Archive for the ‘Art’ Category

We Travelers

Saturday, November 8th, 2014

we travelers
your symphony of weariness gone
your struggles just the wind now
we all have our self-defeating schemes
we travelers

we travelers
marked bends in this journey
climb another mountain
cross another field
an angled view of an obsolete world
the blessed dance of life
footprints in the mud
Home is more idea than place
where suffering never knocks
and you can taste Gods endless seasons
we travelers

we travelers
only fragile evidence that you were here
your stories embedded in verbal books
wade into slumbering silence
behind the curtain of death
thru a dying forest of memories
and an empty river of grief
you wait for us
we travelers

This poem was inspired by this THE TRAVELERS

stories from Poland

Saturday, November 8th, 2014

this faraway land
just a mysterious dream when I’m awake
wet cobblestones in Kraków
old village heritage so fresh and green
a pile of freshly dug potatoes
your mothers swaying flowers
your fathers radiant Winter fires

Come up and kiss me sometime
i wont push you
Or grab me randomly and put your arms around my waist
or an electronic ‘kiss’ from nowhere
in the middle of the day
(haven’t i taught you yet?)
remind me that we are one sometimes
even if for just once
on your own

i dont ask for much
i got pulled over for being too much
i got a ticket on this one-way street

but then its just not the same
when you Have to ask for it
our hearts can speak even when blidfolded
or at least mine can
Life isn’t supposed to be this brutal
this fast
this competitive
everything isn’t money

im fading down this dusty dirt road
like a crying cow
being led to slaughter


Envelope Art

Wednesday, September 3rd, 2014

Click on above art for full view then hit back to go back to gallery.
Glenn was just like his mom. He was a letter writer. Our brother spent more than half his life in jail. He spent a lot of that time drawing with pencil, crayon, pen or anything he could get his hands on. Sometimes they wouldn’t give them paper or pencils. Glenn told me he would make “ink” with water and different colored M&N’s. His letters were filled with a lot of raw emotion and sometimes hope. Most times he knew he didn’t belong where he was. He was typically sorry and frustrated at his actions yet he always ended up in the same place. These are just a few of the many envelopes he drew and colored on before he sent one of his letters. Glenn was very talented with a pencil or magic marker. He was 100% self taught. Although a lot of his work is serious and very spiritual, Glenn had an outright wicked sense of humor. He could laugh at himself and the predicaments that he got into. He met a lot of people in jail and hospitals that were in despair yet he always maintained a pretty positive attitude. Glenn also had a great memory. He was filled with detailed family memories. Many times he surprised me with his outlook and keen story telling.

photos found on my phone

Friday, May 23rd, 2014


Wednesday, September 4th, 2013

when you have nothing
you have everything
only you find that out much later
love is a sandwich on the cutting board
or a hot coffee on cold concrete
slipped out his plastic card
and charged his freedom
a poets eyes see’s reflections in the windows
fog on the pond
tenderness in a drive-by shooting

captured in the claw of technology
my emotions carry over the bandwidth
past lonely midnight card games
clenched relationships &
fragile wireless hearts

“ihavent wokeupdrunk in tenYears”
but i remember the vomit stench, bloodand jail cells
like it wuz last night
now i can taste the sunsets and spit out all the
i can see the whispers behind my back
and know just what they
i can touch the moon and bath in its glow
i can hear the music and filter out all the static
i can plant a tree and count its leaves
i can dance
i can live
i can love


“Does God look down on the boys in the barroom,
Mainly forsaken but surely not judged.
Jacks, kings, and aces, their faces in wine,
Do lord deliver our kind.
From singing for whiskey three strings on the fiddle,
Four on the guitar and a song that I love.
Many’s the night we spent picking and singing,
In hopes it be pleasing both here and above.
Jack’s string fiddle to my sawtooth bow,
Who loves lonlieness loves it alone.
I love the dim lights like some love the dew”
~~~Robert Hunter

low tide

Thursday, August 1st, 2013

A wooden house in eastern Europe. Elm trees. Low hills. My walking stick. “Let me sketch you.” Set yourself free. Charcoal shadows and hollow air. The earth sings goodbye to another day. Brisk and fresh. Steam and mist. There is no script. A car radio bleats the blues….my minds not right….my sideburns are lopsided…my testicles are hanging lower than usual. The moon is a boomerang and at low tide you can smell dead sponge and rotten crab meat. From the bridge we looked down and saw huge fish swimming, a broken dock and the cafe lights where we had lunch. A salad with walnuts and fresh fruit. A glass of bubbled water from another country. Down at the waters edge, the crowds filled the streets and bikers had an excuse to ride in the orange hue dusk. We will grow old. Read books on a porch. Wait for visits from children. And their children. Fade into the colors of the trees. Watch the shadows move across the wood and when the noiseless winds come, I will still hold you and kiss you.
The End.

the legend of nothing

Thursday, August 1st, 2013

Because he was never found
they say he drove away from it all
A new life

He wishes(again) for the soft blueglow
of his computer and late night
ramblings of
i m a g i nation

wet stinking swamp seeping
into his sinking car) cut off
by a drunk maybe
side road waltz on easy street
the muddy bottom
his tomb forever

His last message
inscribed digitally (forever)
‘If you don’t see me today
… i’ll see you in my dreams .”
and they cleaned his room out
and sold the computer.

“No answer is also an answer.”
-Danish proverb

Time traveling DOES exsist.

Friday, July 19th, 2013

hold still now, smile! +click+

hold still now, smile! +click+

When I first saw this photo, given to me by our cousin Robert (Jaybird) I was taken back. A very rare shot of our young family with our uncle Jay. The smiles and expressions are priceless BUT damn, who took this photo? Who cut off Bernadette? The photo is ruined!!!
But it’s not.
The photo exists and that’s good enough. I can not condemn the photographer for at least trying. In this case my assumption is that Aunt Gerry (Uncle Jays wife) took the photo. I have criticized her in the past for taking blurry photos but here’s the thing: Gerry was a picture-taker. If we didn’t have the picture taker…we wouldn’t have pictures. There is always that one or few in a family that always took the photo. They always tried to get everybody together for a photo. People hate when it’s picture time. The family picture-taker has to fight that. The family picture-taker has to coral as many people as they can in a short amount of time and take the photo. Taking photographs can be hard work but somebody has to do it. The picture taker is usually the unsung hero. In some cases a “timer” on the camera will get everybody in the shot but in most cases planning photographs can be very difficult. Sometimes (ok, all the time) when I look at old family photos I wonder out loud, “Who took this photo?”
Thank God for these people. They cared. They tried. In the back of their minds, “these people” knew that moments in life don’t last forever. People don’t last forever. If you grab a micro-second of life on film and have it forever that is PRICELESS. Most people don’t realize that. Looking at a photo that is now over thirty years old will make you realize it NOW but not at that time….most people don’t give a crap.
Gerry was very very special like that. She cared about keeping the family torch lit! Her name is on the “credits” page of the (see last Blog post) Family Memories. She has “piles” of family photo albums. (I know because I saw them when I went to Las Vegas right after she passed away) Not only does she have the photos but they are very well taken care of and arranged. If she had the negative, she kept it taped to the back of the original photograph!!

Joan Gill Hartman, Barb Hartman, were all very good early day picture takers.
How do we know who the picture takers were? I had a box of photos from when my boys were growing up. They are currently being held captive somewhere in Central Jersey. My kids were looking thru them and they happened to ask me: “Where were you in all these photos dad?” Well, my boys, I was the one taking the photo!
I was the picture-taker.

My Current Status: 7/13/13 1:52AM- Some people expect a lot out of me, I can change that. My Current Statement: Constantly being tuned into the alternate digital universe can create a false sense of urgency and dominate your mental freedom. My random Memory: One day I was out on the front porch with Brenda my sister and something stupid happened and I got so mad at her that I hit her on the side of the head with a huge 6 volt lantern battery. She was bleeding and crying and ran inside the house. I had forgotten all about this. I mean totally. Like blocked it out of my memory. Many many years later when I took her to a Giants football game and we were tailgating out in the parking lot she reminded me of it. At first I was shocked and sad and guilty. She forgave me at that moment. Days later and up to today, I think about how powerful my brain was to block something that traumatic in my memory.

I know what I'm gonna do tomorrow, and the next day, and the next year, and the year after that.

I know what I’m gonna do tomorrow, and the next day, and the next year, and the year after that.

The photography art medium has been changing at a crazy pace in the last 15 years or so. I remember film. The cost. The limits. The wait. No redo’s. Today, everyone has a camera in their pockets or there could be one watching you. Our world has become image saturated. If you go to google images and type in sunsets you will get 33,800,000 matches in just 0.19 seconds.
Surveillance cameras capture the image of an average city dweller 300 times a day.
Desk top publishing and photo editing software is at the fingertips of anyone that owns a computer. Musically it’s the same thing. It’s become a digital overflow of digital compositions. Some bands that have actually gotten their start in the oil stained garage floors of a real garage are being replaced by “Garage Band” on the Mac.
There are now fewer limits to express yourself and you can show yourself off to the entire planet earth!

Apparently the actual living of our lives doesn’t seem so “wonderful” sometimes. In one of the top ten movies of all time “It’s a Wonderful Life” the hero, George Baily leads just an ordinary life. Yet he is the seeker of a wild exciting life and even desires to attend college for which he is denied. He ends up living a mundane and simple life. It takes an angel from heaven to open his eyes to the fact that his life truly is extraordinarily meaningful and impactful. (impactful is not a word but I like it)

Thank you for all your uploads! Thousand upon thousands. I have downloaded and opened your photos for the past four years. Thousands of RGB memories. Miles and miles of canvas. I haven’t become desensitized by your weddings, sunsets, celebrations, family portraits, pets, and children. Because of YOU, I have seen the amazing moutains, forests, oceans and cities of the world! I have sat in my windowless Macintosh corner of the world and seen the world, thanks to you. Still, after all this time your photos MOVE me, make me LAUGH, give me goosebumps, and sometimes bring a tear to the corner of my eye.
Like George Bailey I yearn to travel. Crave excitement. Unexpected paths, twist and turns. I know there is only one thing better than your photo. The print is beautiful on canvas but in all cases of printed images-“You really had to be there!”


Friday, May 24th, 2013
Only from the heart can you touch the sky.  ~Rumi

Only from the heart can you touch the sky. ~Rumi

a (selfie)

Friday, March 22nd, 2013

Pudding and Pie.

Pudding and Pie.

im more than you would think
a flash in the pan a wink of the eye
well traveled soul (once upon a time)
and im gone
i talk to mountains taste cheese grow tomatoes
addicted to olives and stormy seas
like the feel of the sun on my face the wind on my back
i can paint you a sunset in a minuet
or a year
im a terrible driver good father
reflective possessive passionate carefree
i worry i hurry
take the “L” train to the games

my inner child is wild
he was formed from wet plaster
i could stand on my head like to jump on the bed
at chess im a non master
my poems, they dont rhyme
you see, I haven’t got time
splattered ink on the carpet
shadows from skyscrapers Fall trees in full bloom
thats it
my self-portrait
thats me