Tagged: death

Sahasrara

-

Before I depart

You will have what you need

Irrelevant is hatred and fame

As is judgement and gold

Greatness in the Vastness -

There will be None

This manufactured cesspool

Is churning into stagnation

So, before I arrive

You will have what you need -

-

Jackie Blair McSween

 

Macrocosm

I reposted these pictures under “Thousand Petal Lotus” for two reasons;

I managed to get a better picture by photographing them outside. These paintings, although individual, are an integral part in the making of  ”Thousand Petal Lotus” and “Sahasrara”.

Acrylic on Canvas (three paintings)
by Jackie Blair McSween
Jackie Blair Fine Art

Nothingness

Pollution seeps into the Void

Powerlessness prevails here

But for who or what -

I’m pulled down

To grey porous concrete

Like a YoYo with a severed string

My duty of making humans comfortable

With T-bone steaks and grad dresses

Do we really care?

Now that the Spiral is in motion

-

Jackie Blair McSween

-

Hearts on Fire #1

He rushes to the hospital in his rusty, powdered blue pickup. Another important meeting would be missed. But work is the least of his worries. Climbing the corporate ladder is not his priority. Not right now at least. Slammed by traffic he nervously taps on his steering wheel. The tension is as thick as the stifling humidity. Another brutal 35 degree summer day. Some music should help. Absent minded, he turns The dial to any station. After a minute the radio starts to drone on and blend in with the endless line of cars ahead. He sweats profusely as he recalls vivid memories…

Cradling her lightly, his cheeks are wet with tears. Only hours old, so small, so feeble, so amazing….. A miracle in a time so dark. A birth in exchange for a death. The Gift of life crashing against the devastation of loss. Losing the woman you love is an indescribable pain; deep and haunting, piercing places you never thought possible. She died due to complications during the birth delivery. He vowed to never forget her auburn hair drifting gracefully in the summer breeze. The way she would curl her lips right before he kissed her. The countless other quirks and mannerisms he memorized and grown to love. He would never forget the stubborn, beautiful, strong woman he fell in love with.Today would be the last of his life. His last chance to cry openly. His last opportunity to be weak. He would be a father after today. Devoted solely to the life left behind by the woman he adored. But for now, for this one moment, he would let himself be weak. He held her gently against himself. A ball of life so weak, so pure; whimpering to himself ever so softly…

The blast of the horn from the red convertible behind him shocks him away from his daydream. Drenched in sweat and barely awake, his foot slams on the pedal. Back to the hospital. Back to reality.

He bursts through the doors of the lobby. Searching around in a panic; a feral beastly frenzy consumes him. Cool air blasts from the powerful AC sending a chill down his spine. “My daughter! Where can I find my daughter!” He shouts. Grabbing a nearby nurse by the shoulders, “I’m Mr. Cooper, Where’s my daughter!”

Waiting is agonizing, painful, and cruel. Three long hours have passed and his stamina is fading. His faith is being strained and his prayers are left unanswered. Slumped over in an uncomfortable chair; He waits outside the ER, a ball of negativity and concern. He clutches a piece of paper tightly; The last words he saved from his late wife. A small selection of names that have all been crossed out. All but one: Hope. He closes his eyes and starts to sob quietly. Something he promised himself he would never do again….

“Mr Cooper.” A doctor with a weary expression and a hardened face approaches. “Yes, that’s me. How is she? Is she okay?” He tries to read his eyes, but comes up empty. “I’m sorry Mr. Cooper. We’ve done all that we could. She couldn’t be saved. I’m so sorry for your loss…”

The words echo in his ears.
His world goes black and his strength disappears.
This is the day where he losses hope.

Steven Truong

Arrival & (A Mother’s day Poem)

acrylic on canvas
by Jackie Blair
www.jackieblair.ca 

-   

I paint from the Light

and write from the dark

Happy Mother’s day -

I am writing a poem

Now that I have this out of the way

I can get to my painting

-

THE SELLING OF AN ISLAND ORCHARD

 

“Even if the trees

get pulled up

or torn down

it won’t matter

to your mother”

Kristine Zoodedoo

 

No, it won’t matter to My Mother

She’s dead

with Her Monument to Death beneath Them,

Her white-blossomed Garden of Eden

 

And why should it matter to Me?

 

I’m alive

and have

My One Scraggly Apple

in My Back Yard

by The Sea

 

Joanna Hyde
 March 11th 2012   The Hawk