Tagged: nature

Alteration

It happened as I folded your laundry

I glanced out my south eastern window

Where Mount Baker use to shine

A row of oversized houses is out my window now

I see the back end of them

I hear the birds outside my office window

Along with the humming of the washing machine

The computer and camera won’t process my latest painting

The ever-changing pigment is too strong

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

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Jackie Blair McSween

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Garden Art

A collection of outside art for gardens or patios. Household latex paint on plywood with a finish to protect the painting from all the elements.
By Jackie Blair McSween
Jackie Blair Fine Art

 

LAUGHTER

Oh that I could add My Laughter

to The Sounds of The Birds

but You can

 

“Don’t You mean She Was Mentally Ill?”

.            “Yes, but that doesn’t mean She is Now”

 

Here, I’ll just have another glass

.          of White Wine

out here on The Portico

with The Comings & Goings

.         of The Neighbours –

One I just invited over –

One I’m not inclined to invite

& One has a Bunny in Her Driveway

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Joanna Hyde
April 26th 2012   The Hawk Portico   5:14pm
joannagilmanhyde.wordpress.com

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A Summer Storm

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The black clouds come billowing along

this happens in an instant, every day, same way

The strongest one rows back, it was never me

We make our way out of the murky muddy lake

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The rowboat rests in hope that the waves won’t wake

No need to throw the life jackets -

we didn’t require those restraints

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We raced the hot humid rain

The screen door slams, slams, slams!

Ah the sweet smell of unused cottage

the smell lingers all summer long

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The breeze eases through the screen walls

carrying the summer air after the rain

The fire in the sky strikes 1-2-3… Crash!

The storm is moving on, to the next Great Lake

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Early evening comes upon us

Our lake, in calmness, is still as ice and soft as snow

The motorboats take to the lake like children to a playground

It could be the best ski of the summer!

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Good old Mr. Kay in his fray red shorts

raises his bushy grey brow

as he navigates between the array of spray

The stench of stale beer sweeps past the spotter

only to be replaced by gasoline

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Buzz, buzz, buzz skier is up

skier is down…..

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Sky sinks to orange in perfect time

One by one the boats return

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Slam, slam, slam goes the door!

Oh the sweet smell of unused cottage

it’s even in the sheets

How is that?

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Jackie Blair (McSween)
June 20/08

Art in the Park & The Emerging Artist

I am blessed to live beside one of the most beautiful parks in a wonderful little town called Mission in British Columbia, Canada. Heritage Park is within walking distance from my house and I walk in the park with my dog, Katie, on a regular basis. In the summer  our local arts council organizes entertainment in the park and all the townsfolk show up with their picnic dinner and lawn chairs. This year they have added a venue for local artists, and this is where I fit in. This was a wonderful opportunity for me, to be brave and  get out there with my paintings. What a beautiful night it was, as you can see from the historic location, engaged crowd and majestic scenery.

Jackie Blair Fine Art

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Underneath The Old Oak Tree

Sitting quietly,
Enjoying the gentle summer rays.
Long black hair framing a petite face.
Hidden underneath a delicate straw hat.
A fitted sundress patterned with yellow and white ruffles.
picking up the wind so quietly every now and then.
The majesty of nature surrounds us.
It’s warm embrace calms us deep down to our very souls.
The leaves flutter around us softly.
Blown about by the cool afternoon breeze.
Whispering secrets delicately as it runs to and fro.
As the birds sing proudly and waddle about.
A wave of melancholy hits me in the gut.
As i gaze upon my mother.
Dressed in the pale blue robe given to her.
Hey beauty now ravaged by the war she fights internally.
her spirit a shadow of what it used to be,
What it should rightfully be.
Her eyes burn brightly.
Not willing to give up.
But I’m just not so sure.
Tears well in my eyes.
As i remember my mother,
I long to be home.
back to better times,
Sitting underneath the old oak tree.
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Steven Truong
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