Patterns Envelop

collage

Sympathy for Polyphemus

collage

A Little Salt for the Wound

collage

The Interpretations of Sound

Pastel, Conte, pencil, charcoal on paper

Oedipus

collage

The Thief

Charcoal, Conte crayon, pencil

Mayday

Collage of trash found Oct 8&9

A recent sketchbook page

Those Were the Days

chalk and pastel on paper

Doubting Thomas

acrylic on canvas

The Path

acrylic on canvas

New Exhibit

My work will be appearing in an exhibit September 7th-29th at the Fort Worth Community Arts Center. More info is at Preservation is the Art of the City.

Here is a piece which will appear...

"On a Line by Philippe Soupault"
acrylic and collage on Masonite. 6x6 inches.

Night

She Stoops

Words for the Wind

The New American

Late Nights

The Road

Sold Out

The blue, or sapphire, plastic WAL-MART bag
bulging with black plums and sweet cantaloupe,
a fetus in its amniotic sac,
bursts as it lands on the volcanic dump.

Homer, Trojans, tampons, mockingbird chirps
mingle in the stinking heap, seeking links,
non sequiturs like an Exquisite Corpse.
Solomon’s vineyard feeds Breton’s blue fox.

Tell me, Wallace Stevens, tell me now, what
device can tame these acidic scents born
from the mush of books, beasts, mildew and Donne—

not something jarring like a rifle butt,
but formal, fitted, proven as a worn-
out filter, say, fourteen by ten by one?

Fort Worth Art

Here's a link to my work published in a new online site dedicated to Fort Worth artists. I'll be sending some new work. If you frequent my blog, you have probably already seen what's currently up.

Browse the site and check out the other artists here in Fort Worth.

Fort Worth Art Space, Aaron Roe

The Double Landscape

The majestic eye loosens from its stem.
You must kill the tree to know its true age.
Its rings are wrought of gold, its gold is gray.
The satin thorn wields its fang without rage.

No breath is made in the absence of clay.
But drop by drop the air consoles the lungs.
The pressing storm expands the shrunken field.
The peach tree blossoms quiver like white tongues.

The still lake lies like an abandoned shield.
Spears of rainfall deflect off its surface.
First darkness sleeps beneath the silver roof.
An elusive swimmer seeks his purpose.

A child collects fossils to prove the truth.
Hair, string, straw are all the bounty of nests.
The proof of life rests in nurturing death.
When the hawk drops from flight, the birds confess.

Being

Cage

The Sophisticated Life

Grounded

I've been away from this blog way too long. Here's a poem that was recently published in a chapbook entitled CONNECTION: A Collection of Poems Inspired be the Art of Thuy Saliba.

Grounded

Acorns and the pit of an apricot,
some red berries from the prickly hedge
(not to be eaten), and three spiral shells,
brittle and whitened with vacancy, rattle

as the child drops a spoon-shaped fossil
into the tin can. No museum would suit
her specimens better than this metal
collection cup, and having reached the edge

of the yard she spies a single red leaf
grounded beyond the iron gate. With the tips
of her fingers she can nearly tease

the leaf into her grasp; then the wind lifts
and from the overhanging branches strips
a boughburst of cardinals and canaries.