Art Sijo Poems

As I paint a keepsake rock with my brush-style permanent markers,
I think of how the marks soon enough wash away off of my skin,
Just as...

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Jewellery, stylish pens, paper hearts, nostalgic figurines,
Memories of holidays spent in my grandmother's place,
Cherishing purple checker box with snowflakes, praying for same things....

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*Image of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde poster by Wiki.

That's Close Enough

Shapeshifters, and or, shapeshifting ... preps our world always,
A speck sans a cavass, ......

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Black painting square is on the cutting
           edge of minimal art
Carefully placed, post modern dark,...

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Ocean offers up gifts;
It’s very generous.

I accept what I’m given and use it to create jewelry;
Teeth, bone and shell are tools for art.

Against human skin,...

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Music soothes the savage poet in me; it naturally inspires.

It soothes my rogue artist, so truths I can impart.

Every day my musical journey, tours corridors...

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Winter dreams, in deepest sleep, bring images in colors bold.

Stories built, as I sleep find their way into my poetry and art.

Creativity’s winters side effect;...

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A pen travels across paper; a line appears to follow.

Curiously growing eyes; anxiously follow its path.

Muscles and tendons taught; cat leaps and the sketch is...

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In autumn, leaves show their true colors; personalities from God’s palette.

Yellow, gold, red, browns and Vandyke orange; pigments bold.

I press them in a book for...

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Muse imagination fires; another night’s sleep, lost.

Carpal tunnel initiated; muse pours herself through.

Flood of her dreams; my heart’s delighted by her flamboyant artwork. 

...

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A poem of a poem

A poem may be wonderfully challenging to write.
Why should it be too easy, if it is to be a delight?
Nothing that...

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This summer, garden's flowers, lure me to come, drink in beauty  

Shady tree, a bench to rest, enjoy the view, as clouds present

Rest and...

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The life in the wood will be revealed by the wood carver.
Chipped away with chisel and mallet; wood displays its secrets.
Wood carvers release the spirits...

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My guitar sings, it’s reverberating strings; dance with my fingers.

My dulcimer cries and whines; telling folk tales, centuries old.

One with the strings, their harmony brings...

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Soft pliable clay, peels away with tools touch; cold and wet.
The sculptors’ eye sees life in the clay before, it reveals itself.
Scrape away the excess...

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