Wordless Poetry

There is a quote by Edward Hopper that says, "If I could say it (in) words there would be no reason to paint.” Words that can’t seem to find sound  make known their presence in brush strokes and patterns of light . These colors on canvas, wood, paper bags or buildings paint beautiful soulful wordless poetry. Poetry that once birthed by the artist, becomes part of the viewer’s individual diary. Each person comes away with images that amuse, confuse, bemuse,  and at times offers clarity to those of us in need of guidance.The ability to create is a strange and wonderful gift that is given freely to all - but not everyone is brave enough to attempt this deeply personal purging of emotion. Be it joy, pain, love, hate or to those of us who live in a constant state of trying to live every emotion in one sitting- complete and utter chaos- art offers refuge. Solace lies in creation; and in solace - redemption? Whatever the need, the want, the feeling, these words seem to speak to the very heart of the matter. Every artist dips his brush in his own soul, and paints his own soul into his pictures.And the true meaning of each work lives only for a moment in the mind and heart of it's maker until it becomes a gift to everyone. May the colors that speak through you, give voice to us all.

Alabama Absolution

I am of the South of the heart of the pines
of the song of the crickets and blackberry wine
of front porch sittin' and daydreams found
of moon songs and moonshine and old small towns
of cowboys and roughnecks and ladies and cads
of hard work, hard play and barefootin lads
of rivers and creeks and red rover play
of iced- tea- sippin at the end of the day
of magnolias and jasmine and dew on the vine
of bibles and churches and dress-Sunday fine
of kissin and cuddles on Saturday nites
of old kitchen twine and paperbag kites
of fishin' and huntin' and tomatos, green-fried
of football, tailgates and SEC pride
of grandmas and pawpaws and uncles and aunts
of cousins and kin and in-laws by chance
of covered dinners on blanketed grounds
of summer rain and blue-ticked hounds
of Georgia boys and Bama girls
and this and thats
and give it of whirl
of chances taken and chances lost
of heritage and legacy, never countin' the cost
of rope swings, railroads and writers and such
of long lazy days and ain't doin' much
of Mayberried musings and hand-me down songs
of stories and music and warm evenings- long.
of whipoorwills and mourning doves and Robin's breasted red
of love-stiched quilts and buttermilk and big ole feather beds
of me and you and maybe us and clover honey'd bees
of seven sisters and ancient oaks and canopies of leaves
I am of the South of the Heart of the Pines
of a life well lived and a truth that's mine

Twilights and Morning Mists

Heres to freshly ground coffee beans in my favorite blue mug, and the way the winds says good morning. Here's to Ella and Etta crooning and scatting over the liquid grey-green of the Alabama delta as we flow thru the morning mist to begin our day. Here's to deadlines and interviews and artists who share. Here's to lunch with my best gal pal who will be moving across the world with her real true forever love. It takes awhile to find that sometimes you know. Here's to MM's blue berried VI and the Ogre's beautiful translucent soul and Shannon's twinkle and my young Valie asking and seeking both question and answers in the same breath. Here's to Lima beans with ketchup and new friends, and the ones and zeros that cause us to connect with each other and propel each to new awareness. Here's to the promise of Summer, and the air as soft as butterfly kisses- the sweetest of all kisses, except maybe the nape of the neck :-)Here's to a good vintage,RED and music below my feet and bubble baths full of rose petals and dreams full of inspiration. And here's to the hope of one day finding my hearts desire and recognizing it when I do.

Unsung

I am unsung

 notes to a tune

 not yet written.

 I am fear
wrapped in bravado
 I am ease
 but not acquiesced
 I am forgiveness.... personification of things
 taboo in nature
 I am willful
 to my detriment
 I am solid yet of air
 I am love
 given to all
 afraid to take
 and being taken
 I am beginning
Without my ending
Dancing in step
Without my partner
 I am magic
Without a spell
 I am alone.... because I need to be
 accepted
 I am me
 But more than
 the
 sum of my parts.