Changeling
Cracked
Fire
Old World
Rainy
Scribbler
Collage
Plein air
Creased fingers carry
calloused waterlily cantatas
in reflective tempos.
Ivy canopies lean
on tentative trelisses,
vineyards chaise lounge
uneven on the ground,
and a propped canvas weaves
coarse textures in the nude.
Dog-eared eyes chase
the dark roast and milk
in every leaf and branch,
corner restless ripe light
in the seep fold.
A tree's gnarled bones shape
the throne of lost
sun and dew,
seed and dawn.
Outward and upward
four corners measured,
and the earth stretches
canvas flat.
Color shells snap
and broken light
seeps deep yellow limoncello
in a flower's heart.
Petals trace,
curve and crave
for crimson days,
pistils tip
a supernova's purple larva,
lulled
in azure's fugitive hues.
The underverse
stalked
caressed
poured
framed
in lightning aligned
open stroke gashes
left to sing.
Plein Air originally appeared at Gloom Cupboard #94
Black Swan
A raspy Victrola
whispers auguries
and a vague-eyed Degas girl
stirs essence of flame,
tendus conjures
a summons to soar
with athame feet.
Whiff snatched,
caught and kissed
Vaslav's last
desperate leap
to flee nude madness,
snow and sweat.
Cantinelas contort
broken anguished angles
shape shifted to forms
of flight.
Blizzards blindfold
Moorish silk mirrors
and distorted suns,
ensnared black feathers
circle the birth
of cursed Love.
Cimabue Imbued
A minute happiness multiplies
in accord with successive
green lights
and words glide
legato supple fingers
through a song's gelato.
Poised on the dash
moon murmurs pulse
undercurrents
behind my muddled eyes.
His Cimabue imbued visage
seduces to hover
over the sacred,
to mire time
in flesh shrines.
Redolent
with fresco exertions,
the Byzantine icon floats down
at the sound
of an enamored woman's laughter,
follows its cloud trail
with sturdy earthbound legs
rejoicing as trumpets.
The road to him builds careful layers
precious as wood and gold
measured for the moment,
the span of Love's derelicts
in a breathless dance
seized by the inarticulate
abated fork of the Euphrates
where life water once gurgled.
Armonica
Moist rose fingers summon
sequined souls to unfold
a liquid radiance call response.
Crystal clarity aches
to a satin shimmer,
my pulse flutters
as old movie frames agitate
a mannequin minuet
over a potentate's face.
Fly wheel arcs call forth
filigree scroll designs,
amber spirals spew
round domes and colonnades,
blind through the void's curtains,
silence foams
and rises up monumental stairs.
A sullen foot pedal sits
absent in the itch
for its ghost leg,
commands all,
pursue the truth quest
lodged in its chest.
Innards of the sea sway
a swift, brittle rhythm,
on the Pequod.
Capricious Horses ~ Remembering Vysotsky
His voice whispers
on gravel roads
where dust rises rough
to lay on dark bass bones.
Windstorm's dismal ache,
scourge muscle on Shadow,
lithe flesh emnity
in anguished reverie.
Dark bass boned
capricious horses,
gallop their own rhythm,
hooves and deep cuts,
urge of the bruised,
impulse of flame
to fire dance
on the precipice.
Close,
so close,
peer and choke
gasp at wind lashes.
Plea to slow down,
bleed out restlessness,
balance passion and restraint,
even as my blood rushes
whip like on velvet backs,
urge to sear
surge to pass through whirlwinds,
dance in the palm of my hands.
There might yet be Love
around the corner,
on the next bend,
there might be,
Freedom,
there just might be.
But eager horses snort,
chew foam and blood,
crazed gaits
fan the fire fist in my chest,
and a star couldron's collapses.
Fate speaks
in a seventh string
white heat,
blind sweat afterthought,
tug of war.
Wail of angel wings
thunder on,
scrape mortal chalkboards.
Eager horses,
trample my whispered terrain.
Not my lover ~ Tribute to Chris Cornell
your prophet voice slows joy
to a dirge shiver,
ache at its most rilled,
terse and alert.
warps and wefts,
slow curls and burns
the deepest secret
of bass and flame
flows grace into bare essence
and shadow verse.
desolate aftermath
of Love's mirage,
a last silver strand
inevitable fate hesitates
to sever and terminate,
as her wraith reflection
rises over abandoned rooftops,
tangles crescent moons
and dances anguished
in the round.
cliff to waves,
reed to clay,
whirlwind entrails
coil the stripped core
of a black hole sun,
flesh tremors
throb raw on bone seized
by Truth in the sudden,
not my lover,
not my lover,
not my lover.
Artist's Biography Note:
My name is Anna Donovan. I am originally from Nicaragua, Central America. I spent many years working in the field of computer technical support but I've always had an affinity and love for words and language. I am currently an MS Office and developmental English instructor at a county community college in Dallas, TX.
