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| words...PootPoems |
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| The Painter Life is short...Art is long. To live within art is like a song. To paint the sun, the trees, the moon... to mix from colors all too soon your heart is free, your hands can see, but harsh environs block the sea of fresh green breezes and crimson skies, that wind up mountains of black mean lies, and fly into distant worlds of sinking patterns of crisp unfurled shredded velvet... with ancient pearls on sleeves of hopeful lineage. The time once was……it once was fine to sprinkle brushstrokes like aged wine on dreams of cerulean entwined with streaks of scumbled alizirin. And then a vortex of tender broke emblazoned with flames of cadmium smoke writhing up chimneys and forcing to choke the heart from its colorful chimes, leaving the charred burning embers of inspirited cries wafting the air, burning up time. In spite of those lies from deepest of chambers held captive through eyes...the essence of sight... the painter arises in blackness of night splattering the void reckless brushstrokes alight. Ah, the eyes still see, the painter shines bright. ----- © La Pootinella/Linda Christy 2006 |
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| PURPLE>>>>>>>> RED is the shout! the sharp cry the sting…..the bite……. it's shrieking look at me look at me lookatme lookatME!!! BLUE is the yawn the moan the sigh maybe smirk sometimes pet, the caress indigo yet or the twinkle in the last light toward the night. Together they embrace, the duo recreating sunrise … sunset surprise surprising purple! violet of twilight and light beyond the boundaries of deep purple falling falling falling…………….. into the night before the dawn’s golden dream… wake up laughing in the branches, lavender from soft light of morning… purple…turning red in the heat of the day… mauve in the foggy cool evening frosted with bittersweet gray purple. ----- © La Pootinella/Linda Christy 2006 |
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| Purpleandpurplebanana Grapesandplumsandolivesandgrasses andskiesandspidersandfieldsandbirds andbricksandwoodsandsandsandrocks andwavesandleavesandflowersandclouds andjewelsandcarsanddressesandshoesandsuits andtowelsandlettuceandeggplantsandcheese ----- © La Pootinella/Linda Christy 2004 |
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| The Window Shards of jagged glass scattered and strewn, broken away from moorings of light, shifted and shackled to an unholy moon, under shrouded abyss in blackness of night. Crushed, the kaleidoscope, flaccid and dead, sprawls emptied and barren, devoid of its sight. Shattered dreams, golden kisses drop away from her head, forever drifting toward morning, never lifted in flight. Lacerations and blood in God's holy hand drip and ooze over fragments of pain, while shifting kaleidoscope's plan to be reconstructed again. Patterns emerge while static and still and hope finds its face in color and shape. Angels breathe into the glass from their sacred hill until a window appears from which to escape. At center is Erin, monumental and brave, arms extended, heart flowing, eyes bright and aware. Dancing circles around her, outside of their cave, loving angels watch over, whispering kaleidoscope's prayer. ----- © La Pootinella/Linda Christy 2004 |
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| EMAIL: pootinella@aol.com LooseShoes2000@aol.com |
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