Archive for the ‘Art’ Category
Near Hutch’s Pool in the Santa Catalina Mountains (11/18/11) — Photo-Artistry by kenne
For what is the moon, that it haunts us,
this impudent companion immigrated
from the system’s less fortunate margins,
the realm of dust collected in orbs?
— from the poem Half Moon, Small Cloud by John Updike
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Mastro’s Ocean Club Gourmet Restaurant In The Shops at Crystals at Aria Resort and Casino — Photo-Artistry by kenne
Many are making love. Up above, the angels
in the unshaken ether and crystal of human longing
are braiding one another’s hair, which is strawberry blond
and the texture of cold rivers. They glance
down from time to time at the awkward ecstasy—
it must look to them like featherless birds
splashing in the spring puddle of a bed—
and then one woman, she is about to come,
peels back the man’s shut eyelids and says,
look at me, and he does.
— from Privilege of Being by Robert Hass
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Bakery Art In Aria Resort and Casino — Image by kenne
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Sitting Happy Buddha at Aria Resort And Casino — Image by kenne
“All that we are is the result of what we have thought.”
— Buddha
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Dragonfly On Twisted Pair — Photo-Artistry by kenne
I’m the dragonfly rising on the wings
of unlocked dreams
on the verge of magical things.
— Aimee Stewart
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Sonoran Sunset — Photo-Artistry by kenne
“Learn the rules like a pro, so you can break them like an artist.”
— Pablo Picasso
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Cabin In The Woods (Mt. Lemmon) — Photo-Artistry by kenne
I wish I could escape to that cabin in the woods,
Where the trees have a face like no other.
And those trees play songs,
with the breeze sweeping through their branches.
I wish I could hear their songs.
Not just hear, but to actively listen
Because they fill their chords with notes of love.
I want their tunes to brush my ear
and their leaves to gently cover me from above.
The leaves that don’t crunch or wither or die.
The leaves are full of ever-increasing life.
When the fallen leaves have touched my skin
Chills cover my flesh and shoot me with a sensation.
I have been touched by this gracious life.
— from Cabin In The Woods by Little.Bird
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New Orleans Corner Store Window Display (October 6, 2001) — Photo-Artistry by kenne
The Moon
Wrapped in her shaw
she turns the knob,
says she’ll be back in five minutes–
and whether she means a toe
for a moment, or fifteen days,
I know she’s good for it–
if only all others
were the same–
if I could hitch a ride
and be back in good time,
I know I’d find
Neptune again–
and roll an eye
at Venus along the way–
she’s always late.
But the Moon–five minutes.
— Abi Mott
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Raven — Grunge Art by kenne
Nevermore its name
A fittingly cloudy day
Deep into darkness.
— kenne
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Wild Cotton Blossom — Photo-Artistry by kenne
Turning pink in time
Beginning a virgin white
It is nature’s way.
— kenne
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Bird of Paradise — Photo-Artistry by kenne
My Bird of Paradise
Pleasing to behold
Is alive and has a soul
Paralyzed by love.
— kenne
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Arizona Beggarticks Wildflowers — Photo-Artistry by kenne
I paint with pixels
Adding new layers and filters
To create new art
Only to allow
The eye of the beholder
To become the judge.
Art is everywhere
Needing discipline of time
Found in simple things.
— kenne
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Photo-Artistry by kenne
Sonnet – To Science
Science! true daughter of Old Time thou art!
Who alterest all things with thy peering eyes.
Why preyest thou thus upon the poet’s heart,
Vulture, whose wings are dull realities?
How should he love thee? or how deem thee wise,
Who wouldst not leave him in his wandering
To seek for treasure in the jewelled skies,
Albeit he soared with an undaunted wing?
Hast thou not dragged Diana from her car,
And driven the Hamadryad from the wood
To seek a shelter in some happier star?
Hast thou not torn the Naiad from her flood,
The Elfin from the green grass, and from me
The summer dream beneath the tamarind tree?
— Edgar Allen Poe
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“Angel in the Vortex” (2006) — Van Gogh Effect Abstract by kenne
We buy books because we believe we’re buying the time to read them.
— Warren Zevon
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Cedar Waxwing — Photo-Artistry by kenne
Hope is the thing with feathers—
that perches in the soul—
and sings the tune without the words—
and never stops—at all—
— Emily Dickinson
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