Smudged

imaginary garden with real toads

Artist in his Studio by Rembrandt

Smudged 

There is an ache born of longing

written in soft charcoal smudges

The yearn for all that once was and

will never be again - the inexorable

pull toward a future flowing with

fresh unfamiliar faces -vanquished

dreams –this oncoming smudge of

mumuration rising born of all that

was and all that is certainly to come

whirling – into agony stunning even

the most steadfast hopeful soul into

wide-eyed, mouth gaping, stillness –

stillness as the final smudge of that

single infinitesimal fleck of charcoal

erases – this is knowledge, known,

denied, this life lived in the spaces

between  

avmapping.blogspot.com/2011/11/video-murmuration-of-starlings-...

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Warmups.... #1  & #2

#1 (my father was a Rembrandt loving oil painter - who I adored)

She pulled from his peg on the door

His shirt, a tunic, a sash and finally

on tiptoe knocked the black hat

to the floor – on bare feet she

rushed down the stone corridor

out the gate through the red

dust and into the empty studio

She dressed before she turned

paint brush in hand willing her-

Self to become Him for just one

single moment and see the world

as he did stilled long enough to

transport into colored oils….

#2 

In the stillness of long shadows

In the stillness of long shadows

falling softly we stare into the

Quiet - eyes wide and wondering

Where we are and what awaits

in the stillness of long shadows

falling softly