The Gilded Edge

The Gilded Edge

L'assemblage by Michael Douglas Jones  ©2026

Original artwork available at Gallery 322

  Faraway thunder, beyond the plank road; could be weather, could be war, moving east through slab town, toward the mining camp, and I am on my pinewood cot, quiet as a cloud, wanting not the one nor the other, knowing that the close-in and the far away are both mine to tend to, and to carry. It’s the land I live on, and that land belongs to the company; the weather and the war roil over us, settling its dust on the pinewood cot, and circumventing the dustless door of the hilltop house.

  But, tend to it, I will. Walk with me out into the storm, to strike, or be struck, to not be the last  brass pit check left up on the tally wall, and to not be the forgotten miners lost in the tunnels, while hauling a rich man's gold at the edge of the gilded age. Walk into the storm for just one day.

                      ~ Michael Douglas Jones

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Aloft

 

Aloft

L'assemblage by Michael Douglas Jones  ©2026

Original artwork available at Gallery 322

I am not distant; I am right here, calling to you; I am an untethered balloon that moves away from where I want to go. I drop letters and drawings over the basket side to tell you, but they get caught up in the wind and drift away. I am not aloof; I am aloft, and cannot reach you.

 ::

There is no way around it; I am a recluse. I love this world; I love people; I care deeply, but there is a deeper feeling that has always been inside of me, that keeps me inside of me. I can’t call it fear; it is deeper than that. It possesses the whole of me, but to call it phobia sounds foolish. Reaching out is the most difficult movement to make; my arms, my voice, they fail me. I reach out through my art, through my written word, to tell you how I feel, to show how much I love you.

I’m getting better, but you already know

I might never call you, though I want to know that you are well.

I might never email you, but will always give a warm reply.

I might never ask to be your facebook friend, but will eagerly confirm.

I will never stop trying to be a better friend.

I am not cold; my eyes well up with compassion complete.

I reach out to the whole world, but cannot move my hands.

If you would just give me yours;

I can be your best friend, I simply need a hand.

Blackthorn

Blackthorn

L'assemblage by Michael Douglas Jones  ©2026

Original artwork available at Gallery 322

  I was not the first to touch the thorns beneath the foliage, to taste the blood on the berry before I savored the sweet fruit. I was not the first to feel the pain, but still desire the taste again, and I can tell you of temptation, of danger, of sweet, and of pain, but I was not the first to touch the thorns, and you will not be the last.

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