Mexico – Carnaval, (metamorfosis)

Parade make up SMA

Carnivales

butterfly

us.

we paint our faces

decorate our bodies with coloured music

emerge into ritual

 

we transform our selves

shedding skins we thought were us

casting our masks into fire

 

Carnivales

butterfly

us.

the Old Ones open their arms

welcome us

singing our secret names

 

we prepare our hearts

to dance with the spirits

of the sun

~~~~~~

 

 

Photo and Poem by Clinock

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Demented Confessions 7 – Winter Bush

Winter Bush

says

I am your winter bush

too cold to light your fire

my branches icicles

my skull a ball of snow

 

says

I am Alpha and Omega

a child ancient as stars

my magic is from flesh

fire and the silver rose

 

says

look deeper than thinking

I am not what I say

I am almost spring

I am an article of faith

 

 

Art and Poem by Clinock.

Winter Bush. 8″ x 8″ (20.32 x 20.32 cm). Mixed media relief sculpture in cradled panel.

Ghosts – Joan of Arc

joan of arc

Seeking sanctuary from the burn

I enter her cold and holy dance,

and am unmasked, and frozen

between unseen armor

and tundric nakedness

as she avalanches

to a purer love.

She moves in fires I cannot enter

and consumes my night in flames.

She pours herself through me,

a radiant and smoldering lava

scorching a charcoal path

on which I follow

her bright beauty.

There is mystery in her conflagration

binding me with smoky tongues

and releasing me in blinding light.

Her immaculate impossibility remains

and I am fused forever

to this sighing ghost

of ash and passion.

painting and poem by clinock

Icarus

new days new ways

torn skies rip pathways into fire,

curves are acknowledged and abandoned,

edges are released from symmetry,

passages of burning hunger

hover in anticipation,

mystery is penetrated.

dropping, I unfold in fragments,

incinerated shapes of melted wings

ignite the cold airs of descent

and darken the beckoning landscape

with gestures of ash and flame,

as my shadow grows.

intimate luminosity is lost

consumed by the scorching of the fall.

this is the cruelest language of the sun

this blue impenetrable codex,

this stained banner of belief

flying a farewell.

Torn and reassembled acrylic painting and poem by clinock

light (angel)

angel

Doors opened in light.

Light arrowed

to winged promises

of flight.

Floating.

Falling.

Rising.

By this illusion of paint

and light

beacons are ignited.

Old desires,

not yet too rained upon

to catch a spark,

burn, fierce flaming

for my remembered

fallen angel.

They are not all

as they appear to be,

the angelic ones.

Some wear paper wings

easily dissolved by tears and time

or ashed by fires of passion.

Some wear cardboard halos,

pinned carelessly to fragrant hair,

creased and crushed by kisses.

She was not at all

as she appeared to be,

my angel.

Her moonlit votive

melted in the sun

blistering the heart

with burning tongues of wax.

Her skin absolved mine

with scents of white lilies.

Her fingertips traced

ecstatic ascensions to heaven.

Her miraculous eyes,

a mirage of turquoise lakes

in an empty desert,

blinded all seeing

like god at high noon.

Photo and poem by clinock.

Card Project – Day 28 – Demon Watch

Day 28.  medium – pencil.

Demon Watch

You light the fire and I’ll show you something nice – a ball of snow.  Basho.