Posts by Arts and Culture El Dorado

Stormed Out   Turbulent sleep hocked me up On this beach, my usual Bed, amidst the dry tangled Waves of dream tossed percale sheets And that lying comforter That failed its one yclept job.   The islands of my pillows, That might have been lamely grasped In unconscious dreamy frays With squiddy nightmares chasing, Unlike…

A Midwife’s Memoir Penned in Tears What cruel adulterate alchemy Did torture this alembic, thy womb! Were not the frost the bane of elder days? Not so, alas: The winter’s droplet hath Betimes imbued thy still‐distilling spring, And given unto budding life A deathly flowering.   *** Some of these words are archaic. See this…

The Container Speaks I am the vessel the earth beneath her feet the one you came to see   I am forged of sunshine my golden exterior emanating warmth to comfort and protect   I am fashioned from linen and glue Painstakingly molded, layer upon layer With a gaping maw in my center   I…

Perspective Am I in the womb or a coffin? Am I about to be born or buried? Am I hemmed in by these walls or protected by them? Is this my prison or my place of safety? Is this a window to my soul? Or am I simply on display? Am I vulnerable in my…

Just off the Trail She walks thru a tunnel,              portal to a different world where she disappears up hardpan paths.   Woodland textures Aae speaking to her hands, bare branches she’s lined up for a fence   camo’d by straw sunburned brown, lumber once a door now a bed for sleeping, salvaged cast-offs.  …

Puzzle   Every one leaning into the yoke, their shod feet indispensable to the surviving hole.   Both of them waiting beneath the curved blade, its hammered form a question unspoken, always known.   As if a double fan made for two hands but too ponderous to lift to summon a light breeze. Bits and…

His Face   Must wood and metal hold him together, hold his face inside themselves? But see how well-worn weaves of fiber stretch, reach with frayed edges seeking to join the unyielding with supple fabric of life. Cracked, 2006, Mixed media

Scythe   Remember the scythe that hangs rusting in my shed – the mowing tool I learned to dance with when I was much younger, before the harvesting of my years. Reaper, 1998, Painted cloth, metal no wood

Chine   Feel  it   in    the     bones      discs      fail     joints    not   quite  aligned trying   for   the vertical   within    softly  eroding flesh.   by Taylor Graham Chine, c. 2005, Mixed media

Golden   A golden case, frame of gathers & folds & pleats & intricately artfully designed by an unseen mind; smooth surfaces polished mirror-bright by invisible hands to form this perfect         golden         resting         place recessed within the artful box, for whom? so deep within, we can’t see the eyes. Is anyone in…