One Time

one time 2

 

it was just one time

running from was running to

and the whole world changed

 

it was only once

twilight of an isolated

and then it was night

 

it was just one time

two beaten souls smudged by love

and separation

 

it was only once

but that’s all it took to fly

and the whole world changed

~~~~~~

 

art and haiku by Clinock.

art: mixed media on panel. 10 x 8 inch. 25 x 20 cm.

 

Demented Confessions 16 – Wind Poem

Wind Poem

more a gentle summer breeze really

a mere puff of air

the sound of the letters of my disclosure

a marshmallow zephyr

melting on my tongue

 

but it’s her hand that touches me

a cat’s paw on my skin

a compass pointing to the silent passages

between the sound of each letter

of my disclosure

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Art and poem by Clinock

Wind Poem, 9 x 12 ” (22.86 x 30.48 cm.). Mixed media relief in cradled panel.

http://www.johnclinockart.com

Solstice Dance

Scan copy 2

 

“May the long time sun shine upon you,

All love surround you,

And the pure light within you

Guide your way on…”

 

 

However you celebrate this time of year I wish you love and peace.

The circle turns and the light is reborn,

how wonderful is that…

 

See you all next year.

 

Solstice Dance. mixed media by Clinock.

studio serendipity – secret message

folded message

 

A working studio becomes layered with deep and wondrous drifts of raw material that become shifted and shuffled as space is made for creating the piece of the moment.

Meanwhile potential masterpieces breed in the rubble, invisible and silent.

It’s only when I look through a camera’s frame that what was unseen before reveals itself. These random juxtapositions and chance encounters of textures, shapes and colours form an ever changing and fertile landscape of ideas and possibilities.

The power of framing, of choosing this rather than that, of building a fence around wild horses, of playing hide and seek with the world, of focusing perception within a rectangle, of now you see it now you don’t…

Inspiration does exist but it must find you working.” Pablo Picasso

 

photo by Clinock

edited redux 2014

We Rise

Dove

There are periods of moments

strung together like seagulls

along the white wake of time

that seem to glow with more light,

more intense shadows sliding,

more music in their foam.

 

There have been days like this

leading to the now of writing

on this poignant day of remembrance:

I shivered, sweating and sleepless

through nights of fevered demons

the medicines invoked in the blood.

 

And at the same time needing

to solve incomprehensible clues

leading to solutions of puzzles

I didn’t ask for or want.

And always the rumors of war

we didn’t ask for or want.

 

There were the anniversary rituals too.

One year after the crowning of the mad king,

and the previous day, because he knew to leave

before the Ace of Spades became the trump,

Mister Cohen waved farewell.

I bled tears that day for a man I loved.

 

And today, the eleventh day of the eleventh month,

we enact our agreed rituals of mourning:

Silence, remembering, honouring the dead

of the wars that never end.

People, we can do better than this,

isn’t it time we gave all our children  peace?

 

“From bitter searching of the heart,

we rise to play a greater part.”

 

 

broken-blue-window1

 

 

Mixed media art, photo and poem by Clinock

post Halloween ghost

lonely-ghost

lost among candies,

nobody notices me,

forgotten spirit.

 

mixed media art and haiku by clinock /

/ edited redux 2013

El Dia de los Muertos

425440-dia-de-los-muertos

What is death? It is the glass of life broken into a
thousand pieces, where the soul disperses like
perfume from a flask, into the silence of the eternal
night.

425430-dia-de-los-muertos

When your time comes to die, be not like those whose hearts are filled with fear of death, so that when their time comes they weep and pray for a little more time to live their lives over again in a different way. Sing your death song, and die like a hero going home. / Tecumseh

 

family shrine

And this for you, my dear, dead family.

Sweet and bitter memories of you

in a shoe box. Rough art, but true,

with love and honour in my heart.