Time drips down and down

12-step, Addiction, Alive, Art, artist, Artist's Hands, Badass Artist, Barry Comer Artist, beat poetry, Cafe, Coffee

part-of-me

Abbreviated love this afternoon,

until light strikes clouds

and hours roar near.

I think it often while extending

moments and ticks, until my sun

who shimmers; circles along

my chest.

Happy is the word and content for

hands; that touched and stroked.

The silence after, beats loud

in song, as she whispers

words that penetrate.

Nothing more for now.

Nothing need be carved to

time and beats.

My body floats

among the waves and

time drips down

and down.

2012 Barry Comer

Antigona

Art, artist, Artist's Hands, Badass Artist, Barry Comer, Barry Comer Artist, breakfast, Cafe Sketches, cafe sketching, portrait, Portrait of Antigona

Antigona

This is a very casual acquaintance from a cafe I frequent. She loves it and feel, that my work has been done for the day.

Out a window

Art, art, artist, Artist's Hands, Badass Artist, Barry Comer, Barry Comer Artist, Cafe, Cafe Classico http://www.caffe-classico.com, Cafe Sketches, cafe sketching, Sketchbook Skool, Vespa

moretoday

Forever morning in a café, drinking, celebrating little peeks outside a window. I am side-by-side with a cute little number as the lines grow strong; they formulate in mind.

Perfect Fall; brown, red, scents up an espresso machine. Geese in a nearby cemetery, spooning each other for show.

Friends warming. Friends talking cha-cha.

After the line

1960s, Adoption, America, American Illustrator, Art, art, artist, Artist's Hands, Badass Artist, Barry Comer, Barry Comer Artist, Bondage, Cafe Sketches, cafe sketching, Caffe Classico Louisville, Coffee, coffee cup, Coffee Shop, Halloween

retouch me

… came the form, came the thrill, came the life.

Crisp brown

Allen Ginsberg, Artist's Hands, Autumn, Barry Comer, Barry Comer Artist, Dr. Ph. Martin's Radiant Concentrated Watercolor, drawing, dreams, Fall Leaves, Hand Made Paper, Sculpture, Sculptured Sketch, Self Portrait, selfie, Selfies

COOL

The wind is stirring my dirt, with rain and scents in crisped and brown. You are here, time wound, now sprung. Floating delivery, you brought me here.

Uncertain

Badass Artist, Barry Comer, Barry Comer Artist, Dr. Ph. Martin's Radiant Concentrated Watercolor, drawing, dreams, Flowers, Handmade Paper, Indian Handmade Paper

Not Sure

I’m uncertain about this image. It was painted on deeply pocked handmade paper from India. But, it was a much appreciated birthday gift from my best friend and wanted to try it out for size.

The image got ahead of me really fast with motion upon motion and deep swirls. Maybe if I look at it more, it will grow on m.

Hollow howl

Allen Ginsberg, America, artist, Badass Artist, Barry Comer, Barry Comer Artist, beat poetry, Hollow Howl

Howl

I’m the hollow howl, the 50 hour week, with a cavity filled too deep. Just feelings with no complaints. My haunch tickles and guess I took it.

Fall whips

American Illustrator, Art, artist, Badass Artist, Barry Comer, Barry Comer Artist, beat poetry, Dr. Ph. Martin's Radiant Concentrated Watercolor, Fall Colors, Fall Leaves

fall copy

Happy to feel cool in the air with whip-around limbs and breaths of chill. My coffee will be plentiful and steam my glasses opaque.

“Come gather around”, as the poet sings. Piles upon piles – gold to red. Dry will come.

..

This land of which we speak

Apple, Apples, banana, Bananas, beat poetry, fruit, Fruit bowl, Limes, oranges

fruit

Yeah I am gonna like this one because it’s full of beat and rhythm no matter how or why – as the man said to me earlier today “there are plenty downtown, go there” and wondered what he meant and how he meant it. No difference to me since I hear too many pieces of counsel and advice known as friendly and natured – but find them intrusive all the same. Last week was a little bird who said – ”you want to know what I think” – not really – but I can get around to a small discussion once they have my brand back.

So I am driving and working myself to a hotter point of expressive twitches and feel the fingertips of a stranger pull me back – my shirt is stained from wiping my mouth and sweat still clings from walking my two or three depending on how I count – which way the map is headed. It’s stranger than dreams, you know the street scene this year, this summer of heat – the women cling to sidewalks and melt in blinks of the eye. I was a very lucky to notice not being very occupied – with eyes on the road, reading signs for sale and sold or rent.

In the mirror a friend of mine is a face of all things French and all foods that make the mouth sigh heavy. There always is food for memory and drink of the street – so stains cling – I don’t care. They are scars of memories – experiences and little beats – the heart, the heart – fusion reaction, no? This is the rhythm today – winds tear the beads of sweat – dripping stains on pavement. Sweet beats of prey who watch from windows at the corners of mouths that eat and cough – bits of paper napkins – late night people with hands-down belts who watch the road and the killers.

The people who beat to death, a funny way of expressing love, huh? Somewhere in this night which crushes all expectation – sometime in this evening which beats down, beats down – I find the little coin that has a flip-sided tails and gives good heads. It shines and twinkles of storied mythologies, famous foot in mouth for bold and lousy truth-telling – stories that match the hyperactive hawks that circle, circle and circle.

I dive under and swim the beat, pulse the rhythms of famous tidbits – the dreams, the expected demise of promised honey, this land of which we speak – so often – so mute.

2010 Barry Comer – Illustration 2015