Spring runs wild with sneezing and coughs. Return moderation. My friend.
The crisp of Fall.
93 humid degrees, but brave enough to walk Ozzy and let him do what dogs like to do. While waiting, I snatched some blossoms from behind someone’s fence.
They quickly became fodder for Ozzy and had to enact Plan B. In front of my house are several Hostas. They are blooming and actually very nice. Although more gentle than my portrayal, I marched on with a Prismacolor as a wet brush.
With the paper still wet, I outlined several areas with the Prismacolor. I like the results and see potential for future drawings. I am not sure why I chose to hold the pencil like a brush, but it felt natural and free.
My Red Bud has bloomed and now has cool, elongated pods. They are in bunches, very symmetrical and make for a lovely drawing.
Even though I don’t spend much time among the grasses, leaves and insects, I really do admire the beauty in my backyard.
I decided to do a quick sketch in harmony with a few others as of late. Line art, lines and ink, make for exceptional texture and visual pin pricks.
When this American Woman – She replied years later
You draped the wood,
with scriptured visions
of thundering praise,
coveting the tablets,
that broke my ritual;
in thousands of pieces,
my eyes looked up,
and found their way;
toes in front of smiles,
I traced your sketch
with silken breaths,
and found my way.
Barry Comer 2010 – Illustration 2015
Make little dimples in the air,
the ones you drew in water, the currents –
the sounding of the horns; the hunt.
The leaves flow down, they pause for breath –
and the source of beat, the sound of heat,
the blemished skin.
Take care en route, spattered signs – windblown,
yielding – cold, cold, cold.
Twirl up and receive submission, the guide, the
snort and diem.
2010 Barry Comer – Illustration 2015
Throat-scorched with car pipe fumes
and with rusted sounds
from last week.
The trip was wrong and
the news worse.
We plant and we plant.
I hear muted sounds of
cries and wish I could open
my heart and pour its life
– a drink of god.
Lend my body, make it
fertilizer and give my
eyes to see ahead.
Touch warm. Feel cold.
The ground is cold and
smiles fade brown.
Sleep and dream of blue birds
We plant and we plant.
2012 Barry Comer – Illustration 2015
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