Pressed two into one my brother’s rock.
From long ago we walked the block.
The fossil, truly a glacier rock.
I’ve carried it from block to block.
My brothers gone, no walks, no talks from around the block.
No birthdays, no ball games, but thirty six years later,
I still have my brother’s rock.
ROCK ON !!!!!!!!!!!!!!,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
He always said ART is the most important thing in the world.
No matter if you believe this or not, the truth is we all interact with art in many forms everyday.
If it were not for creative people and visionaries there would be no paintings to view no photographs to see and no internet to post them on.
So yes as my High School ART teacher always said art is the most important thing in the world.
I Pay Homage to “Mr. Edward Sinchak” a great artist and a great teacher!
Of Fluid rhythmic motion the tide does meet.
Of zig zagging streams running through the valley deep.
Of mountains peak and forest thick of hunters green.
Of canyons,crevices and ravines.
Of open plains and pastures filled by yellow phosphorous green.
Of blue sky everglades and sandy beach a cactus meet.
Of sunburst clouds and red clay, deserts.
Of rocky shorelines, country lanes and city streets.
Of moonlit skys, slipping into reality I go in retreat,
Where reality a fantasy connecting my head to my feet.
Of fluid rhythmic motion the tide does meet.
Fragments of shattered mirror strewn about the loft. Papers tossed as if a hurricane had swept in challenging a night stalker. The devastation abandon, left for an unsuspecting arrival to discover finding only shock as if a bare wire sparked as it dangeled from the ceiling. But what was it that actually happened?
Sometimes it hard to distinguished between fact and fiction. The lines cross over between creativity and insanity. So who draws the line? Who can actually say………………What is true and what is only in the reality of the minds deepest dark corners of escape.
“Please click home and read on……”
You decide what is real and what is not.
Does the artist/writer become his work? Is it a self-fullfilling prophecy to become their vision.
Does the artist manifest his own success, his own demise?
Could it be strickly entertainment, food for thought from the corner of ones mind?