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 17 – Waiting For The Big One

Waiting for The Big One

For surfers it’s the ultimate wave,

the cosmic and final tsunami

THEBIGONE.

For me it’s the death squad,

the surfer skulls from hell,

the ultimate wave goodbye,

the call for last orders,

Time Gentlemen Please,

A final kick at the can.

Goodnight sweet prince.

There’s nothing bigger

in this waiting room.

do not go gentle

 

 

Let them come I say, I can take them all.

Let them try the drowning,

impalement on spiked boards

and evisceration by absurdity.

I’m too dry, too full of fire and too much in love

to be taken without a dance.

 

Bring it on you hairless, hapless harpies

swarming on sharpened feathers.

You can’t be serious.

I will laugh you into dust.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Art and poem by Clinock.

Waiting For The Big One, 24 x 12 “, (61 x 30.5 cm.), mixed media in cradled panel.

http://www.johnclinockart.com

July redux 2014 – new ways, new days

new days new ways

This electric sun
fusing the wiring of me.
How can I not be?

 

photo and haiku by clinock

 

May Redux – 2013 – Dreams For Sale

dreams for sale

Walking a city afternoon I made this photo through the window of an antique store.

I continued to gaze, fascinated by my reflection superimposed on the bed. It was as if I was laying down and drifting with the ghosts of all who had ever slept, dreamed, loved, laughed and cried, been born and died there, tangled in baroque light.

I was moved to free us from all this sleeping around.

Above, but out of the frame, was a sign in antiquarian lettering.

It said ‘Dreams For Sale’.

 

ghosts cannot rest

in this dislocated bed

 

perplexed by labyrinths of iron

and the endless touch of the living

 

their spines and cheeks

never crease the haunted sheets and pillows

 

outside looking in I’m inside looking out

whispering to the reflected dead

you are loved and you are loved

and you are free

 

Walk on

Photo and Poem by clinock.

fāz/the Jester and her Jester

A jester and her jester

Why are we not all born

with a jester attached?

With us until we die.

To keep us awake.

To remind us of the truth.

To fill mortality with laughter

and the jingle of bells?

If the jester

listens to her jester

as the brain listens to the heart

she may eventually find peace

among the flow and thrust

of our twisted ribbons.

Are we finally saved then,

can I relax now

or did i get it wrong again?

I’m certain I saw a family resemblance

and, it was only yesterday was it not

that the ferryman winked at me?

And although the days are losing definition

I’m certain it was the same day

you made a necklace out of acorns

and hung it around my neck, laughing.

The partnership is blessed

and sacrificed

at the same moment.

The breast to the memory stone.

Not a circle after all but an arc.

And all is suddenly Carnival,

bright and loud and gilded,

showing the folds and creases

of pockets and wallets and bags

as we leave them at the door.

Unburdened

we are

free to dance.

The Jester and her Jester. 18×14″. Acrylic on paper on panel.

Painting and poem by clinock.