My knowledge crumbles. The trees and the soldiers, the mountains. We go bounding over the edge of the precipice and the dolphin laughs to greet us. God veils our faces and buries our joys, our madness, our passions. We are comets wheeling out into emptiness, wishing to extinguish the shoplights and go home. I go a vast distance, collecting experience, trading stories with strangers. I shall return to this place and bring other gifts when I come.
Perhaps I was bred for war and storm, for fire and hunger, but I was also bred for other than violence. We pick through the centuries for our scattered bits and pieces, and find them remarked and remembered and tossed ashore by dolphins. We are refreshed by cool moonlight even as restlessness undoes us. We read meaning in the way the air shimmers. We are banished from love until we learn kindness, until we no longer love warfare and we no longer fear silence.
What could be more fair?
to be continued… more here.
mine enemy grows older 
The three pieces are wonderful……as I’ve said to you before, you write as well as you paint…….wait, you write as you paint, colour, images, movement. Wow.
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That is lovely. Great balance and rhythm and clarity in the images as well. And as Jo says, very visual.
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Rick there is so much I love about this story. Your imagination is beyond, beyond. If there is such a thing.
The comets wheeling out into emptiness, wishing to extinguish the shoplights an go home. We read meaning in the way the air shimmers ,and the emotion evoked when you talk about the tapestry she is weaving to throw around her shoulders and protect her daughter. the needle prick ,and the blood ,I could go on and on……..How do you do it????? Keep up the good work
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Rick, you are a hell of a writer. I love your style that slides from Faulkner, through McCarthy (Cormec), and then embraces Leonard Cohen. You write poetic lines, and pregnant clauses; rife with vivid imagery and vibrant visualization. I love it. Going back and reading the whole of tapestry fragment, I find it truly enigmatic; transporting us to other dimensions, like a rogue P.K. Dick.
With your permission, I would like to take the prose from “enigma”, and show you the hidden poem in it–for it is there, just as surely as we, spiritual entities that we are, both co-created this universe, and exist multidimensionally similtaneously. I still am a bit lost midst the miasma of your wonderful site, but slowly, slowly, I am finding my way.
Glenn Buttkus
*and thanks for your plugs for my blog site, FEEL FREE TO READ. I used another one of your paintings this morning to illustrate a collaborative effort between Alex Shapiro and Doug Palmer. I have mentioned your site in my comments. I will try and get Doug, who is the technocrat, to set up a link to your site.
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jo and paul, comments from both of you are always highly valued… maybe I should say prized…
xpalla, wish I knew how I do it. Sometimes it seems to be squeezed out by pain, sometimes it seems the fruit of inspiration, sometimes it comes from what seems ongoing, frustrating endless work and revision. And then there are the dry periods inbetween where I just don’t want to write or paint or where life is just too much in the way or too demanding of time and energy to leave much left over for art… where I’m scared that I am not going to be able to get back to it. So far I have always managed to find my way back. Say a prayer for me and I’ll say one for you.
Hey Glenn, I am glad to discover you. Thanks for the kind words. And yes, of course, I would love to see the poem you have unearthed.
I know it the site isn’t the easiest to navigate through. I am thinking of trying to lay out all the image prompt material in a more sensible, orderly way and then taking it to a new blog… but putting it in good order before opening the blog. This one has grown organically and it has been a great learning experience but I would like to make it easier for people to find their way. The way it is now I am afraid of missing entries or forgetting to enter someone’s work and I also see where I have duplicate entries and clutter. Also, I think I need a place to get back to and enter my own work, which I sometimes neglect.
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Pardon me, sir, but your prose enticed me to share it over on FFTR. It shows up like this.
enigma…
May 30, 2008 by rick mobbs
My knowledge crumbles.
The trees
and the soldiers,
the mountains.
We go bounding
over the edge
of the precipice
and the dolphin laughs
to greet us.
God veils our faces
and buries our joys,
our madness,
our passions.
We are comets
wheeling out
into emptiness,
wishing to extinguish
the shoplights
and go home.
I go a vast distance,
collecting experience,
trading stories
with strangers.
I shall return
to this place
and bring other gifts
when I come.
Perhaps
I was bred
for war
and storm,
for fire
and hunger,
but I was also
bred for
other than violence.
We pick through
the centuries
for our scattered bits
and pieces,
and find them
remarked
and remembered
and tossed ashore
by dolphins.
We are refreshed
by cool moonlight
even as restlessness
undoes us.
We read meaning
in the way
the air shimmers.
We are banished
from love
until we learn
kindness,
until we
no longer love
warfare
and we
no longer fear
silence.
What could be
more fair?
Rick Mobbs
I would love to poeticize more of your prose, if you dig it.
Glenn
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