No wonder they set out to find the Savior of the world. They’d seen him in action.
. . . the staunch shiny star that refuses to fall from its perch.
I was eight and followed wherever light commanded . . .
Grace . . . kept by itself in the drawer of a bedside table. . .
Here there is flesh to spare, but never enough blood.
Insects have no sense of tragedy.
Hint of Spring by Allan Harbour
There are evenings when God walks in this field — yes, this one
The web pulses in the breeze — huge, white, glittering with dew.
Allan Harbour, artist in oils.
let him burn the house down
Nothing here to be had.
And let the dance begin
He mounts Ego. That winged ass.
. . .running riot through red rooms.
This world is hard and heavy. Most often darkness rules; but in the sunlight somewhere sings every bird with broken wings. Broken Wings is part of an… Read more “Broken Wings by John Holland”
The sky is indigo and indignant.
As she dances she sings with sweet sickness of her lost love.
I knew a sea once
Wear me for a brooch.
You dare come here unarmed and mindless?
Everything comes to the river at some stage.
Floating . . . on the tip of a madman’s tongue.
Time . . . every now and then take out a pinch and breathe it in real slow.
Done in oils. “Luna Blue” by Allan Harbour.
. . . she dances in the lonely desert of a man’s dry heart.
She trembles inside the silence of flesh vaults.
… tanned legs so beautiful they make your heart ache.
My love is like a red, red begonia. Doesn’t work.
The snake splits open, unpeeling its old self against an exposed root.
Allan Harbour is a West Virginia artist who paints in oils. This painting was done for Jennie, his wife.
Here is what color cannot do,
unmask the homeliest form.
Our love . . . an age freckled map.
Stand still as the falcon passes close behind . . .
. . . spring bullied us into wakefulness.
Trees like old men, bent with the burden of their bones.
Done in oils.
He clung to the edge, he beat the sides. What a terrible clanging!
Done in oils.
Praise the light that melts you.
Nothing comprehensible is more than it appears to be.
There were words straight as corn,
Later in the evening, a Candlelight Service . . . .