Tuesday, November 01, 2005


The discouraged flower
Run around in a circle, they do,First full swing, like a bulldozerAgainst an innocent wallLick their woundsThey doLaying wasted on the road of good intentions
I wanted to save the worldThey all sayAmong their tearsWhat a fool was IThey say so bitterly, defeated
Weeping with the weeping willowThey contemplateSurvival in a waste land, away from even their dream
No more dreams of novelsNo more thought of the masterpieceNo more, they swear, willThey aspire to be like the great onesNow, a dependable paycheckThey will findA boring lifeThey will liveAt least full, their belly will be
So many of them Lost in their own shadow!
Cool breeze, sent them I didNot all at once Rome was build, I tell themOne day, one hour at a time,Weave your masterpiece.Take the long view,Better one concrete painting every ten years,Then dreams of twelve an hour
Cool breeze I sent them againBeginning artists need one of theseA wealthy patron, a day job, a personal fortune or unshakable self confidenceA simple lifestyle goes a long way,When building your field of dreams in this real world,But most of all faith in yourself and your message you need,Then of service, you may be.
So Deerie,Don’t try, doDream land does not existTake the steps necessaryLife outside of your bliss, is not worth living.


The hiatus
Run all the time, I doInto women, aspiring artists, struggling artistsWho tell meI am just coming back to my artHad a couple of kidsCouldn’t sculpt,Couldn’t paint,Couldn’t singCouldn’t writeFor two, ten, twelve yearsNow I am free,I can go back to my creative life
I feel like screaming at themFool!
You never stopped being an artistAt this very momentEvery single being is creatingWhether they are making art or junk or even dangerous junkIs up to them!
Yesserie!With their spreadsheet, their clownfaceAnd their tool belt
Raising a child is like throwing a potGentle guidanceNot too much pressure, not too much freedom
And what a mediumTalk about truth to materialDon’t try to make a lawyer of your actor!
Ultimately the clay will decide What it will do and how it will actBut with a little help from you.
Is it so different, when you use your wordsYour clay, your watercolors?And lo!The most exquisite experienceAfter thirty years or so,You might be able to pinpoint the exact moodOf that moment of conception so long ago
You got to be the unrecognized artistThe collaborator on a projectThat now creates independently
No, you never were a frustrated artistHow you live your life is your masterpiece.