Long Linseed Poems

The prism had reflected a crumbling schism of broken glass for far too long

A mosaic with sharp spikes and edges imprinted on a breaking point of shards

Copious cornucopia scattered over a trapdoor of lost fragments...

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fettered frightened multitude at our backyard, 
wailing in sombre sigh, waiting for beckett's “godots” 
multitude with talents begs their oppressor to survive, 
dying amidst plenty with multitudinous buried unfinished destinies, 
stunted by great grand fathers...

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Finally, she could get down on her knees again, not in prayer but to touch rosemary and lavender which had begun to send its fragrance into the spring and rising warmth in nature’s heart. There...

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My head rests on the doorframe, as I'm watching him at work.
I'm jealous of the devotion, and the motion of his hands,
much surprised at the green-eyed dragon that lurks within my mind, 
while he rubs...

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While watching the expansions of cities I felt too sad one day. In order to create more roofs and houses,  Green fields were slaughtered to meet the passions of the builders and our politicians....

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Without a word - you speak to me through particles of pigmentation
For centuries held within the grip of linseed oil
Where now I gaze upon  the many faces that you wore
And their beauty shakes ...

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When I was twelve my grandma told me I was a woman – 
and in six or eight years I would be a wife.
She said Sundays would be pasta days, Fridays I’d cook fish –
and...

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IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY - LXXI

		LXXI	

IF ever I had a country targeted by no refugee
And if ever I were appointed by the Inter-Planetary Committee KING of this territory by Inter-Galactic Royal Decree
I'd build...

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My father's Roger Maris mitt
Was kept in perfect health.
It showed no wrinkles no blemishes
Nor flakes of skin.

Its limber fingers were sheathed in leather, 
Its pocket was well stretched
As it yawned with each breath.
Bathed in linseed...

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Flying Jib son of Curry Comb
The care of the comb son of Garden Gnome

Garden Gnome son of Pillow Case
The case of the headrest o’ Second Base

Second Base son of Baby Chick
The chick who’s a pip...

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I miss the barn, the hay loft,
a place to listen to the midday sun
creaking through old wood.,
the small clouds of horse flies
moving as one in their jet-pack bodies,
that rose and fell
  their small engines...

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The stock of the rifle is hand-selected walnut.
I polish it with a soft cloth and occasionally
use linseed oil.

I dust a porcelain lady
twice a week. She does not need my attention, 
but I give it.

My Nikon...

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Rescued from the side of the road on a cold and rainy day
Thrown out like a piece of trash...a worn out throwaway
So I pick you up and cover you up and bring you home with...

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The stock of the rifle is hand-selected walnut.
I polish it with a soft cloth and occasionally
use linseed oil.

I dust a porcelain lady
twice a week. She does not need my attention,
but I give it.

My Nikon needs...

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Logs stacked by a decaying shed;
scent of burning embers from chimney’s
wafting past my face;
I breathe in the crisp evening chill.

The woodlands, a palette of color
waiting to be laid out on a canvas
by my bristles;
VanDyke orange,...

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Rain Is For Others 

The village green 
And its linen fellows

Bask in summer's
Dappled yellows, 

Bowling leather 
Onto linseed willows

Beneath the fluffy 
Cotton pillows. 

Children playing
Shooting peas, 

Stinging faces 
And grazing knees, 

Gran and grandad 
Sip...

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Today was the first day I held 
a sledgehammer with intention
Callouses connect palms to fingers
tiny fleshy boa constrictors.

There is no catharsis
I know this to be a hollow act
With a face smithed of iron, 
a body...

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Original blue- haired Alice rewrote the story
Wearing a gown she constructed from linseed
With lace sleeves cut from a summer shawl
Possibly her grandmother’s favorite garment

She popped roses and pearls into her stiff sixties hairdo
Finding hairspray to...

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The face that was familiar is no more
Yet in my dreams ,we  amble through bright  fields
Where cornflowers and blue linseed  softly grow
The face that was familiar is no more
The emptiness  and...

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tracing the edges of her hourglass 
curve, he imagines her eyes’ shadows
on oil and linseed…
wanting to be filled with neutral hues’ lines
as brushes smell of linoleum sky.

inside her navel is a garden and a river
waiting...

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Bursts of blooming colors in my garden fair 
every bud is beauty born of love and toil  
rays of sunshine easy days and breezy air 
cordial flowers flushed with color coil 

Nature sings of...

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Pickled like gherkins in vinegar

Crystallised forever in sugar

Set and translucently Jellied ...

Hung like smoked, salted meat

Pigments crushed from earth
brushes from fine animal hair

Is it because they freeze
the sitter's image which

survived as the best image 
of...

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