Zen and the Art of Smelly Sock Placement

It isn’t just that among the tulips, the matching
Napkins and scented candles, the wedding
China and newly shined floors, I left
Yesterday’s socks in my fancy artwork bowl.
Or even that in all the conversation amongst
Crystal and wine, silk frocks and fine
Cuisines, the subject of clothing and feet
Never once arose. Invite your guests
With care, my friend, but even this moral,
Howsoever neat, is not the regenerative end
Of this Easter tale. I’m hardly a novice at
The epic fail, but I’ll tell you this: if you arrange
Your evening like a still-life, every spoon
And plate, cushion and salad fork and knife
In intimate accord almost musical, the memento
Mori that keeps it real is, of all things beautiful
And true, the most brutally essential.

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Flowers in One Sitting

Pabbi would buy flowers whenever he could.
At home this was an expensive and not often
Done thing. Elsewhere the very streets beckoned
The colours were rich and the prices were good.
Mom could take anything green to her heart
And in her hands it would bloom just to please
Her, and on her table it would blossom into
Art. The kids, one summer, brought bunches
Of wild lupin, blue as ceramic jugs, home
From their wanderings. Their grandmother
Found bowls and vases and white watering
Cans in which they lounged, nonchalant
In their riotous glory. You could say
It’s a family story. My inept floundering
When it comes to things beautiful and bright.
It’s a good thing I get the shadows right.

Courage #9 – Still Life: A lockdown poem

The trick lies in the highlights
You set them in strong. Pure
Dazzling bright whites. To shoulder
The weight of the darks. Take care
To register what you see only. Not
What you know is there. The shape
Of all seen through each, shapes
The sense of all.
Stillness lies in the eye of the beholder.
Things move apart to come together again.
The beauty is all in the transitions
The glow the shimmer the shine the glitter
The overlay of time on space. And when
Memory is all there is to work from
There is still life still colour still observance
Still courage in grace.

How to Paint a Cloud: A Valentine’s Day’s Sonnet

Its harder than it looks; it isn’t just
White on blue. The underpainting lies
Beneath the dark as well as the light.
It really isn’t a matter of just
Slathering on the white. In fact,
By far the harder thing to do
Is coming away from the bright shades
With greys and burnt umbers and you
Must remember that the brush moves
Always from dark to light dark to light.
Love must be a lot like that, you think
Preparing your canvas just right. But really
Love is just one of the tiny, curvy vees
A bird winging itself into sight.