Take Me to the Renaissance

Take me to the Renaissance,

not the faire (though I do like a good turkey leg).

Take me waaaaaay back

to when we was all plump

and muscular

and innovative,


with nymphs,

chilling with Shakespeare,

communing with the greats

as they painted the Saints

Jesus on the cross

and glimpses blood and tumult

and heaven.

o Mighty, Majestic Creator God

We’re all so beautiful

Made from clay and bone

Filled with the warmth of blood

pumping wildly ‘neath

the softest of skin

Our mouths breathe forth the breath

first put into by God,

the laws say nothing is lost

The power and majesty of the First Day

still surrounds us

every day.

LORD, open my eyes so I can see it

see you

see everything

angels, demons, hope life love danger

community need

let me fall to my knees and thank you

for I am in of everything

You touch

o Mighty Majestic Creator

of heaven and earth.

This is My Body: Figure Drawing Session #1


The other day, I had the chance to work with Alex Alford at the Colourfield studio in Asheville. Being able to connect with him, to lay everything down and work together to create art: that was a wonderful treat.

And this, perhaps, how art should be created: not by putting on faces, but by tossing our masks aside and being truly ourselves. This is the challenge. May we all, as artists and as people, step up to the plate.

Generation of Shadows

My sister and I watched a lot of TV when we were kids

I don’t say this as a positive or negative,

it just was.

Ours was the generation of the shadows.

The old Tom and Jerry’s, the Looney Tunes

those were fading away

to a new class of cartoons.

Heavy hatching. Darker themes.

“The Last Unicorn.” “The Rats of Nymh.”

“The Hobbit.” “The Never-ending Story.”

The world had gone punk, and its youth were going with it.

Yet, at that same time,

these years (80’s and 90’s) were also the Mencken years,

“Beauty and the Beast.” “Little Mermaid.”

“Hunchback of Notre Dame.” “Aladdin.”

Our fantasies were both dark and beautiful,

all the while steeped in music.

Kids programming teetered in the divide,

not sure of how to treat it’s youth.

Then came “Toy Story,”

whose first drafts were as dark as

the 80’s programming we grew up with,

Then there was the rewrite.

While still gritty,

it promised hope

and the programming has grown prettier

as art has moved from hands to computer.

More neon.

It speaks in a new language, more distracted.

Yet, also in its own way has grown deeper,

reaching out to a more universal audience,

of all races, nationalities, genres, body types,

and backgrounds.

Each generation passes its legacy on to another,

for them to blaze a new trail with it.

Ours was a generation of the shadows,

but we were singing all the way through.




From a Distance

I went to an art exhibit with my friend, Brian.

The artist took pictures of large groups of people

from a helicopter.

Inevitably, patterns emerge,

just in the movement of people.

From afar, just as up close, we are works of art,

from concept to design to finished product,

heart, mind, and soul.

Do we have the eyes to see, the ears to hear

the will to believe so?

Like Dandelions

The stage is set,

the audience is arriving, sitting down

We are undressing, redressing, getting into character

assuming our roles

Jim calls time and I take the stage, talk to the people

See how their day is, make them grow comfortable

Soon it’s time to go, I give the signal, we start to act

There are hula hoop performance, salsa dances,

excerpts from Joyce and Chekov

The living statue gives an erotic monologue

I sing a song, have my heart broken

and it’s all okay, all good

Tonight we’ll do it again

Then it’s curtain call,

we take a bow.

The audience cheers, we depart for the yellow room

They depart, we change

back into our normal selves, whatever that means

We talk with those who stay behind, clean up,

celebrate our victories, recap anything weird that might have happened

linger in the foyer, not wanting leaving

absorbing all the post-play magic that we can.

Then there are hugs and well wishes,

we get in our cars, we drive off

The next morning, when it’s not a theater night

A strange sense of loss consumes me

a grasping at the wind,

but theater is a moment, and eventually the place will cease its run

and all will move on

like Dandelions

The work never ends

God of life and passion and everything good,

bless my friends as they go on their way.