What if I have written it all away?

All those important things I had to say,

And my creative mind fades in aging?


Should this old woman sit silent?

Observing only, as life’s passions relent?

And ambitions fray beyond assuaging?


Is this the day I’ve become irrelevant?

A life of experience now, an impediment?

As youths fires of souls in mind raging!


Old marries alone; aging artist is eccentric.

Cutting edge technique, an olden-day trick!

Museum dust, archived tomes arranging.


Inside this graying head ideas still burn!

Refined, honed, tested, polished; Taciturn,

Waiting for perfect moment, right paging.


Old woman’s color fades into the background…

Expert hand trembles to write words profound.

Perfect gems require no salacious packaging.


Does age purify the art of the creative?

Or does it stagnate, cease; become vegetative?

Like me, is my art from life now, disengaging?










The Artist

On a sunny day my thoughts are lifted high

Stretched relaxed peacefully adrift in an azure sky

High pressure is my delight!

On a cloudy day my thoughts plummet to the earth

Heavy leaden weights of dusty sorrow bereft of mirth

Low pressure is my fright.


On a warm summer day my pain melts I feel strong

I love to play to work to laugh and sing many a happy song

In summer my world is right!

On a winter day I ache and I suffer from cabin fever

I read I write I contemplate and wait for warmer weather

Winter is my personal plight.


On a quiet day when the wind is still my soul and spirit rest

I gather strength from the atmosphere I am safe in Spirit’s nest

Still days are my source of Might.

On a blustery day when the wind howls sweeping the earth

I hunker down to wait my faith is tested I rely on my second birth

On a windy day I hold faith tight!


I am a finely tuned instrument subject to the atmosphere I measure

Pulled up pushed down lifted rested then tested by outside pressure

A thermometer an emotional barometer!

I am intrinsically sensitive excruciatingly aware of the invisible forces

The Spiritual Breath that animates the living sets all things on their courses

A sensitive a spiritual winds anemometer.


I am purposed to gather atmospheric information and package it as art

I am a natural-emotional –spiritual-data-base predicting weather is my part

The information I gather is to share.

I ruminate I correlate I paint I write I create and present my data in a poem

I am a creative this is what I do the way I communicate Truth in teal ocean foam

An artist’s call lays the heart bare!





Truth is Action

What is this quietude of thought I don’t recognize?

Is there nothing left for me to say?

Did I work so long and now this truth I must realize?

There’s nothing new to be written anyway?

All’s been said before with no new method to merchandize,



My life I spent thinking I must write to make others prize,

The importance of truth as a better way…

I worked hard to get their attention and help them rightly apprize,

The validity of those words I was driven to say.

Some, who agreed listened, while others seemed to only patronize,



Now, I wonder about all the words I worked so hard to radicalize…

Was it better to write or to pray?

Perhaps, I’m unable to capture Truth and in my many words capsulize,

The flame burning in my heart to say…

Is this thing I call art really anything? Or just my pride’s way to aggrandize…



I am older now and still, my ears open to listen, I’m willing to actualize;

Obey these words that in youth I burned to say…

Truth is full when lived, written truth partial, words not only to conceptualize.

Something I wish I’d understood on a younger day.

A more effective method is to trust, obey, and by faith’s quiet living Way, initialize









Artistic Joy

I want to go to that Heavenly land where poetry is borne on lilac perfume.

And heart-felt prose flow in mighty rivers of sparkling-clean, ideal dreams.

That golden refuge that houses my muse whom I love, cherish, and adore!

Ah, splendid solitude! Lost in sacred act of weaving ideas on creative loom;

Retrieving Truth from Tragedy; Re-telling as something beautiful on reams

Of hand-crafted paper; An astounding story as it’s never been told before!

With masterful illustrations, in vivid color within flowing lines that bloom,

And blossom, as new ideas in the minds of all viewing my artistic schemes;

Crowning joy; Purpose complete! Artists abide and breathe in imaging lore!