
“Old Man Impasto” by Greg Cartmell
flannel and fleece
winter yankee uniforms
soft layers to soothe
hardened skins of New England
regardless the udder cream
(originally posted October 2013)
“Old Man Impasto” by Greg Cartmell
flannel and fleece
winter yankee uniforms
soft layers to soothe
hardened skins of New England
regardless the udder cream
(originally posted October 2013)
“Untitled (Hitchcock)” by Robert Natkin
folded colors
paint layers of lyrics
soft to the touch of the eye
sundry haberdash textures
acutely arranged
like articulate works of a clock
tailored vestments of time
clothe the days of a life
a disciplined set of beliefs
on well-ordered display
a mind given to tidiness
evident shapes of emotion
beneath philosophical raiment
a visual cognitive character
lending depiction of mind
ethos pathos and logos
in notional portraiture
somehow made tangible
dressed in the discourse
of memory
lingering artfully
long past the grave
“Fancy Dress Dinner Party” by Charles S. Ricketts
(Originally posted February 2014)
joys are public things
worn like clothes to be admired
veiling private pains
I knew what I wanted
should please his
long suffering pride
a subtle gray stripe
sharply creased
continental lapels
wine hand-rolled silk
knotted neat after
fashion of Windsor
white broadcloth
crisp collared and
cuffed with old gold
he looked handsome
again as he did
back in ’38 married
three years with my
sister already the
light of his life my
brother and I yet
unmade by his finely
worked fatherhood
now he appeared a
restored work of art
as though none of his
fifty year crippling
deforming disease
ever happened
if you only will let it
the coffin can do that
ennoble the ultimate
portrait sculpt health
from cold marble
of indifferent death
the clothes made the
man and the man
made the life and the
death made for final
relief that allowed
him the hint of a
satisfied smile all my
heart ever wanted
for him just for him
button down collars
under three piece suits
and military hair
made deals big and small
all over the world
styled in boardroom attire
till I folded my desk
shredded airline club cards
and retired to sweet air
of flannel shirt country
haven’t been to a barber
since bagging my suits
over mothballs in cedar
despite the bald pate
what fringes my ears
and unshaven nape
now falls like a flag
fully twenty-eight inches
waving its gray
and matching my beard
I blend in just fine
here among unshorn aging
sturdy good mountainfolk
save for amusing
mistaken identity
that sometimes has
taken me for
some grizzly old liberal
lost-in-time hippie
if they only knew
but I just play along
all the better to spy
in the enemy camp
“Snow Laden Pines” by Richard T. Pranke
gloved evergreen hands
tall sartorial groomsmen
in white tie and tails
escort winter’s bridesmaids to
witness her solemn hushed vows
“Pair of Worn Shoes” by Vincent Van Gogh
a place to get shed
of an unclean world
drop the boots
that have slogged
through iniquity
strip the slicker
still dripping with
brazen deceit
peel the gloves
bloodied black
from fending off
malice and mayhem
a vestibule chapel
a cleansing place
meant for a private
few moments to
regather dignity
ready to reenter
unspoiled spaces
of family and faith
and fraternity
home to the hearth
mighty weary but
clean once again
From my book Human Waters
“Yellow and Blue” by Alma Thomas
mama’s handiwork
never embarrassed
his boyhood
the lads could be cruel
making fun of his
hand-me-downs
pointing and sneering
the schoolyard a crucible
molding his pride
annealing his spine
here he learned
how to fight
held his own against
even the best of them
knowing what they
never needed to know
that his papa
exemplar of dignified man
he wore mama’s fine
lovingly sewn patches too
From my book Onionskin
“The Drunken Hercules” by Vladimir Zunuzin
Hercules wore his lion skin
what do your clothes
have to say about you
From my book Small Noise
Writer Lynne Sargent
Poetry Puttering by Pax & Company
Sometimes everything has to be enscribed across the heavens so you can find the one line already written inside you. Sometimes it takes a great sky to find that small, bright, and indescribable wedge of freedom in your own heart. David Whyte
"drink from the well of your self and begin again" ~charles bukowski
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Looking ahead, without looking back (too often)
flights of fancy from New Zealand
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