawn
Trimming the grass
Adjusting the lawnmower’s height
Sprinkling bags of weed and feed
Attempting to even out our growth.
We cannot be manicured.
Let us have a few dandelions
Who follow the sun
Bees circling their blooms
Worms, slugs, spiders, and caterpillars.
How about a fern or two?
Rhododendrons, fawn lilies, and western azalea?
Don’t edge us too neatly
Making perfect lines in our relationship.
It makes me feel like
I want to run off with a common ragwort
And cuddle up with a couple of creeping thistles.
Don’t even think about Barkdust!
Toss away the keep off the grass sign
And let’s mess up the flowerbeds.
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It’s no wonder I long to get close to her
To understand her vision
To center myself as she is centered.
She can appear clear, majestic
Especially when the sun makes
Its first appearance in early spring.
At other times she hides behind a whirl
Of gray, black, and haze… waiting.
But I know she’s watching.
I’ve travelled upon her paths
From switchback to meadow
From wilderness to timberline
From gorge to plateau.
In these places, she slows time down
Where I carefully step upon boulders and rocks
Slipping at times on a slope
Steadying myself with my hand
For balance
Feeling her moist face, her coolness
A roughness and yet a smooth calm.
I can tell you her rivers are her voice.
They have lulled me into thought
And her streams are part blood, part tears
Joy and pain, yin and yang, like mine
For like her, I will not last forever.
We are built of gravity and sun.
She can scold with wind and howls
And snow that piles upon her forest floors
Into layers like thick frosting, dimming all senses.
Even creeks and the moving stars vanish.
I can lose myself within that space
Attempting to ease my own fierceness
For there is a respect that must be earned
And I’m still learning
With cautious, careful awareness of
My own fragile, sensitive soul
To reach a place upon her shoulders
Where she plays with mist
As if she is unwilling to tell secrets.
But I know it is only the rain and clouds
That seek her embrace, and once gone
Her poetry is lucid and unambiguous.
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Candy Yamhill is a jazz ballad with a bit of an electronic twist. It’s composed somewhat like hip hop. There are four samples taken from vinyl records. The drums are a combination of one of the samples, mixed with live playing, and programmed drums. I’m playing a Rhodes piano, an acoustic piano, and synths (which represent the vibraphone, bass, and obvious electronic sounds). And I have an improvised solo. Lol.
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I’m a gatherer of growing seasons
From planter’s sun to harvest’s rain.
All, with their fallen leaves and early blooms
Placing the cycles inside form and thought.
So much I’ve seen, so much I’ve been
And like you, I can’t stop looking.
My eyes are road weary wise
Yet infinitely the infant of curiosity.
My voice is tuned to the key of
Movement, which I mimic, measured in the
Shake, rattle, & roll of the ground…having found
A lifetime of elixirs, fixtures, and pictures
Right underneath my feet, on this dusty dirtball
Dancefloor, Earth…where with pants and skirts
I bowed, curtsied, laughed, and danced
The Twist, the Mashed Potato, the Boogaloo
The Shing-a-ling, while planting sprouts
That grow strong, green, confident.
Their stems bending toward the sun.
Why? Because it’s a hell of a lot of fun.
Though it’s true someday I’ll be dry stalks
Matter, to build nests for jays as well as hawks.
And upon those days, my limbs may appear hollow
Still, I will dance with toenails bent and yellowed
Looking forward to another coming of spring
Even if new branches, like love, it refuses to bring
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Ingredients: Rain, Light, Sky, Reflection, & Camera
This image is a reflection. It is water during a rainstorm travelling through a chute. The image was taken at dusk, creating the dark blue sky. The moon is a streetlamp’s reflection, but it is also the reason the water has reds, yellows, and looks like flame and lava.
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She knows me
Though, I haven’t witnessed
Everything she is
All her anger and angst
Frozen at times, treacherous.
I know her
From the safety of my footing.
She can pull me, she pulls me, I am pulled.
Not by ebb, but by longing
A craving for our meeting.
She allows me to see her.
I am but painted doll
Easily tripped into a fall.
We are cyclic, together.
Friends as we are.
I see her placid face
Fierce, reflecting sky.
Her cheeks aged, rippled
As they were at the beginning.
She’s my crone
My witch of calm
Curled slightly
With wavy hair
Rebelling
The straightening of her tides.
Her voice, mesmerized magnetic
To my metal ears
Grounded by emotion.
She nudges me
To a rhythm depth tone.
My blood moves
With her motion.
At the same time
I am her birth.
Her movement is mine
I am, like her,
The invertebrate
With liquid body
Skin of whatever color
You wish to call me.
We are deep in wrappings
Around dense mineral
Earthen cultrate creatures.
Terrestrial mud makers.
That simple creation act
Pottery, clay, and figure
Shaped by moisture
Solidified by solar storm.
I feel like she is forever
Whose depths
I know by kindred.
We raise our spirits
(For me, this once)
To mist and cloud
Transform, evaporate
Until our salt
Is yanked from our souls
And we fall
To new fawns
of phosphorescence.
If I were to say
“Listen to her.”
You would have
Already heard.
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Imaginations packed tight in urbanities
Thought caught between fiction and fantasies
Blood and bone, filament fragile fragments
Lit in bodies, pulsing, soft stuck on tangents
Building concoctions, cars, and drones orbiting
Heavy carbon thrusters, seeking, always targeting
Ideals burning death holes into flesh
Righteousness, wildcard bomber mess
Games playing games with gamers who are namers
Virtual reality vitamin tablet takers
Stinky-ass kiddos, full of trash talk
Limping like kings of the leper walk
Seekers of the hot truth talking mama
Pimps with gun tongues sending women into trauma
Progressive aggressives, arguing about Shangri La
Nazis posing as politicians in the land of blah, blah, blah
Pretty, little blurry-eyed scenesters, fully grown
Rewinding cassettes back to analogue unknown
The clueless, fattening fingers on a digital button
Unaware of the shape and size of deep-fried glutton
Hybrid condo boxes built inside the zoo
Made of fiddlehead ferns, plastic groceries, a bit of glue
Collectors of creeps, glory, gods, and sneakers
Meet weekly for a sneak peek at the full-length feature
Zombies escaping to the country, next to the cows
Cutting baked tofu into the shape of clowns
Leaves Of Grass has been sprayed for bugs
And The Song of Myself is met with a shrug
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I’m back looking at the ocean. There’s infinite quality to the ocean, the space it encompasses floats outside of time, yet each wave, each tide flows with regularity. Each a separate occurrence. Though the waves look the same, they are individually unique. Much like us. With Ebb, I wanted a leitmotif to collide with an ostinato like waves overlapping the push and pull of a tide. So, the composition had to remain free and rooted at the same time. Again, I find this like us, everyone an individual wave, everyone a blended part of the ocean.
Instruments include, 2 pianos, an Ensoniq ESQ 1 synthesizer, an amplified acoustic guitar with slight distortion, small percussion, vocals, and vocoder.