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Shakespeare's Monkeys

Infinite Monkeys. Infinite Typewriters.

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James Zealy
Only In The Eyes of the Beholder

Beauty depends on who is lookin'

on Aug. 25 2007

Moonlight Dreams

Moonlight floods
The glistening liquid mirror
fluttering ever so gently
Amidst the summer calm

Evokes hypnotic dreams
Of romance amid the stars
Casting the mind
With a fisher of whims

To Create an incandescent fantasy
Soothing and enticing all at once
Waiting wistfully to consummate
A hopeful whimsy

As it Cleanses the mind Of animosity
Emancipating the thoughtful dreamer
For a peaceful moment
Until the light is no more.


on Aug. 23 2007

Tears

Based on the Photograph "Tears" by Man Ray

Crystalline orbs of perfection
Adorn her perfect complected skin
Clinical and pure deception
Shines through
Delineating
a soulless
Heartless
Analytical
Quasi Angelic air
Decorating a perfect
Aquiline nose
With twin
Erstwhile eyes
Blessed with an Arctic cold
Piercing Unsuspecting hearts
With Stalagmite spears
Of pure malice

 

Low Flyer

A Grey Heron flies low hunting.....

Winsome wisps of essence form
A translucent image
Painted on a summer sky
Awaiting a random sortie
Flying low and graceful
Across the quiet waters
Hunting for a place to rest
To watch the ever present
Abundance of life
And sate the ongoing desire
To Ravenously devour its watery cuisine

Wistful dreams of the perfect place,
The quest for more,
Drives the wanton need
To take the flesh and consume it whole
Flush with passionate hunger
Lest the slimy prey escapes
And forces the restless predator
To find another adventure

Moon Light Lace

An odd cloud formation at night surrounds a full moon.

The moon shown through
White lace criss crossed
Soft ropy tendrils
Capturing for a moment
The full golden orb

Suspended against a black onyx sky
Surrounded by strobe light stars
Eerie images succumb
To cotton batting textures

Imprisoned in sensual softness
It awaits the break of day
When lacy textures dissipate
Amid the morning haze

on Aug. 20 2007

Kiss a Memory (Revised)

This is a revision of an older poem. I like the original, but I thought this might lend itself to a song lyric. I am not sure if the revisons enhance or detract from the original

Kiss a memory from long ago
Taste the lips young as before
Replay the time of a Jubilee
Wanton with drink and 70's play

Kiss a memory and think
Of the troubled girl
A woman and a child
Flush with life and lack of guile
Once again that momentary appeal

Kiss a memory and smile
For Childhood friends
Playing games
Spinning yarns
Laughing at shame

Kiss a memory and see the girl
Fading into an insane whirl
High as the highest peak
No drugs to speak

Kiss a memory and feel
The schizophrenic loss of reality
Reverting to childhood dreams
Swinging and playing in old retreats

Kiss a memory and remember the pain
When the attacker comes to play
Leaving her lifeless and at rest
Amid the child hood toys of her past

See her troubled eyes again
Wish the wish of normalcy
While wallowing in uncertainty
Kiss a memory

Kiss A Memory (original)

This is the original version

Kiss a memory from long ago
Taste the lips young as before
Replay the time of a Jubilee
Wanton with drink and 70's play

Remember the troubled girl
A woman and a child
Flush with life and lack of guile
Kiss the memory again and feel
Once again that momentary appeal

Childhood friends
Playing games
Spinning yarns
Laughing at shame

Kiss a memory and see the girl
Fading into an insane whirl
High as the highest peak
No drugs to speak

Kiss a memory and feel
The schizophrenic loss of reality
Reverting to childhood dreams
Swinging and playing in old retreats

Kiss a memory and remember the pain
When the attacker comes to play
Leaving her lifeless and at rest
Amid the child hood toys of her past.

on Jul. 23 2007

Idol Refrain

I saw Kellie Pickler this past Friday. She broke down in tears on stage singing her song "I wonder".

She stood on the stage
Overcome by the moment
Her little girl voice cracked
As tears poured like an April rain

We in the audience watched
Crying drops of empathy
For this beautiful sad woman child
Struggling to finish her anthem of pain

She bled tears of sadness
She bled tears of sorrow
She bled tears of joy
She bled tears of amazement

For there was
No mom to share her shoes
No mom to watch her grow
No mom to talk to
No mom to sew her tattered heart

At the end she stood
Emotions scattered amid the spotlights
Her voice quivered a passionate refrain
Thanking us for our patience

It was as if for a moment
We were her family
She could share her anguish
And know we would understand

on June 29 2007

The house Waits

We went into my wife's Aunt's House after she died. It was if she had never left.
Her House is empty of presence
But full of expectations
It waits for its chair to crease
A glimpse of Curio's that adorn
Papers left too act
Coffee left to brew
It wails in silence at her absence

The house waits
Static and white noise silent
Sepia specter images weep the loss
Yet seraph presence smiles, consoling
Material placebos are there for the living

Odors still embellish the aura
Of togetherness and laughter
Of sadness and pain
Of reuniting
Of human warmth

We are intruders
Who disturb the stasis
Wade through the silence
Traipsing slowly through memories
Encapsulated in a sense of unease

Anticipation is its mantra
It hopes for the door to open
It prays for the smiling footsteps
That will not return
The house waits

on June 21 2007

Nice to meet You Mr. Timberlake

Not a poem.
I have been in and around Davidson County now for over 30 years. My introduction to Lexington came as a result of my marriage, and the frequent visits to her mother’s house, combined with the taste of barbecue and a dose of Bob Timberlake artwork. Two years ago, we became permanent residents of Davidson County. Like all things that are too familiar, sometimes we take them for granted. Until Saturday, it was that way when I observed Timberlake paintings and prints.

On Saturday June 16th I attended The Bob Timberlake Gallery open house. My dad and I just completed a round of golf, when we got the call from my wife to meet her at the Bob Timberlake Gallery. We arrived and as usual I was there as an observer and my wife’s designated bag carrier while she shopped.

She had already purchased some items, and since Bob Timberlake was in the gallery, autographing purchases and other items, we all got in line to have things signed and talk for a moment to the Artist and Davidson county living legend. My wife is an ex teacher and has never known a stranger. She immediately started a conversation with him. When he found out my wife was a teacher, Bob got a big grin on his face and asked the question, “Since you are a teacher, how do you spell granary?” My wife got this quizzical look on her face and spelled it “Grainary”. At that he smiled and said “That’s not the right spelling, anybody else care to try?” My dad responded with granary. He smiled and said, that’s right, the teacher missed it but you got it right. We all got a chuckle as he described his quandary over the word, as a subject of one of his paintings was a granary. He could not believe that was the correct spelling.

Next we went to the special display of 70 pieces that were displayed, to celebrate his 70th birthday. It was here I got a real introduction to Bob Timberlake’s passions as illustrated in print and paint form. I went from image to image in order. As I read the comments and examined the prints I became more and more absorbed. The comments were as clear, descriptive and colorful as the art itself. It became clear that this was a story being told by images and words, and like a good book, I could not stop until I was done. My daughter tapped me on the shoulder. She and her mom were ready to go. I shushed her and continued to read and compare the words to the images, I felt like if I did not finish this virtual book, I would not get another chance. At last I was done. I smiled for a moment, pleased that I had finished. I felt at that moment, I had a sense of who Bob Timberlake is through his passion, his art.

One piece I saw stood out, not so much because of the painting, but because of the philosophical question asked in the comment. The item was number 4 “Sunnyside”. The painting shows a fork in the road and asks which one would you take? Perhaps we could follow the artist’s lead and follow the road less traveled.


06/20/2007

on May 14 2007

What Together is Supposed to Be

My Aunt and Uncle by marriage were Married for 49 and 1/2 years. My Aunt died last week, succeeding by 4 years her husband's death.


What one begins the other finishes
What one starts the other ends
That's what together is supposed to be
What it's supposed to be

For 4 times 10 and more
What one started the other finished
What one began the other ended
It was that and more

Now what was is no more
One expired One lost and tired
What was begun could not end
What was started could not finish
The half is not the whole

Today the cycle starts anew
Today there is no pain
Today there is no sadness

what one begins the other finishes
what one starts the other ends
That's what together is supposed to be
What it's supposed to be
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