Monday, January 8, 2018

Portrait Paintings Using Two Different Techniques of Painting & Glazing

I do not glaze every painting.

It has never been because I'm too lazy. Although, patience is mandatory since the process can take months, maybe even a year, before it is complete and on a drying easel.

No, the reason for not color glazing every painting is simple. 

I only learned the technique about ten years back and since then, have been too timid, afraid I would botch it and ruin a painting that might have been wonderful without the glazing technique.

My first attempt, on my own without an instructor's input and encouragement, didn't turn out as I expected and not how I hoped.

It was also an experiment with BLUE as the main hue, with burnt umber and white as the helpers.

I followed the gestural brushstrokes techniques seen in paintings by Valequez and Sargent; then I ruined it with the second glazing application. 

How? Instead of applying the glazes with the same gestural brushwork and building up the darker hues and lighter tints with a thicker and thicker application of paint to medium, I blended. 

As soon as I stood back and saw what I'd done with the second glaze, my heart slowed and I let out an audible sigh.

But, I persevered until I deemed the painting finished. Below is a detail from the oil painting completed in 2006. 

"Winter" is copyrighted and ALL RIGHTS ARE RESERVED. No reproductions or copies may be made for any reason until I am contacted.


To make a long story short, my current glazing project is called "Blonde Against A Red Wall".

It's a self-portrait I began early in 2016 with drawings and a couple of attempts to put it to canvas. But, unsatisfied with my attempts, I decided to play around on multimedia paper to see if I could ever be satisfied the the color glazing process on my own. The third attempt (below) was done about July 2016.


I sketched it in with oils and added an underpainting of grays. The first glazing over the gray values was done by adding a tint to the skin. an underpainting of grays. I added in a pinkish red I sketched it in with oils and added Blonde Against A Red Wall, the first glazing over the black, gray values painted for the skin was added; the hair has been added/painted.

(the following examples are copyrighted and ALL RIGHTS ARE RESERVED. No reproductions or copies are permitted for any reason until I am contacted.)


It took about 3 1/2 weeks for the painting to dry enough to add the third color glazing to the blouse (remember it was pink...I'm glazing it to become violet). It is the end of the 1st week of August and, hopefully, I can begin to add a darker still glaze to the yellowish skin and a deeper color glaze to the lips.


Yesterday, Aug 29th, I detailed to eyes. A little spill over but that can be fixed; eyebrow over left eye is true, there really is a gap. This is only the under color of the eyebrow; the blue-black will diminish with the addition of true color. Added the first color glazing to the lips -- a little different now from the skin.

Note: I haven't mentioned the hair. I've decided, for textural purposes, the hair will not be glazed, only painte
d.


Sept 13th, the lips and skin are still tacky to the touch, so I turned the painting upside down to work on it.

I have decided light source will come from the front of the figure.

Added darker color glazes over all the skin.

Next, when the painting is dry enough to work with, I will begin adding "tones" -- light, mid-, and dark -- to create shadows and hilites; which could be a little tricky and I will probably need to take some creative license in creating these since the light source is in front of the figure. One thing I think I can see is that the figure is looking not just ahead...could present some interesting shadowing under the face? Hmmm.
..

Need more work on eyes.

Need lots of work on the nose and the mouth; need to tone DOWN those teeth again.

Will be adding in the earring on figure's right ear.

Will be adding lighter glazing over the lavender blouse.


November 6, 2016
added two more glazes to the painting since the last time I shared. This one is definitely showing more depth. Sept 2017 update.

I still have a few more glazing steps to add.

I'll try to find the "last post of this painting process" and post in the "comments" section below.

I made a couple of "boo-boos" on the red background, but I'll wait until the last glazing is done before I go over the background one last time.

Just as a silly but true observation -- the camera really does add weight to the subject. When I look at the painting, I look more like myself at that time.

(Note to brain: when doing portraits, make individuals thinner than you think! They will appreciate the compliment.)



Around Nov 27, added another glazing for more depth; thinking/hoping 1 or 2 more and this one will be done.


In the meantime, I've begun another portrait.

In early December 2017, I began a sketch that I spent a day working on and studying and feeling like something wasn't quite right. But, I went ahead at did an oil-wash sketch on the paper I will use for the painting.



Seeing it was the angle of the eyes and nose that were off, on 12-17, I changed them both with a neutral wash-sketch,


Painted in the background, and added a couple blue undertones for painting but there's still something that isn't quite right.

So, by 12-27, I trashed my second attempt and began again.

A total REDO was called for; so, an Impressionistic portrait of my beautiful, oldest daughter was begun a third time.

Oil on 11- × 14-inch, 98-pound, multimedia paper, and hoping to keep visible my gestural brushstrokes. We'll see how that works out.

Jan 1, 2018

Painted in the background and added a 2d, thicker paint/color glaze to the hair (using Valesquez' and Sargent's technique).

Lost her cheek definition, but it is easily brought back when I begin laying in the layers of paint/glaze to the face.

I decided for this painting, there will be no glazing to the background, the blue around her head and the reddish color that will eventually show below the definition of her blouse.



On Jan 7, 2018, I added another glaze to the lips for the painting A Blonde Against A Red Wall and was interrupted. It is nearly complete. Sorry, no photo of it at this time.

Now I have two glazing projects and that leaves me with only my table easel to play around with smaller paintings.

Whether you prefer the blending method of the hues so that the gestural brushwork is practically nonexistent (as I accidentally did with Blonde Against A Red Wall) or you prefer the thicker buildup of paint/glazes and brushwork (as I will try to strictly adhere to in the painting of my daughter) is a personal decision.

Neither choice is right or wrong; it's only each person's preference for a particular style. Valequez and Sargent preferred to express their works using their expertise as artists with a gestural style while Bouguereau's work was smooth and luminous, a buildup of thin layers over a "grisaille" underpainting.

The foundations for these three painters' works stem from the same classical training, so their paintings often times start the same. The academic teaching at the French Academy was studied by both Sargent and Bouguereau, but the surface quality of their finished portraits is different (see examples of each artist's portraits at the end).

Now that I have accidentally stepped into both styles, I'm truly hoping you will be able to see the difference in the two finished portraits I'm working on as easily as you might see between Bouguereau's portrait at Sargent's.


 

Above portraits: Bouguereau's La Bouquetiere and Sargent's Francisco Bernareggi

(the works of both artists are in the public domain)


Saturday, January 6, 2018

"Give Me Liberty Or Give Me Death!"

There is no liberty
if the powers of our judiciary, legislative, and executive branches of government
 are not separate. 

We, each and every American, learned this in elementary school history. It was taught, emphasized, and re-emphasized every year of our education. That is how important it is for us to understand why the Revolutionary war was fought and why each war after that was fought.


For Our Freedoms...Our Liberty! That Lady who stands faithfully as our Statue of Liberty on Liberty Island in New York Harbor in New York City, in the United States is there for us and for all people who desire freedom and liberty from dictators and monarchies. She represents the best of what we have become, of what our values truly are, and of what we desire to represent us for as long as any free woman or man breathes.

Each branch of our Republic acts as a check and balance on the others. No one branch has total power. We cannot let that change at the whim of a few.



Our forefathers fought for our freedom and liberty and our constitutional government believing Patrick Henry that the alternative to fighting was slavery (the meaning then was the slavery of British rule).

"Gentlemen may cry, Peace, Peace. But there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!" said Patrick Henry.



We have come to a time in our history where we find it necessary to fight for our freedom again. There is no division of classes, of race, of religion, that can thwart our desire to fight for what we want and that is the same as our forefathers wanted for themselves and their posterity. Unwilling to give up our liberty without raising a war against our own executive and legislative branches of government who dare to abolish them and then tax us for what we no longer possess, we need to stand together, as Americans, and shout “NO!”


We cannot, after all these generations, let ONE MAN threaten our democracy and rip apart our Republic! Yes, we are again on the verge of the insanity of one man bullying a select few in government to seize control of the power of all three branches of our government and cast aside the freedoms and liberties of all Americans except the rich who feel entitled.

Where are our representatives with political morals and ethics who swore an oath to protect America from all enemies foreign and domestic? Why do they cower and ignore their oath of allegiance to America? Why do they support one man who would try to take over the control of our country?

I believe taxing the middle and lower classes to support and give more money to the wealthy upper class is a convoluted act similar to the British Parliament Stamp Act of 1765 when American colonies were expected to pay for the debts that were contracted in the French and Indian war. The question is, does the Trump/GOP Tax bill violate American rights?

The greed and lies strip Americans to leave us weak and unprotected, but it goes further. It now begins to strip our individual states of their power as well. It begins to redistrict voting districts to ensure no matter how the Americans vote, there is only one sure winner and that will be the person who is in power now, the legislative party who is in power now.

American citizens are being stripped of everything and are being set back to the early 1700s with no money, no power, and now no representative or leader with the power to return our freedoms and liberties to us.



We are not infants. We have the power to get these usurpers out of government. We have the power of the entire nation of a united people to throw them out, every single one of them from the highest office to every chair in the legislative branch if none of them dares to stand with us and against those who would try to overthrow our government.

I am but one small voice with no power on my own. BUT, I willingly stand with all of my brothers and sisters who want America back. I stand with Patrick Henry and I repeat/paraphrase his words:



“Gentlemen (Mr. President and members of the GOP) may cry, Peace, Peace! But there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps … will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren (and our sisters) are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What (more) is it that (these overthrowers of our government) wish? What (more) would they have (American citizens stand like sheep while all is taken away)? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery (the very chains and slavery our country has fought against)? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me (us back our) liberty or give me death!”

Sunday, July 30, 2017

Softening Like Chocolate In Sunlight -- an erotic poem by Mona Arizona


Chocolate Chocolate Chocolate

Chocolate contains phenylethylamine, which is a naturally occurring substance and mood booster.

Ancient Aztecs strongly believed in its aphrodisiac power.

The Mayans enjoyed chocolate drinks from vessels like the one below. The vessel photographed and used here was found in Guatemala at the Altar de Sacrificios.









































©Softening Like Chocolate In Sunlight
Drink me
Let loose your
Wolf calls, those
Near-anesthetic words that
Burn in the quiet
Midnight air
That whisper in my ear
You Are Mine
And brand my neck with your bite

On the edges of a
Baccarat vodka tumbler
Cliché delicate pink lip-prints sit
Patiently

Impatiently
I stand
Waiting in stone-washed denim
Anticipating the aroma of
You
Your shirt
Your mint-coated pockets

I am like a teen again
An ingĂ©nue with a woman’s knowledge
Venus folds in pink on a bare canvas
Leda welcoming Zeus as swan

Molten lava-lust awakens
Muffled elation
Expectation
Understanding you will
Loosen your best talent
Yes
Be a biro
Write all over me

Swollen lips engage
Feral aromas wreathe
Bodies dance like waves
Unchoreograhped

My mantra begins
Repeats
Pleads

Surrender
From the burgeoning
Garden of delight

Unable to quell any
Internal breakdown
As your eyes watch
Study
Scrutinize
Every agitated alteration
My body labors wantonly

Your rapid heavy breaths
Excite
Reveal
Your desire formicates
Tingling nerve endings
Like tiny bugs under your skin

Concurrently my world
Turns on its axis, collapses
And we are thrust into the
Waiting abyss together

Mona Arizona

All Rights Reserved

Saturday, July 15, 2017

Shackled




© Shackled

It happened the same way
That a sudden curve in the road
Sends you down the wrong path,
A path full of secrets never shared.

It was never something planned.
Pinwheels spun, aroused by a cloud’s
Summer breath; then one became many
Clouds casting shadows full of doubt.

It came at you from nowhere,
From a place where life does not exist,
Released from a prison to let dreams live
While decomposed vines clung to each other.

It no longer haunted your mirrors
Nor searched for approval
The way ink floods pages as
Wretched shadows performed inside of books.

It snatched your existence; It dragged you
Into a foreign world, one without
Wonder and color and thought where
Death, for It was Death, held the key.

Mimi Wolske

All Rights Reserved
(painting: The Field Of The Slain by Evelyn De Morgan, 1916)


Sunday, July 2, 2017

One Last Smoke

I was working on a scene where love had gone south, but it is the male character who is sad. Sadness is a strong emotion and I couldn't let the scene go with only the words: "She left him without a note or a goodbye". I want the reader to feel his shock, his pain, his hurt. This poem was written over a couple of days and I switched the characters around and it is the man who has walked away. This is not close to what I wrote in my WIP. It is a poem. It is shortened and, therefore, each word counts. 




© One Last Smoke

Standing in this river outside your hotel
Wondering where you are since you told me farewell;
I’ve been wishing on a star, hanging onto Jack Daniels—
He’s soothing my broken heart, stroking the shrapnel.

God’s sitting on his mountain having one last smoke,
Satan’s here beside me laughing at some joke.
I…I wish I could look into your eyes,
Know everything will be the way it should;
If you looked at me without turning away,

You…you would see tears welling in my eyes
While I make promises to God that I will be good
If He’ll just bring you back and have you stay.
And Hell’s not heaven, and I’m dying of heatstroke;
Satan’s still laughing so it must be a good joke.

Before I throw out the empty and tear up your clothes,
I’m leaving these photos…I’m not the one you chose.
Will you remember us and getting sick on avocados
Will you remember me and all my goofy fiascos?

I never told you but you’re the love of my life;
I only wish I’d never laughed when you wanted me for your wife—
I wish I hadn’t laughed and caused you such strife;
I wish I hadn’t laughed and let my words run rife.

God’s sitting on his mountain having one last smoke,
Satan’s here beside me laughing at some joke.
I…I wish I could look into your eyes,
Know everything will be the way it should;
If you looked at me without turning away,

You…you would see tears welling in my eyes
While I make promises to God that I will be good
If He’ll just bring you back and have you stay.
And Hell’s not heaven, and I’m dying of heatstroke;
Satan’s still laughing so it must be a good joke.

Mimi Wolske
All Rights Reserved

(Painting: DarkWaters by Julio Reyes)

Wednesday, June 28, 2017

Standing Alone Asking One Question



© Standing Alone Asking One Question

The pole is secured to the tree; or, is it the other way around?
Or, does it matter since they are both vertical?
There is a position THEY can agree on.
The THEY, which are humans, will soon decide to take the tree, or the pole, and advance in slow degrees to their present position.
That says it all.
Life is a circle.
You’re going nowhere fast.
You can’t get there from here.
Blessed are THEY who go in circles…THEY shall be known as unidirectional “big wheels” taking the world by the tail.
I seem to be standing alone and asking one question; can you tell me where the world’s tail is located?

Mimi Wolske

All Right’s Reserved

Viscid Thoughts of Loss



© Viscid Thoughts of Loss

The bitcoins fly, the guys are high
I’ll wager you’re here to procure
If you think you will win tonight
Know you are not the man to beat

Mascara streaking down your cheeks
Because you lost love’s lottery
For you, darkness comes all too soon
The road ends before you can see

When Eden becomes decimated
The bubble will pop around their world
How will existence continue when
No one hears viscid thoughts of loss

Mimi Wolske

All Rights Reserved

(painting: Loss of Virginity or Girl with a Fox, 1890-91, Paul Gauguin)

VIP 001



© VIP 001

I’m an old soul in a new moon,
educated by good ol’ boys
wearing their blue suits, under the
thickness of a reflected gray
sky and the eddying shocks of stirred
water and whirling moonlight. Beating
down my baffled soul, they left me
climbing back up from a sunken
path only to see them riding
like aristocrats in sedans,
sedans permitted only to
the most privileged of humans.
Where is the hiccup for this man’s
misfortune? Where is that pretty
penny? That swagger of ego?
Don’t hand me a suit of blue and
Cloak me eternally in your
emotional, egoless guilt.
I possess the resources you
married to intent; your prison
psychosis is not my whole world.
Selective amnesia of your
past is not my disease. Release
me from your tango in the grass;
I am an old soul in a new moon.

Mimi Wolske
All Rights Reserved


Thursday, June 22, 2017

VIP 001

Never let anyone dominate you with their experiences of life as happening to them rather than the reverse. Walk away from people who have no direction and feel dependent on the whims of fate or the environment in terms of what happens to them. 



© VIP 001

I’m an old soul in a new moon,
educated by good ol’ boys
wearing their blue suits, under the
thickness of a reflected gray
sky and the eddying shocks of stirred
water and whirling moonlight. Beating
down my baffled soul, they left me
climbing back up from a sunken
path only to see them riding
like aristocrats in sedans,
sedans permitted only to
the most privileged of humans.
Where is the hiccup for this man’s
misfortune? Where is that pretty
penny? That swagger of ego?
Don’t hand me a suit of blue and
Cloak me eternally in your
emotional guilt and ego.
I possess the resources you
married to intent; your prison
psychosis is not my whole world.
Selective amnesia of your
past is not my disease. Release
me from your tango in the grass;
I am an old soul in a new moon.

Mimi Wolske
All Rights Reserved

Thursday, June 1, 2017

Cartwheeling Through Life



© Cartwheeling Through Life

Years spent unknowingly observing
the ebbing and flowing of the sea,
the constant rising and falling of
my pen as ink flowed across pages,
the ups and downs of learning
how to perform a simple cartwheel,
seeing the wretched horror of
global warming wax and wane
like a moon over Neanderthals,
Painting and weaving color and love
into a life waiting for a revelation,
the melodious and gradual
increase in the loudness in
various pieces of music, but days
became years after leaving the marriage bed
before I recognized the fear of death,
the duration of a mother’s love,
and the time spent finding, appreciating,
and growing in the wonders of true love.

Wednesday, May 31, 2017

One Less Egg To Fry



Image result for gif - falling rose petals

© One Less Egg To Fry

Eyes like a snake’s, she pinned him
With her glare and frosty smile.
A soul like an empty museum,
One hand on her hip, the other
Flicking the ashes from a
Rolled smoke, and cocking her head,
She exhaled a wheezing breath.
She was ready for murder.

He came from the old boy school
Of past lives’ expectancies;
An object lesson for her
In kindness and honesty?
No. He never showed her
Anything but a hollow,
Steel frame containing his lust…
And valueless, devoid love.

Critical of clothes she wore,
Her every movement, and
All she said and did, his weak
Lips punished her. It began;
Progressive  manipulation.
He changed too slowly to alarm.
Family called less; friends dropped off
Like petals from a dead flower.

Was it last night she dreamed of
Something sexual? How long
Had it taken to recognize
She was working her way up
To a boxer’s practice bag?
Sweating came from more than
hiding from a reckless, sweltering
Sweltering Louisiana sun.

Today, without a tinge
Of melancholy, her eyes
Slanted like those of a snake,
Her smile defrosted, she flicked
Her smoke, reached for her weapon,
He rearranged himself and smirked.
Took one long stride toward her.
“You don’t have the balls to shoot…”

All Rights Reserved

Mimi Wolske

Monday, May 15, 2017

What About Brothers Keepers? A Report on A Funny Book

When the muse is away I will post reviews of books I recently finished.

Today, Brothers Keepers, and I'm only years and years (the book was originally published in 1975) late in reading this funny and sillier than "hell" book by Donald E. Westlake.

It seems that there is a small band of sixteen mild-mannered monks who, all quirky in their manner, manage to find peace and the needed solutions to their various problems in the Crispinite Order of the Nomum Mundum. These monks have managed to live rent free on some prime New York property. Now, their landlord, real estate mogul Daniel Flattery, wants to tear down that townhouse on Park Avenue between 51st and 52nd Streets and the monks "gotta go". The thing is, the contemplative order is dedicated to the notion that travel is bad.

Not only does Brother Benedict deal with this threat, but he's faced with a second threat. He's falling in love with the  landlord's daughter -- oh, my! Pretty divorcee Eileen is a real threat and an occasion for sin since Brother Benedict's attempts to have the townhouse declared a landmark involves many encounters by him with the Flatterys.


Let me add that this may be one of the funniest not-really-a-crime-novel(s) I've read and now this author has moved to the top of my crime-authors'-books-to-buy list. I strongly recommend this book to anyone who has not read it or has not read any Westlake books.













Wednesday, April 19, 2017

I Am Watched; My Every Move Documented...from "Letters I Never Sent to You"

Sometimes love struggles to survive and letters continue to be written and never sent. There is a reason. And, as each letter is read, it is another chapter to a love story; a little more is learned and we want more letters; we want to know who, why, where, when, and what...and how, how will the story end? Love Letters Never Sent...



© I'm In Hiding, My Dearest,
from Letters I Never Sent to You

I was watched; my every move documented; I had to run. Run only at night and find a place to hide.

Time passes so slowly.

Is it too horrid of me to say I envy this sheet of paper that shall soon be in your hands? I pray I am here when you read it.

I’m frightened. Every day and every night my heart pounds when I hear military trucks pass by on the street above. I hold my breath waiting for them to force their way in and drag me off or murder me where I sleep.

I am quite alone. I feel abandoned. But, I know there will be no one to betray me.

I have nothing to hold onto. The war has separated us and your letters have stopped.

I hate that the war separates us. I know you’re alive. I know it. I know it.

You took possession of my heart and left me here with nothing to desire, no one to love. How many years have I been alive without a word from you? How I long to embrace you. I had to stop a wipe a few tears because it just keeps going through my mind how long it has been since we were naked lying skin to skin.

Dammit! I feel like I am losing this battle and I was never even fighting the war. I feel as though I am like a house, still standing after the battle, but empty. Lonely. Hopeful for your return.

You’ll think me sentimental, but each time I wrap that shawl you gave me for my birthday around my shoulders, I imagine it is your arms enveloping mine and your body pressing against my back.

I can’t post this. You’ll understand when you return and read all of my letters. Your sister, Marquette, escaped but they shot you mother, Jeanne, for hiding me. She wasn’t; she never did. Well, you know the reason why. Anyway, suffice it to say I had been somewhere else, but I heard what happened to them. I don’t know what happened to your brother and his wife. No one does.

Until the end of time, I am always
Your Love


(Thomas P. Anschutz, Woman Writing at a Table, 1905)


(Mimi Wolske

All Rights Reserved)

Monday, April 10, 2017

Fill Me With Your Love



Fill Me With Your Love

There’s a bunch of men in most cities
who are handsome as can be
and they’ll take you anywhere you want
for a nominal fee

But you, you only wanted
to dance me to the edge, and
you promised, with your whiskey breath,
it was me, only me

Wrapped me in your blanket
danced me with the stars above
until the earth tilted on its axis,
then filled me with your love

Whiskey and blankets
and stars winking from above
won’t you dance me to the edge and
give me all your love

Whiskey
and
blankets
and stars winking
from above
won’t you dance me to the edge
and
give me all your love

You loved me as if we’re out of time
Love me now as if it were a crime
Won’t you love me
Love me as long as a lifetime

Whiskey and blankets
and stars winking from above
won’t you dance me to the edge and
give me all your love

Mimi Wolske

All Rights Reserved





As If It's Real (a poem by Mimi, your Tumbleweed Contessa)





As If It's Real

Having me some Leonard with my coffee
and my memories of you,
there's nothing left to do
when all our wishes are through.
my mind wants to read,
my hands want to write,
my heart wants to paint
my brain tells me--just sail out that door and have some fun.
don't we all live our lives as if they're real;
don't lose your grip,
don't let them press you to the limits,
don't slip or you may end up in my masterpiece.
never any broken promises too deep
that left time for us to weep;
I guess you'll always be the gift
I was never meant to keep.

Mimi Wolske

All Rights Reserved


(painting by Eric G Thompson called Good Morning)

Friday, April 7, 2017

No More, a poem

You don't know what you've got 'til it's gone? I don't think so; you knew what you had, you just thought you'd never lose it. It's like giving yourself an allowance--once it is gone, it is No More.





No More

no more skirts caught in spring breezes
like words flowing with the wind
from the poetic voice of today’s woman

no more the hard muscles of a chest
exposed by the removal of a shirt
as today’s man tries to impress her

no reason for him to keep hands
from pockets when impropriety
stands as the norm for many

no more wrapping her in your blanket
nor dancing her around in a night
that never sleeps, music that never weeps

no more the randomness of colors
exploding as she falls from the edge
and he falls onto his back breathless

nor more would she surrender
to the whispers of the night
nor blankets under old oak trees.

no more would she love the way
his words looked on her once she learned
they once were the gown of another,

slipped off, and left at his feet

Mimi Wolske
All Rights Reserved

Wednesday, March 1, 2017

His Old-time Religion Fork



© His Old-time Religion Fork

Sip, Swish, Spit.
Words danced over his tongue;
Another thought that departed,
That farted and stuttered his flow,
That drove him to delirium.

Sip, Swish, Spit.
Saying what they wanted
Him to say; madness; badness.
Got out of bed before he lost control,
Stepped off the train, rolled his eyes.

Sip, Swish, Spit.
Was that Mezcal sprayed
With every borrowed word,
That mellowed him as he
Got them off his chest?

Sip, Swish, Spit.
He sold snake oil to soothe recent
War wounds, to grease squeaky
Wheels, and exchanged his silver
Spoon for a borrowed silver tongue.

And left you to choke down every word,
To wonder from whose limo they escaped;
Knowing wood kills the flavor of the drink,
He swore they all will pay to play—
Let everyone get that old-time religion.

SIP. SWISH. SPIT OUT THAT OLD-TIME RELIGION.


Mimi Wolske
All Rights Reserved

Friday, February 24, 2017

Narrative and Poem -- Stumble. Stop.

Growing up in a funeral home isn’t scary. I've only known life with dead people. I always look at them, the dead. They're the temporary guests in our house, guests I’ve never met before, but I am completely comfortable around them — and they seem to enjoy my entertainment. I kind of like them in a way; I don’t know anything about their lives — whether they were nice or mean or crazy. They're just our temporary guests who have callers coming and going and whispering and crying.





© Stumple. Stop.

Come and go, come and go.
Tedious; it’s always the same.
Come, go, come, go.
See that colorful, camphor window?
No, you can’t see in; I can’t see out.
Footfalls; step, step, step.
Voices whispering
Sounding like hissing snakes;
Tears and sniffles and
Step, step, come and go.
Why have you come?
Not for the wedding;
You’re too late.
Oh, for the funeral;
You know he lost his connection?
Yes, and he lost his heart;
He lost his mind.
He lost his head.
Someone said, “He would
Not have done it, otherwise.”
Whispers, footfalls, step, step, step.
Come and go, come and go.

Mimi Wolske
All Rights Reserved