Wild Blue Angels - Lauren Teitje

 


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A Commingle of Art and Time

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Sunday Salon Assignment Select two objects - observe, color, shape, function, history, and association to note the attributes of each. Find a connection, write. A Commingle of Time and Art By Mary Strong Jackson From the boy afraid of monsters from the darkest brown eyes dollops of tears dropped while his older brother stepped unafraid while his little sister stomped her foot this boy’s pencil made superheroes bound off the page until time morphed them into charcoal Chinese Death Masks, sketches from movie stills, and wild evolving characters moving about from his pencil’s tip, slope, and eraser this boy grown to man in a slip of time gave me Frankenstein’s monster framed in greens and blacks in the closed-eyed body of Boris Karloff two beings in one now share space in my house placed beside the poster-sized photo of the highway outside my window once on a stormy night I lie in bed with Mary Shelley candle lit puffed pillows behind her writing the sto...
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3 Short Poems

Now and Then   I remember when I remembered better than I remember now but I now know that then I could not know what I know now ...       The color of my delusion   of the pandemonium without and for the peace within   has a hue of unearned comfort and quietude that belies security   a shade that hides the risk required to consummate a private bill of promises       Squirrely   I watch Red watching MoMo smelling squirrel gone up tree watching me   squirrel steals bird seeds clever brain cross breeds its needs tweet to germinate   small hands fumble nut unblinking eye holds me fast still life with twitches -Richard Krasin
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  "It is good to have an end to journey toward; but it is the journey that matters, in the end."― Ursula K. Le Guin, The Left Hand of Darkness This stanza was to be for you      a sunny affirmation to shine through foggy doubt but last night she climbed into my dreams to play      hide and seek with moony memory      tumble with my rhyme and meter      then chose to stay in quilts and pillows      leave me here to blush and fumble empty headed but she's still there just waiting to be led to daylight      to meet you and hand you my words She places words into my hand I fear clasping too hard, but if the boulders of memory tickle my palms, I may loosen letters letting them fall between crevices or into wells where women chant songs of enticement promising   the good luck of a copper penny wish with this closed palm of words, I choose a path to pass into the inescapable landscapes of l...
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