it wasn’t the glass ceiling
that was so infinitely appealing,
or the greens or the pinks
or the deep porcelain sinks–
it was the shabby
and the rough
and the marks and the scuffs
and the weeds and small seeds
and the rambling reeds–
it was the crumbling paint
and the rust and the faint
outline and shadow of the earth laying fallow
that i liked and understood
The Private Lives of the Impressionists by Sue Roe
Fine Little Day by Elisabeth Dunker
Artists’ Houses by Gerard Georges Lemaire
Unaccustomed Earth by Jhumpa Lahiri
Enchanted Forest by Johanna Basford
“They should get rid of all these weeds in these plants,” she said.
but i liked the way it looked,
exactly as it was–
beautiful weeds and all
the earth clings to your skin–
i crave your taste
tiny, tender minutes in time–
little and brittle
and treasured,
like preserved crimson flowers
on a sunny spring day
Every waking moment i’m alive
I’m searching for you
Whether i know it or not
Or whether i realize
Every waking moment i’m alive
I’m searching for you
Every Waking Moment written by Clarence Greenwood
of Citizen Cope, 2006
wooden spools of old ribbon
milk glass pedestal vases
spring nights with open windows
tomatoes and olive oil
the smell of rain on tender grass
colorful glass beads
the first cup of coffee on a cold morning
kisses from the pup
sunrise over the river
looking at you
i can see the dinosaurs roam
i can feel the earth tremble
i can hear the roars as the pterosaurs soar
(my little version i was thinking about
a couple Sunday mornings ago at Tom’s Diner)
i was sitting
in the morning
at the diner
on the corner
i was thinking
of the years
that passed by
steadily and still
the smells of
fresh brewed coffee
made me close
my eyes and wonder
where my art school
dreams have drifted…
an homage to Suzanne Vega and her song Tom’s Diner, 1981
sometimes valid sentiments
are found in very strange places
spanishwoods 