April Fools, Blue Moon, Easter Sunday, Oh My!

waitingroom4

two foolish ones

attempt

a meaningful conversation in the night

on the doorstep of spring

their words

slow syllables, emerging, fragmenting, dissolving

their words

dance dark and dizzying waltzes

stumbling

falling under starless skies

they cannot agree who has the key to the door

forgetting

it was never locked

two foolish ones in the dark

struggling to speak

while beyond the door

quiet brightness waits

bigstock-tragic-night-sky-with-a-full-m-45382897

and then there’s Hollywood

 

 

poem and art by clinock. acrylic and mixed media on paper. 12″ x 10″.

WEAR YOUR BONNET WITH PRIDE — HAPPY MASH-UP EASTER!!!

Just – spring

rite-of-spring

in Just-
spring          when the world is mud-
luscious the little
lame balloonman

whistles          far          and wee

and eddieandbill come
running from marbles and
piracies and it’s
spring

when the world is puddle-wonderful

the queer
old balloonman whistles
far          and          wee
and bettyandisbel come dancing

from hop-scotch and jump-rope and

it’s
spring
and

the

goat-footed

balloonMan          whistles
far
and
wee

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Poem: In Just– by e.e.cummings. 1920.

Painting: Rite of Spring, by clinock. 20″ x 30″. (51 x 76 cm). acrylic on paper.

 

Demented Confessions Art Show

Britannia detail

If you’re in Vancouver during March 2018 you are invited to view Demented Confessions, in the flesh so to speak. There are paintings and poetry too.

please click below for details

Clinock Invite

Studio Serendipity – Shed Skins

shed skins

 

Shed skins of paintings

peeled from abandoned palettes.

A playground for ghosts.

 

Photo and haiku by Clinock

edited redux – 2014

post Halloween ghost

lonely-ghost

lost among candies,

nobody notices me,

forgotten spirit.

 

mixed media art and haiku by clinock /

/ edited redux 2013

October’s Ghost

Version 2

 

painted in dead leaves

October’s ghost is a face

dreaming of sunflowers

 

Art and haiku by Clinock

 

 

Autumn Blues

autumnblues12

My blood thinned by foghorns.

Chilled rain instead of cold beer

on the puddled patio.

Night reflections shimmering

on downtown streets

enter me with a shivering,

stuttering neon.

 

My skin, stretched by winds of change,

tightens into geometries

of angled cold and weak light.

My eyes struggle against sleep.

The season moves

with the languorous throb and angst

of autumn blues.

 

Are these the fallen glories

of the winded wings of trees?

or the ragged motley

of a jester at a wake?

I jump in leaves

and bury myself in their smell

as we enter dark.

 

 

painting and poem by Clinock (edited redux – 2014)