Painting by Allan Harbour, oils.
Snow Moon
“Snow Moon” by Allan Harbour.
WHAT IF by Llewellyn McKernan
No wonder they set out to find the Savior of the world. They’d seen him in action.
MANGER SCENE
. . . the staunch shiny star that refuses to fall from its perch.
Leaving Home by Richard Spilman
I was eight and followed wherever light commanded . . .
A “ROSE FOR JOAN” by Allan Harbour
Faith by Richard Spilman
Grace . . . kept by itself in the drawer of a bedside table. . .
  Communion by Richard Spilman
Here there is flesh to spare, but never enough blood.
June Bugs by Richard Spilman
Insects have no sense of tragedy.
Hint of Spring by Allan Harbour
Hint of Spring by Allan Harbour
The Field by Richard Spilman
There are evenings when God walks in this field — yes, this one
Age of Loss by Richard Spilman
The web pulses in the breeze — huge, white, glittering with dew.
Hello, Spring! Allan Harbour, artist.
Allan Harbour, artist in oils.
Conditional by Richard Spilman
let him burn the house down
Memento Mori by John Holland
Nothing here to be had.
Come here by John Holland
And let the dance begin
Tilting by John Holland
He mounts Ego. That winged ass.
Once Upon A Mind by John Holland
. . .running riot through red rooms.
Broken Wings by John Holland
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 Birth of Chaos by John Holland
The sky is indigo and indignant.
Chubb Illusions by John Holland.
As she dances she sings with sweet sickness of her lost love.
Northern Waters by John Holland
I knew a sea once
The Sky is Coming Down by John Holland
Wear me for a brooch.
Black Bulls by John Holland
You dare come here unarmed and mindless?
Water Signs by John Holland Â
Everything comes to the river at some stage.
Going Down? by John Holland
Floating . . . on the tip of a madman’s tongue.
If I Only Could by John Holland
Time . . . every now and then take out a pinch and breathe it in real slow.
Luna Blue, painting by Allan Harbour
Done in oils. “Luna Blue” by Allan Harbour.
A long way home by John Holland
. . . she dances in the lonely desert of a man’s dry heart.
Abuse by John Holland
She trembles inside the silence of flesh vaults.
Any Town by John Holland
… tanned legs so beautiful they make your heart ache.
By Any Other Name, by Richard Spilman
My love is like a red, red begonia. Doesn’t work.
In This Season, by Richard Spilman
The snake splits open, unpeeling its old self against an exposed root.
Song of Spring, by Allan Harbour
Allan Harbour is a West Virginia artist who paints in oils. This painting was done for Jennie, his wife.
The Black-and-White Photography of Edward Weston, by Richard Spilman
Here is what color cannot do,
unmask the homeliest form.
Anniversary, by Richard Spilman
Our love . . . an age freckled map.
Imperative, by Richard Spilman
Stand still as the falcon passes close behind . . .
Leeks, by Richard Spilman
. . . spring bullied us into wakefulness.
ICE STORM, by Richard Spilman
Trees like old men, bent with the burden of their bones.
WINTER TREAT, by Allan Harbour
Done in oils.
Lobsters, by Richard Spilman
He clung to the edge, he beat the sides. What a terrible clanging!
Still Waters, by Allan Harbour
Done in oils.
Snow Woman, by Llewellyn McKernan
Praise the light that melts you.
In the Night Speaking, by Richard Spilman
Nothing comprehensible is more than it appears to be.
Danvers, Illinois by Richard Spilman
There were words straight as corn,
Snowy Hideaway, by Allan Harbour
Snowy Hideaway
Joan Spilman 