Sunday, May 15, 2022

Changing Light

Changing Light
Trompe-l'œil L’Assemblage by Michael Douglas Jones  ©2022
Original artwork at Gallery 322


    In nature, the storm is swift, while growth is gradual. Let not the new day take you by storm; be gradual and gentle in your resolve.

    Be as the dawn’s changing light, behind the fog façade, moving west across the Chesapeake.
                                                                       ~ Michael Douglas Jones
                                                                                   Parcel №11


                         




 

Tuesday, April 19, 2022

Morning's Doves

Morning's Doves
Trompe-l'œil L’Assemblage by Michael Douglas Jones  ©2022
Original artwork at Gallery 322


   This war, waged in wilderness, in city streets, and in all directions therefrom, leaves a lawless landscape of  raiders, deserters, and ne’er-do-wells. At sunrise, we follow the smoke, over a ridge, to find burning homes where soldiers and looters are leaving with as much as they can muster. I have seen so many mothers starving, left with only the clothes they carry, holding hungry babies on their hips. Mornings find them foraging along the roads, like mourning doves, sorrowful in their song, scratching in the soil for bits of seed and sustenance. We give what small rations we have in our haversacks, but cannot give them the peace they seek. They do not cry or complain; their eyes hold no tears for themselves. If they hold hope at all, it is for the future of the children.

    I tell them that soon life will be better, but my eyes betray me, having seen the life leaving from too many children of other mothers.

    It will be better, morning dove, it will be.

                                                  ~Michael Douglas Jones
                                                           Parcel №10

 

Friday, February 25, 2022

The Late Supper

 

The Late Supper 
Trompe-l'œil L’Assemblage by Michael Douglas Jones  ©2022
Original artwork at Gallery 322


This art & essay is somewhat different from my usual fare, as it is more tongue in cheek, written in the tradition of the dark Mother Goose nursery rhymes, which are laced with murder and mayhem.—



Coarsely chopped scorn
and wild white venom
simmered
in the black beast stew;
she baked a loathe
of whole pain bread
and hate it by herself.

Her husband came home
in his cups;
much too late for supper.
She met him
with the cake knife
to serve him just deserts.



Friday, January 28, 2022

Already There


Already There ~ L'assemblage by Michael Douglas Jones  ©2022

Original artwork SOLD at Gallery 322





This night, so clear,
 with a sky full of stars;
 the blinking ones are travelers
 on their way somewhere;
 the rest are already there.


                      ~Michael Douglas Jones 
                       Parcel №8


Saturday, January 22, 2022

May Storm

May Storm ~ L'assemblage by Michael Douglas Jones  ©2022

Original artwork SOLD 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, reaches me; redwings, nesting in the cattails, join that unseen symphony.
 This refrain repeats, as this  romance repeats, and becomes our song. This is our dance, again and again. 

                     ~ Michael Douglas Jones
                                         Parcel №7






 

Friday, January 7, 2022

An Unseen Symphony

An Unseen Symphony ~ L'assemblage by Michael Douglas Jones  ©2022

Original artwork available at Gallery 322



   In my memory of moments, there were too few early summer evenings outside on the cedar bench; my old friend, the cedar bench; the two of us, grayed with age, waiting for the moon to rise. We would sit in silence, as audience to the sunset songs of crickets, frogs, and creek; all in perfect harmony.

   Somehow, they knew which symphony was scheduled each evening. Too soon that faraway chorus was overwhelmed by unseen cicadas practicing a Philip Glass concerto behind a green curtain; too shy to let us see the performance. I applauded anyway, but the moon was rising; there would be no encore. Even the crows cawed out for more. 

   We waited, and wished; we wanted more, but all and all, it was enough to last me through this winter.
                                        


                                                                 ~Michael Douglas Jones



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Wednesday, December 22, 2021

Cottonwhite

Cottonwhite ~ L'assemblage by Michael Douglas Jones  ©2021

Original artwork available at Gallery 322 





   The slightest snowfall overnight, fresh cover of cottonwhite, 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 №6


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