Painting and poetry

Old Friends

Say hello
Out of the blue
With this social
Network, out of
The hue of ether
So we connect
And dissect what
And where we have
Journeyed and become
Who and what
Experience varies
In this realm
Finding connections
As we become
Either happy or stayed
Or dwelling on tolerance
We can tell how distant
Friends and acquaintances
Have succumbed
Life delivers choices
A sort of symbiotic
Dance of two
We all seem to
Find an autonomy of two
At least for a while
Until something happens
That makes us rue
The while of
Tapping fingers
Unspoken thoughts
Wishing we were as
Happy as a couple
As others conveyed
TIn typed thoughts
I bow to you
My long distant friend
If denial is your adjective
Or adverb or noun
I accept the pretend
All my old friends
Obviously live happily
Or so it seems
Living in Camelot.
 
About fly fishing and other pursuits...

Take good care of yourself...With longevity comes accidental knowledge and peace...Love of the water, respect for it and all that incidental knowledge that feeds the spirit and why you love it so. The details only matter to you and concurrently you build a philosophy for a lifelong pursuit of brandishing that magic wand..
 
SurfnFish said:
really like your work, do you paint at the scene, take photos for the studio, rely on memory..?
Click to expand...
My work covers a broad stylistic range, and approaches. I have rarely in over 50 years Created art products except in my career and commissions for clients. I like to paint out in the fresh air plein air or outside and be inventive. I paint what I know. I can paint exotic stuff but do not unless paid to or want to. Can not remember wanting to. I paint what how and when I want now
 
Promises Broken

It has been too many years
Since I fished it…
This little black jewel
Favorite little river
Near the coast
At the cusp of salt
That I have loved

For decades now...
Inconsequential it seems?
As it has been
To my surprise eviscerated
With clear cutting
Silt run off
Filling holding water

Convinced that I need
To be more aware
Get more active
Be an advocate
for things I love
I feel ashamed
That I didn't know...

Did anyone speak up?
In the din of quiet…
It created jobs in the woods…

The new green is
The color of mud and sand
Toppled trees and under story
Of devils club, scrub alder
And Himalayan blackberries...
And a sanctity
Of promises broken.
 
Fishing

The ripples and resounding water
A harmony that knows no bounds
Relentless and symphonic.
Across rock and sediment bed
Sleeping yet somber..
I find a chorus that speaks to me.
That staccato rhythm that has meaning to me..
I fashion a creation of feather and fluff
A creation that I think is good enough...
A hook, some thread and faith
That whatever large or small
Will come to see the presence of it all..
There it is this drift
Apart from the distraction around me...
The ripple of wind, the glint of light
On the water. the presence of life
Like no other. The stream makes all this possible
With a confluence of the perpetual...
Waters flow forever to the sea,
We are captured in that moment
Mesmerized and able to see..
The natural wonder of nature
And it's brilliant perpetual..
I revel in this presence
And seek it's grace...
Knowing all of it is God's face...
I am forever thankful and
Knowing that none of this is possible
Without knowing it is a gift
We need to see
The love of earth
 
Well since turning 70 almost 3 years ago I seem to be losing an old “wounded knee”. I walk whether it hurts or not to keep moving. I thought I would post this to convey why no fishing reports.

What is on my mind?
Fly fishing

I generally fish alone. When I team up with someone it requires some planning and arrangements. I prefer spontaneity. I do go primarily to meditate and enjoy the whole experience of water, the quiet the natural sounds the enticing and search for fish. Memories are created, poems are written and paintings are inspired. I took a friend to the coast perhaps 25 years ago. He was a coworker i worked with every work day . We built big museum exhibits together. He had never fished before. He grew up in the heart of New York city. We fly fished in a jungle like stream that trickled into the ocean near the mouth of the Columbia. There was suck your boots off mud and downed trees and black water , tide changes brought in src in large sparkling schools in tiny holding water. There were a few river otters and a lot of black bear making noise meandering through the thick brush in the understory surrounding the little stream.

Franc used my gear that i set up and the memories I have can be encapsulated in a mind image of him standing on a treacherous scramble on an old cedar snag over a deep dark pocket, 6’ above the pool, holding an 18” searun in my oversized baggy waders and a NY Yankees cap turned backwards. That experience he brought up in a recent message conversation. “You tried to kill me ya bastich! “ what I really heard in his words was “Thank you!” That right there is not competitive , it is a form of love.
 

The Second Coming​

By William Butler Yeats

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
 
Tenacity

Life is anything
But incised in stone
In fact hardly so
Destiny does not rule
We carve rather than caste
We have the power
Of lithic proportion
To shape shards.
The fissures can
Be lessons to
Reshape our lives.
 
Submitting a few to a group show. I have created 3 past shows a couple large ones that incorporated the concept of combining literature and artworks. Now A decade later I got a personal notice of the same concept in my home town that I had 4 large shows in in the past. This one proscribes what I do of meshing poetry and painting. It surprised me. IMG_8455.jpegIMG_8869.jpeg
 
Capt Insano Emeritis said:
Submitting a few to a group show. I have created 3 past shows a couple large ones that incorporated the concept of combining literature and artworks. Now A decade later I got a personal notice of the same concept in my home town that I had 4 large shows in in the past. This one proscribes what I do of meshing poetry and painting. It surprised me. View attachment 179923View attachment 179924
Click to expand...
I belong to my own church of me
I worship analogies

I am not religious, though I studied world religions in college long ago just because
Still fascinating but am an agnostic. When asked it is the safe answer. ;)
 
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