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Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

A big part of the enjoyment of art for me, is playing with ideas.

Front yard in moonlight, Abaco, personal photo
Edited version, more focused on light

Interpreted scene, oils
Interpreted scene, ink
Interpreted scene, Water color
Personal Photo of our front yard, Abacos

Do I go forward with an oil painting of this, with more vivid colors?

Or should I play with something even more abstract?

What will be gained from taking this to a different concept of artistic thought?

Will anything be learned about its value as a setting?

If I do take such a leap, how can I add to the idea of luminescence?

What is it that lures artists to repeat paintings, differently?

Perhaps life, itself?

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Winter Bridge

Winter Bridge, Oil Painting, 12″ x 16″ birchwood canvas

Here she is, my winter bridge painting. She has gone through a number of transitions, on her way to becoming. Now that she is here, I cannot imagine how she looked before.

I wanted the sky and water to mingle and reflect in this painting.. And I wished the Winter Bridge painting would highlight the Willamette River’s natural beauty while staying real to the sight of industrial pressures that such city rivers also bear.

I hope the viewer enjoys the sky, soft background hills the river flow and water reflections. I also hope the viewer considers the port side, the big buildings, the ominous boats that cover up the natural ridge of this beautiful river, dominating a once pristine cove.

May we never forget how this river flows so naturally under the bridge, the left bank tucked into trees and soft sky. And may we also remain concerned when we see that it flows on the other side, past the industrial messes we make.

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Abaco

Blue seas and water waves

erased by symmetry

affirmed by none.

Smooth and deliberate.

A powerful bird glides by

proud of the direction it has taken.

Abaco nowhere, everywhere

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Thinking in Soundbites

Glob Throwing

Slimy colorful gobs, paid for by advertising, innocent and fresh, newly designed but not really.

Crystallized into short, sharp syllables, oh I like that one, let me put it up.

Slung in the face of others, posted on line for all to read.

The colorful emotive gob smears sticky smush onto the insulted receiver pushing shades of anger.

Retaliation. New cheap gobs thrown back, no care in time spent writing short angry syllables. No need to.

Ready to eat, prepared insults. Modern food, brought to your house through an internet box. Tantelized with sugar, dangerous chemicals carefully massaged into symbolic globs, meaningfully shaped to look like good food, nourishing nothing.

Gobs of words paid for by ads. Supported by spending money aimed to throw more gobs. Each gob thrown earns a dollar for somebody.

Weak legs and arms, too tired to prepare any independent thoughts.

Reach for another already prepared, readily available gob and take aim.

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Life Change

Trivial moments spiral,

arriving nonsensically,

angst driven.

What is the catch, the trigger

turning sadness to joy and laughter?

Maybe a long, satisfying walk,

vigorous bike ride,

or a child speaking or a butterfly slipping by.

Nothing much, but awareness.

Poem and sketches by MChamie

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Canopies of Glory

Branches arch streets and sidewalks,
offer shade from hot sun,
sigh in soft winds saying no relief to roots.
Time for cement to go, loose
dirt to tickle tree toes, share nutrients
and shade, softness, glory, shelter, quiet,
now shifts to autumn to show new glory.

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Trees I Have Met

Swaying beauties, oft dismissed
columns emptily treaded around.
Look up and see their capes, the 
soft shade embracing color shape design
food shelter comfort.
Shouldn’t we take better care of them?

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Morning Walk in Portland

Trees hover, leaving shadows,
dance of light, reflecting branches.
Coffee cup in hand,
I stumble over awkward sidewalks,
erupted by roots,
enjoying the beauty.



















Photo and poem by MJC

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Peace on Earth

It’s just a thought, but here it is.
Can there be peace on earth?
I think not, but yet again,can there be peace on earth?
This earth?  Our earth?
Whose earth?

Poem and photo by MJC

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A Promise to Myself

Quiet dawn of morning 
pierced by computer clicks, 
I drink first cup of coffee,

all hope of using brain ruined
seeing “stupid” and “greatest” 
on my screen, 
creative thought pierced, 
stabbed by stupid and greatest words,
ideas trumped, thoughts killed.
Until morning when free spirit
brings fresh words in abundance.
tomorrow, when computer closed,
I am not yet crushed by internet chatter from
bitter tweets of hatred and blame and name calling.

Poem and sketch by MJC

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