Bennett's Creek

Bennett's Creek

Trompe-l'œil L’Assemblage by Michael Douglas Jones  ©2023

Original artwork available at Gallery 322

 

  The recent troubles have taken a toll on each and all of us.  I, who had never raised a fisted hand against another, now carry three revolvers; one holstered on my hip and two in pommel holsters on my saddle, in case you might measure me at a distance by my colors, as the old mare moves slowly up the corduroy road on the last day of May; a hot afternoon.  Her pace is just enough to lift a breeze above the dust, and her hooves on the wood, work a lullaby rhythm.  High to the west, is the sugarloaf mountain, but, closer, I catch sight of a young groundhog standing in the new corn, both only two hands high; both searching the sky for a taste of rain.  The old mare knows the high clouds have none; she waits for a drink from Bennett's creek.  Along the east side of the road, an oriole savors the honeysuckle blooms on the remnants of a split rail, its scent a brief kiss from a childhood sweetheart, and I dream in the afternoon of a brown-eyed Susan, while the old mare moves slowly up the corduroy road, away from the troubles, and every day, closer to home.

                     

                                                                                       ~Michael Douglas Jones

                                                                                            Frederick in Spires 

 ❦ 

Wintersea

Wintersea

Trompe-l'œil L’Assemblage by Michael Douglas Jones  ©2023

Original artwork available at Gallery 322

   Once, we worked the wintersea, along the coast of Chesapeake; we learned the rhythm of the days, and kept them through our years.

    Eastern horizon quickening, lightening; sea of sun rising, readying, raising the mainsail of morning, as dawn’s winter wind roars like stevedores on the dock of this day. Swaying ship masts of high hill pines creak and caution, as icy hatch hinges slam and shudder, as flags snap and shiver. The crew of crows comes aboard from the valley, cawing commands; all is ready before the mast, this day may get under way. Day breaks cold against my face charting a northwest course; with the western moon over my left shoulder. I turn and face into this fine adventure.

                       ~ Michael Douglas Jones

 ❦

 

Cover of Cottonwhite

Cover of Cottonwhite

Trompe-l'œil L’Assemblage by Michael Douglas Jones  ©2023

Original artwork available at Gallery 322

   East of Reich’s Ford, the slightest snowfall overnight, fresh cover of cottonwhite, and a clean page for the day's poetry.

    Up and over the ridge, written on the paperwhite of fresh snow, the meandering graceful script of buck and doe.

                       ~ Michael Douglas Jones

                                    Parcel №16

 ❦

 

This Day

This Day

Trompe-l'œil L’Assemblage by Michael Douglas Jones  ©2023

Original artwork SOLD at Gallery 322

   There is one moment, in the frosted hour before dawn, with the full moon melting, moving low, in the west behind the tall line of pines, with the fog façade on the Monocacy valley trees, before the crow caws the morning message, before obsculta in the deep silence is overwhelmed by the transient noise of aeroplanes and motorcars.

   There, in that full circle surrounding, I can turn in any direction, take a moment, take a breath, and begin this day. That moment, when the fullness of nature nods knowingly, and wakes the world. That is my moment.

      

                                                                       ~Michael Douglas Jones 

                                                                                 Parcel №15

...

Waiting

Waiting

Trompe-l'œil L’Assemblage by Michael Douglas Jones  ©2022

Original artwork SOLD at Gallery 322

Patient,
stands the empty vase in winter,
waiting for the summer blossom.

Waiting

oil glaze painting by Michael Douglas Jones ©2022

Original artwork available at Gallery 322

•

 

Riding Home

Riding Home

Trompe-l'œil L’Assemblage by Michael Douglas Jones  ©2022

Original artwork available at Gallery 322

    Riding north to Frederick City; my old mare moves slowly across the trestle bridge. Her pace is just enough to lift a breeze above the dust, and her hooves, on the wood planks, lilt a lullaby rhythm.

    An hour past dawn, on independence day; a fog façade rises from the calm Monocacy river waters. A fog like five hundred campfires; morning meals of ghost soldiers from the war before this war. And I, alone, am riding home.

~ Michael Douglas Jones

 Parcel №12

 

Ostinato

Ostinato

Trompe-l'œil L’Assemblage by Michael Douglas Jones  ©2022

Original artwork available at Gallery 322

   After the blue flame and thunder of the eastward storms, in the valley branch, the water rolls, drip-rippling over stones, white foam rising; its rhythm repeats, repeats, repeats, as an ostinato of spring peepers, toads, and tree frogs rises, reaching redwings nesting in the cattails, and they too join that unseen symphony.

 This refrain repeats, as this  romance repeats, and becomes our song. This is our dance, again and again.