Thursday, March 16, 2017

GUEST BLOG... POETRY! "Completion" by Dennis Patrick Slattery

    Depth started to throb -Jori Graham

The painting sits upright

                  against the file cabinet

          almost completed; it can’t

find the place of finish, a space

                   where things are allowed to end.

          No studio for it to be done

signed and touched no more

with thoughts of brush.

It needs a tiny woman

                  walking away from the viewer

          with her tiny black dog no larger

than a leaf/just a stain of black

                   will bring it to life.

          But no proper space avails

to allow it a final shape

a completion.

The smaller trees in back

                   then larger and still larger

          masses of green, mottled trunks in front

stand alone beside one another;

                   they smell the loneliness.

         Cezanne can’t find his own footing

his easel or canvas stand.

                  The asphalt path ribbed

          with shadows of trees we cannot see

 because the woman and her dog

                   have long passed

         yet remain unpainted.

They want to be there, content to stroll

           as they do in the photograph I paint from.

          Some license, surely, but not them

they are not incidental to the life of trees.

I want to see them—after they are painted in

        two figures to ease the gap of loss in depth.

          When the painting is framed and hung

on the living room wall, I want to see

                   them enjoying the trees

          I painted for their delight as they stroll

by and through the lushness of green.

I will wave to their tiny shapes

                   meandering on the path, their

          backs to me getting smaller

her dog sniffing a red wildflower

unaware I am behind them

                  happily waving at their beauty.

         They continue to diminish

                  as do I to them  

in my blue shirt, like hers

 now almost the same size.

©2017 Completion Dennis Patrick Slattery
All Rights Reserved

Tuesday, March 14, 2017

GUEST BLOG...POETRY! "Christmas Gifts" by Dennis Patrick Slattery


“I have all these boxes to mail,” he says.

His voice is pleasant and chatty in the long line to mail his packages. He jokes with the woman standing behind him holding four small boxes. She is short, wearing a worn hoodie and struggling to balance her Christmas packages.

“Yes, after these I’ll go home and bring in six more this afternoon to mail.”

“Oh,” he says to something she asks him; I cannot hear what it is.

“One day is pretty much the same as all the others. I just live a few miles from here, in Canyon Lake. We found a good deal on the house we liked so we bought it.” All in that order.

I am next in line. I step up to mail my two parcels. I think of the conversation that has now dissolved in front of me.

I want to send a book to the man whose days are all the same. But really, could words in a book of poems, say, be of service to him? Would he even bother to read it?

I wonder if his days have turned into concepts while he was not paying attention; or all the wrinkles of each one ironed out so there is no marking one day from another. The days, now bled of life, are no longer able to shine as



Laced with wonder.

In the wake of presence I am awakened to something not there before: to pay close attention to the creases and rumples in each day, to note where a button is missing, a collar frayed--all with their own personal delights shining through the ordinary. No, that IS the ordinary—a quickening sense of the quirky quotidian.

Mailing gifts to others, I am gifted by this man, an oracle of the ordinary.

©2017 Christmas Gifts Dennis Patrick Slattery
copyright 2017 All Rights Reserved 

Monday, March 13, 2017

GUEST BLOG... POETRY!! "What Still Teaches Me" by Dennis Patrick Slattery

       Don't wash a wound with blood. -Rumi

Rumi:  What hurts you blesses you.

Me:  Awe is the leaf of a tree

fallen on your vision.

Awe is the way

through the enchanted familiar.

The full moon at 4 a,m,

teaches me silence

teaches me song

The sun at midday

riots through the window

to show me when I am wrong.

Stay with the moonlight.

It is sunlight without sound.

©2017 What Still Teaches Me Dennis Patrick Slattery
copyright 2017 All Rights Reserved