ode to the magnificent night visitor...

oh, magnificent one that you are
come to me under the cloak of darkness
glide your way gently into my bed
cover my body with your ethereal blanket
lay beside me holding me tenderly
stroke my hair caress my heart
languish with me till to sleep I fall and then
slide your way into my dreams

come to me tonight i do pray

for who knows when and where

we may meet again

oh, magnificent one that you are
coming to me from heaven afar
leaving your home in the distant stars
 
for just the sight of you I do swoon
my dear magnificent
beautiful

blue moon

the question...

the answer, my friend, 

is blowin' in the wind...

brownskin woman...

brownskin woman
brownskin woman
you my kin?
dancin’ round in mortal sin
swirlin’ to the strings of a mando’lin
rustlin’ skirts blowin’ in tha wind
hair put up with those fancy pins
arms flyin’ high from tha spirit within
men settin’ round swiggin’ on gin
bettin’ now on who’s gonna win
don’t care when the night’s gonna end
all gonna stay at the caravan inn
so ya’ll come on- let the fun begin
brownskin woman
brownskin woman
you my kin?

the canvases of my recent days...

the past few weeks while i have been away from all of you, aside from the usual holiday things, i have been doing a little painting - something which i'd not done for way too long - in any event, these photos [disclaimer:  photos taken with a cell phone in poor lighting] represent a bit of my recent days:

canvas set up and preliminary sketch on canvas
- background begun

 

background done

 

complete and signed

 

48"x48"

on canvas

heather's magnolia

painting on foyer floor against wall in owner's home -

left side not visible in photo

initially, i had intended to use acrylic paints but decided to match colors with those of the home's interior - so i had this gathered up a dozen or so glass jars and had heather's husband give me leftover house paint which i then used for the painting -

* * * * * * * * *

this painting was done for lisa's home and i did the same thing with the paints, grabbing leftover interior house paints with which to do her abstract - i don't yet have a photo of this painting in it's home environment so these shots will have to suffice for now -

complete and drying on easel

48"x60"

on canvas

lisa's abstract 

complete and signed

GREETINGS TO YOU - FROM THE UNIVERSE

for those who have not seen this at my travel journal blog, this is a little "NOTE FROM THE UNIVERSE" that i received yesterday from theuniverse@tut.com and one which i think rightfully belongs to us all, individually and collectively - and so, here is my message to you forwarded by way of THE UNIVERSE:

If it's not yet obvious to you, the real reason for this, and all seasons, is you.  A more perfect child of the Universe has never lived. Until now, only celebrations cloaked in myth and mystery could hint at your divine heritage and sacred destiny. You are life's prayer of becoming and its answer. The first light at the dawn of eternity, drawn from the ether, so that I might know my own depth, discover new heights, and revel in seas of blessed emotion.

A pioneer into illusion, an adventurer into the unknown, and a lifter of veils. Courageous, heroic, and exalted by legions in the unseen.

To give beyond reason, to care beyond hope, to love without limit; to reach, stretch, and dream, in spite of your fears. These are the hallmarks of divinity - traits of the immortal - your badges of honor. May you wear them with a pride as great as the immeasurable pride we feel for you.

Your light has illuminated darkened paths, your gaze has lifted broken spirits, and already your life has changed the course of history.

This is the time of year we celebrate.

Bowing before Greatness,
    The Universe

THINKING OF YOU...

as we each journey into a new year,
thank you for traveling along with me -
wishing you peace love and passion -
jenean

the flow of it all...

The quality of the imagination is to flow and not to freeze.

she is...

who is she
this woman of dark mystery
standing there so tall and so straight
a woman whose world they desecrate
where has she been
and who might be her kin
what has she seen
she looks like an african queen
what has she done
her life here just begun
what does she think
does she dream in blue india ink
and what does she feel
with her touch do you think she can heal
so who is she
this woman of dark mystery
she is

you
she is

me
she is

us

 
she

is

dear friends -

just to let you know, as my little campfires in blogland bear witness, the past week or so has found me distracted and sidetracked with the ups and downs of familial and other issues which have taken me from my usual time and energies on my own blogs and those of dear friends such as you -  in addition, i'm working on a couple of LARGE art pieces with imminent deadlines -

so please forgive my seemingly "irreverent" attention here and know that my lack of regular postings and comments in no way reflects anything except that which it is - peripheral things to which i must attend for a couple of weeks -

but i'll be back and forth as i can so please check over at my places at your leisure, as i, of course, will yours!  and, as always, i'll be thinking of you and yours with much affection - jenean

all her own...

lost in a swirl all her own
for no one’s sin does she atone
her body courses to ancient mandolins
strumming with no beginning and no end
strings struggling ‘gainst the sands of time
all to the rhythm of love sublime
from nomadic shadows of the night
the crimson vortex does ignite
whirling echoes of passion’s beat
all stamped out in her gypsy feet

the heart suffers not...

Tell your heart that 

the fear of suffering 

is worse than 

the suffering itself. 

And no heart 

has ever suffered 

when it goes

in search of 

its dream.

the pretty little girl and the hen...

there once was a pretty little girl
with a head full of long ringlet curls

satin ribbons and bows adorned her long hair
she much preferred just going all bare

the mother dressed her in crispy white frocks
pretty white sandals and sheer sheer socks
    
layers and layers of ruffles she wore
she hated it all when she was but four
    
staying inside was not her thing
she’d much rather be out on the big rope swing

pleasing the mother though was what she did
after all, she was just a little kid

then one day the mother left for a while
and out the door she raced with a smile

under the big oak tree she did sit
playing in the grass she could not quit

she sat and sat and wiggled her toes
and watched the clouds row after row

dreaming and floating and dreaming some more
all she wanted was the mother to love to adore

she thought if she had just one special gift
the mother’s dark mood surely would lift    

she loved the chirps of the little birds
if only she could sing without words

so she blew and blew and blew again
before she knew it she heard a sweet strain

again and again the sounds whispered through her lips
now she’d surely win the mother’s kiss

pleasing the mother was what she wanted to do
after all, she was just a little kid who needed love too

then the mother came home to her delight
and with her gift to make things bright

the little girl whistled and whistled with all her might
but the mother just looked down with her mouth all tight

and said to the pretty little girl
with the ringlet curls

a whistling woman and a crowing hen
always come to a very bad end!

that pleasure most beautiful...

“That pleasure which is 

at once the most pure, 

the most elevating 

and the most intense, 

is derived, I maintain, 

from the 

contemplation 

of the beautiful.”

so shall you be...

dream

lofty dreams

and as you

dream

so shall

you

become

a little flower power...

for the man from the cold

to feel all whole

body and soul

the blessed ball...

floating free floating high
in the dark night sky
rising in its own time
pure perfection at its prime
casting sparkling slivers
upon the black waters quiver

the golden globe the blessed ball
does surely all enthrall

hey, travelin' woman...

hey, travelin’ woman, where you been?
you play that mandolin?

            wandering here
            why i don’t see you ever’ year?

travelin’ woman, whatchu done seen?
why, you can’t be more’n eighteen!

            wandering there
            you sellin’ them wares?

travelin’ woman, whatchu been doin?
you gotcha some tattooin'?
              
            wandering everwhere
            you seem to dance on air!

travelin’ woman
twisting on yur purty gold fan
all them bracelets danglin’ jinglejanglin'
skirts blowin’ in the wind
long black hair standin’ on end
lips like big round tangerines
hips swayin’ to the tamborine
 

travelin’ woman,
you one of them gypsy queens?

womanmagic...

where there is

woman

there is

magic

le coeur...

le coeur 
a ses raison 

que la raison ne connait pas -

what the world needs...

“Don’t
ask
yourself
what

the
world
needs.
Ask
yourself
what
makes
you

come
alive
and
go
do
that,
because
what
the
world
needs
is
people
who
have
come
alive."

be not afraid...

We have to start teaching ourselves not to be afraid.

somewhere...

somewhere

something

incredible

is waiting

to be

known

love is the flower...

“What was it that John Lennon said? 

‘Love is the flower you’ve got to let grow.’ 

Let it grow already, 

and quit trying to legislate it!” 

- wonder woman -

little gypsy girl...

with eyes full of light 

and a smile shining bright

a mind full of questions

innocence without confession

time for you now little gypsy girl

open wide your arms let your wings unfurl

ride your spirit high to places thus unknown

you're the queen of your domain sit upon your throne

looking forward looking upward

seeking finding your reward

little gypsy girl

the earth and the winds...

and  
forget not

that the earth

delights to feel

your
bare feet

and the

winds long

to play with

your hair

a walk through the valley...

there is no easy walk 
to freedom anywhere, 

and many of us will have 

to pass through the 

valley of the 

shadow of death 

again and again 

before we reach 

the mountaintop 

of our desires...

the river sanguine...

softly o’er the rippling river
the earth’s life giver
crept the pale moon orb
the heavens to absorb
casting shadows sanguine
the blood of mankind
upon the dappled shore
the cycle repeats forevermore

i believe...

i believe that 

imagination is stronger than knowledge -

myth is more potent than history -

dreams are more powerful than facts -

hope always triumphs over experience -

laughter is the cure for grief -

love is stronger than death -

the music of writing...

to me, 

the greatest pleasure of writing 

is not what it's about, 

but the inner music that words make

that subtle something...

it is not so much for its beauty

that the forest makes a claim 

upon men's hearts, 

as for that subtle something, 

that quality of air 

that emanation from old trees, 

that so wonderfully changes

and renews a weary spirit -

la gloire du soleil

always here

always there

always everywhere

no beginning

and no ending

always here

always there

always

every

where

no words necessary - except yours...

what does this image say to YOU?

the gypsy moon...

his long lean arms
reached upward

stretching

searching

upward toward heaven
reaching for her

coiling

curling

circling

embracing the glory
that was her

clasping

clinching

clutching

her orbital beauty
that lit his dark nights

lighting

illuminating 
and so they lived 
each in the love of the other

the autumnal sacrifice...

and so it is
the cycle reclaims

its past and future

repeating reduplicating recapitulating

the fallen heroes submit

in crimson veneration
rendering resigning reconciling

their mother trunk
deprived once more
robbed raped ravaged

with barren branches
limbs and stems
requiem reposes remains

defoliation complete
at autumnal equinox

regrowth renewed rebirth

and so it grows

the road to truth...

there are two mistakes

one can make along

the road to truth -

not going all the way

and
not starting...

echoes...

e c h o e s
of dance
f r e n z y
and trance
p a s s i o n
to desire
s p i r i t
on fire

does anyone notice any similarities - or is it just me?

she sits...

she sits
poised expectant ready
her heart beating to the  
rhythmic stirrings of ancestors
to nights of yore
her spirit no longer here but flown to
caves of primal passion
to her place in the sun
her voice silent her soul throbbing to the
chanting of her tribe
to her own gods she does ascribe
she sits
poised expectant ready
for she is
gypsy
she
dances
tonight

les feuilles de nos vies...inspired by "L'automne qui se meurt"

their generative veins of
red and orange and gold and brown
struggling straining suffering
holding together the decaying
fragments of a life now gone
in their autumnal sacrificial demise
ordained in the moment of their budding birth
give valiantly the indispensable victuals
for life

anew

they come...

they come from another place 

another time
they come from the dark recesses 

of our soul
they speak in 

voices still unknown
and soar on unseen wings 

by the gods’ design
to earth they came

the human to extol
and we, the human, 

for our sins, 

must now atone

the gypsy's plight tonight...what do YOU see it to be?

the flames...

as these flames glow

under the moonlight

i draw you

closer to me 

tonight...

the night...

the

night

of

the

gypsy

the sacred forest of the snow tiger...

he had thought that he was safe
there in his forest of ice
he’d left the world of light and warmth behind
choosing instead a life of dark and cold
he had feared the heat of the other world
feared it with a passion most never know
feared it as most would love their mates
but fear it he did -

for he was the snow tiger

he’d painted his hard lean body
in stripes of shadows and light
the black of black the white of white
he’d painted it like the stripes on the trees
with their ribbons of frost
not to be seen by day or by night

and so he lived in the vast wasteland of steel and cold
there he’d worked feverishly to uphold
never allowing another in
guarding the glacier that was all him
never leaving the safety of his self-made lair

he’d thought that he was happy there
that he was safe
but only one as frigid as he could survive such a place
there was no nourishment to be found in the arctic woods

he hunted here he hunted there he hunted everywhere
but the gnawing hunger remained
it gnawed through his belly and into his cold dark heart
leaving a hole that could not be filled
and soon he knew there was nothing left
in his forest to be hunted - to be consumed -
to ease the pain of his hunger as it grew
the hunger he had felt before
but which now became a ravishing sword

and then one day at the forest edge
as he crept closer and closer still
there stood a vision he ne’er had seen before
but one he feared nevertheless -
he feared to the bottom of his lonely soul
and knew in his gut that this vision meant danger
danger to him and to all that was his

the vision remained - there it stood -
starring straight into the windows of his barren soul
something familiar something once known
or maybe just a dream
but no - it was a mortal creature the vision he feared
a mortal creature with long dark hair that softly swept
the snow beneath her human feet

the sight of this mortal soul struck a chord of primal fear
her haunting black eyes never left his icy stare
her scent attacked the spirit he’d long forgot
he thought perhaps she was just a gentle breeze
blown by the dusty figments of his empty imagination
for the trees in his forest had long since lost their leaves

he could not strike and he could not flee
he was transfixed frozen in her light
and what of that light - it was not white, that must be it
this light - this unpure light - emitted something evil - something sinister
it had color - and that evil that he most feared - 
the one her light emitted
to the gods he implored - not this not this - this he could not survive
this would surely kill him - this - this was his most dreaded enemy
this was warmth!  life, even!  life, with passion!

and in that moment of time stood still
the she-creature fearing not his warrior stance
edged closer and closer again
moving toward him toward all that was his
he roared at her from the icy lobes of his fractured heart
threatening threatening again
but she did not fear him she did not retreat
closer still she edged into his sacred trees

her smell permeated deeper still
leaving his core needing more
his mind abandoned him
he could not think as before
and he knew that she brought with her
weapons the likes of which he’d never dreamed
and then his great claws began to lose their grip
their grip no longer holding to the frozen ground now turned liquid

her eyes never left his stare as she came toward him
bringing with her a strange never before felt sensation
it was foreign to him it burned his eyes attacked his nostrils flared
and invaded that secret part of him long held captive by the cold
this light that surrounded her now surrounded him
what could it be
his worst fear brought to reality?
what could it be?  who could she be?  who was she?
this mortal who walked in light and warmth and color

this light that once attacked his senses
somehow now seemed to ease the ravaging pit of his hunger
further and further she encroached
it seemed her odour ate at him it conquered advancing ever more

the light and the warmth that was her invaded even deeper
deeper into the darkest recesses surging but never retreating
until it reached the stalwart chambers of his heart of stone
seeping down into the crevasse of cold that had been his life
it left him dizzy it left him alive

then he realized that thing - the thing that she brought with her -
that light and warmth thing - it was something he almost remembered
from the other world - something he need not fear 
something that could be cherished, even -

 it was a thing called comfort

and this other thing, this she-creature - 
this mortal whom he had first feared
he remembered her now, too
from once before in the land of light and warmth
yes
he remembered her now - 

she was the gypsywoman-

she had traveled far suffered much to reach him 
to save him from the ravages of his own frost

from the hunger that consumed him

she had come from the other world 

and she had come

for him -