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Posted: 7/15/2007 8:26:07 PM | Thanks a lot Cash. And thanks for hanging your portrait on these walls!  | |
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Posted: 7/16/2007 9:03:57 AM | Still, Life
Watching you, child
making struggle of every breath
for forty years
Flesh of my flesh
dreamed into being
no less from your own demons
than my love
Wish why had an answer
Wish balm were mine to give
Know you are not alone
That love and light follow you
and prayer. That some day,
one day, you will be able to accept.
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Posted: 7/16/2007 9:16:07 AM | ~~~~~~~~~Empty Canvas~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Wishing to create a whole new picture
One where the ending is much less empty
Colours so strong , feeling so deep
Mixtures of feelings from my soul seep
Capture each flicker of light in the day
Deepest dark colour to bring soul from the nite
Of my own making for others to view
But with my hands I can make it anew
Hurts and troubles melt into another place
Souls that were lost....again hope comes in face
Tradgic memories once dark and bloody
Come to a new brightend path , eyes to see
Shall this empty canvas ever be a masterpeice
Or shall it just rest in my torn mind forever
One day....maybe it shall shine like the sun
Uplift my heart ........recreate all the wrong
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Posted: 7/16/2007 12:42:27 PM | Wooby. You radiate love. Thank you. 
Jules...the canvas is yours to paint. There will always be critics... who cares. Those who can do, those who can't criticize. Dip your brush and begin.  | |
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Posted: 7/16/2007 12:43:34 PM | Portfolio
Some time ago I took a deep breath
Of the most incredible air you can imagine
Crisp as new mountain snow with a hint of
Strawberries lounging in dark chocolate
And a brilliant indigo aftertaste
So wonderful was this new strain
I exhaled all the stale limitations
That had always choked me,
cleared the passageway,
realigned my spine and
inhaled
one long, slow, deep stream
Since then
I cannot breathe a word | |
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Posted: 7/16/2007 1:33:03 PM | Today…Payne’s Grey
I brandish a brush
When I’m not in a rush
It may not look real
But I paint what I feel
To get the appeal
And that’s the real deal
The colour is named after William Payne, who painted watercolours in the late 18th century.
Eye Guy all mediums
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Posted: 7/16/2007 6:20:58 PM | | Payne's Grey.....That's easy to work with eye guy. Thanks for stopping by. | |
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Posted: 7/16/2007 6:21:43 PM | Poster Art
There is something depressing
About finishing as a
halftone graphic illustration
Finitely posterized grey and
bleak as a London fog.
Perhaps, before going to press
I’ll convert the grey to sepia.
I am still warm to the touch
And, there’s implied comfort
in words like amber and cinnamon.
Yes. If I am meant to hang unadorned
on a basement wall until my corners curl
and tear, sepia is better. | |
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Posted: 7/16/2007 8:17:32 PM | "If I am meant to hang unadorned
on a basement wall until my corners curl
and tear, sepia is better."
oh lord, no no no, not you, never you, I can't bear to even think that fate for you.... no, will never happen, nope, not to you.... you of luminous lush light, delicate stroke, a buttercup, forever in bloom | |
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Posted: 7/17/2007 9:52:47 AM | Poetic...you have such a glowing heart. See your phosphor sparkling on the pond.  | |
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Posted: 7/17/2007 9:53:58 AM | Playthings
I’ve lost my marbles
They were here just the other day
I remember rolling them on the floor
Goodwill Mac Hunting merrily
chasing each one as if it were
a bunny or a squirrel
I’m certain I picked them up and
put them back into the little black pouch
But where did I put the pouch
You see, it’s not really the marbles
I’m concerned about
There were other things tucked into
that pouch I miss even more
Like laughing, nothing seems funny,
or crying. My sockets just leak now
Not the usual torrent that clears
the weather. Just a slow and steady
drip drip drip
It’s maddening
I must have put music in there too
All the notes have gone flat
Impulse, deadened
Taste buds, AWOL
Fortitude, gone
All disappeared with that little black pouch
I know it’s here
somewhere | |
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Posted: 7/17/2007 10:10:16 AM | Yoko you keep blowing me away with your paintings.. Where have you been hiding all that talent the past year???
Marbles was a masterpiece! | |
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Posted: 7/17/2007 10:25:20 AM |  YOKO, this poem was the best! knowing exactly the feeling....I caressed each word! good one my friend! hugs
~~~~~~~Lost.....in what?~~~~~~~~
Feelings are something I crave nowdays
Wonder what happend to all the feelings I made?
Lost in a dark lonely tunnel
I find......I travel so far.......
hear not a sound!
Music I loved, plays no more
Flowers I grow......
just seem so humdrum
I wonder if ever I come out of the dark
finally release......another igniting spark
Sail off to see another world
I could live in......or be
just me.........
All lifes problems
then solved?
I doubt it.....
but
I can dream ......
cant I?
hugs girl, jules  | |
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Posted: 7/17/2007 12:21:10 PM | Drea...Goodwill Mac Hunting dragged it in from the yard. LMAO. XOXO
Jules...Lost girls, lost girls...whatcha gonna do when they come for you! Cheers friend. | |
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Posted: 7/17/2007 12:36:50 PM | Yoko... I knew you where out there... waiting :)
Woodland Spirit
Out in the spectral forest
of submissive heat,
epicurean whispers through leaves,
attention giving lumbers abound
pierce the thickets and the trees.
Green awakens from a secret dream,
how far do these deer trails lead…
through this ageless wanton scene?
How far is a lonely path,
lest a heaven in which to convene?
Wild magnolia dance with the rest,
likened to undulating breast.
Swirling breeze whips canopy top,
pleated skirt, billowing flop.
Sweet in her flowers,
long as daylight hours.
Windswept locks blow you free,
turning heads, warming air
pause the heart of me.
On moss ridden banks with ease,
majestic hardwood stand erect
through the pine mingled trees.
White, red, water oaks un-hewed,
silver lichen flourish, wooed.
Violets are we, do grow under trees
delicate purple, rich in abilities.
No longer fear blackberry briars,
we rise above these scoring fires.
The underbrush spreads its blanket,
pine straw and leaves fall from tree.
What of the older grape vines,
will they trumpet accusing lines?
Fairy roses revealing your flush
whirling us ripe persimmon red.
Fragrance sweet as honey must
enticing nature’s flowering bed.
We consummate the innocence
of timeless fragility.
The passage of all epochs,
rhymes tying you to me.
I came from beyond the ocean,
across an open shore;
spirit aloft vegetation
to conceive another lore. | |
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Posted: 7/17/2007 1:10:03 PM | Sky paint
With trails left by butterflies
Transcending the distance
With the instinctual habit
Of orange and black.
Spirals of colour
Feather flown
In the thermal awakening
Paint raptor trails
In the soft hues
Of living life.
Buffalo clouds graze across the blue expanse
Herded by the same breeze
That floats the tree pollen
Seeking soulmate in waving branches of green.
Seed down chasing adventure and a new place to be
Tumble through the either’s
On their way to where.
Sunset spectacular
Illuminates profound splashes
Of purple and red
Across the deepening horizon.
Stars peep out of indigo
One by one
As late night sawett fly by
And scrape the moonbeams
Sprinkle golden
Unseen, but for the artists eye
Sky painting the night. | |
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Posted: 7/17/2007 1:36:11 PM | Skypoet...thanks for stopping in and leaving your lovely poem. Those who know me, know I am waiting....
RC...WOW..HUGE WOW. First...love your wedding pic (glad that obviously went brilliantly)....and thanks...for getting it.  | |
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Posted: 7/17/2007 1:53:41 PM | Wowwwwww...YOKO....I think John Lennon ...just posted for you! awesome!
Dang.......but think the real YOKO...would be a little jealous...don't you? 
Wonderful poetry....Skypoet.....lovely in words....and YOKO knows it!
Ravin....loved that one..! really did!
~~~~~~~~~~~Dangerous Colours~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
What if I painted a sky of pure red..........
little streams of purples ....darkness ahead
Lovely pangs of orange....so bold in its feel
Angry...yellows that scream....and just squeel!
A heart of the deepest reds you could dream
Feeling such pain.....leaving peices of green
Envy....jealousy....no just not me!
I would rather leave hints of soft blue that are free!
Maybe a picture of my very own heart
One that is bleeding...and is red from the start
Long slow....soft trickles of red....and some blue
Lands in your hands....for it is meant just for you!
All of these colours do live in my soul
my heart does relive them each time we do talk
I wonder if all of my canvas of colour
May enter your being.....as you once were my lover
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Posted: 7/17/2007 2:20:03 PM | this is starting to become my favorite thread to read...
you ladies are really painting some pictures
I'll just toss out a terse and say hi
doggie got out from under the porch at first sky
I'm more in the reading mode than the writing
and what I've read has been very enticing
 milks 5 bucks a gallon...if I only had tits.... | |
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Posted: 7/17/2007 2:44:24 PM | PP ~~ steel buttercup that!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Palate and Eye
The blue of a jay
The blue of a heron
The white of a bunny tummy
The gold of a finch
The orange of an oriole
The red of a doe in summer
The indigo of a bunting
The scarlet of a tanager
The purple of a thistle
Day lily's orange
The magenta of sweet pea
The green of a luna
The red of a cardinal
The tan of a tabby
The red of a fox
. | |
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Posted: 7/17/2007 3:59:49 PM | Jules...what do you mean? I am the real Yoko. 
BD...If you had tits...I'd wanna paint that. 
Wooby...always a rainbow from you.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Oz never did give nothin to the tinman, that he didn’t already have”
Said the mettle to the falling petal
This is no time for dewy drops
And blue birds just don’t fly that high
Someday I’ll wish upon a scar
and wake up you are. | |
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Posted: 7/17/2007 4:31:25 PM | my friend.....I am thinkin' ya are! So I met a celebrity....or two here tonite! Cooooooolllll!!!!!!!
I cannot believe you just posted those words...of the Tin Man...I mean...cause I have been listening to them all day....just check my profile...I posted the same.....
America ....Lonely People....I almost posted Tin Man....but thought I am crazy....no one would understand! Now I know...my friend we are of the same...! I post this song for you.....THE REAl YOKO!!!!!!!....and the Tin Man....my friend.......lolll...you never cease to amaze me my friend!!!!!!!hugs
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~America~~~~~~~~~~Tin Man~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sometimes late when things are real
And people share the gift of gab among themselves
Some are quick to take the bait
And catch the perfect prize that waits among the shelves
But Oz never did give nothing to the Tin Man
That he didn't , didn't already have
And Cause never was the reason for the evening
Or the tropic of Sir Galahad
So please believe in me
When I say I'm spinning round , round , round
Smoked glass stain bright color....
Image going down, down, down , down
Soapsuds green like bubbles
Oh, Oz never did give nothing to the Tin Man
That he didn't , didn't already have
And Cause never was the reason for the evening
Or the tropic of Sir Galahad
So please believe in me
When I say I'm spinning round, round, round, round
Smoke glass stain bright color
Image going down, down, down, down
Soapsuds green like bubbles
No Oz never did give nothing to the Tin Man
That he didn't , didn't already have
And Cause never was the reason for the evening
Or the Tropic of Sir Galahad
So please believe in me..........
whoooooo........hoooooooooo.....whooooooooooo....hooooooooooo...
hugs girleeeeee...you are awesome!!!!!!!
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Posted: 7/17/2007 9:06:58 PM | Yoko.....I cannot believe you said the Tin Man....was a real treat just to know one of the same! hugsjules!
Sometimes things just appear
like a dream...or words of near
Many feel the same in words
But with so many...is all hard!
Good it is to hear the same.......
words we listen....good ole songs
often hope we can just sing
along together......
words I bring!
Hugs my friend...
and I am good
Hope you too!
We better knock on wood!
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Posted: 7/17/2007 9:15:21 PM | | Jules...you are such a treat. I love all things OZ so, that song was a natural. Keep singing sweets!!! | |
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Posted: 7/19/2007 12:51:42 AM | Serenity
There are times I travel roads
that are only mapped by my inner eye
Tapping down the center line
cane in one hand and a basket
of uncommon sense in the other
I migrate toward the unknown
And sometimes, it’s frightening
to blindly wander
the jagged boulevards of
Faith and Love but
a part of me knows that
if I hold out my hand
I’ll find you there | |
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