It’s cold here.
So then, I close my eyes
and I imagine things.
I imagine that I
can tip-toe through the daisies
which lie buried under deep snow
I imagine them bloom, and-
then I imagine them grow
into a sea
a sea of utter raw beauty-
you would agree,
if you could just, only close your eyes
and tip-toe through the daisies-
C’mon old man winter,
I am ready for you to stop following me.
I am ready for a sea full of daisies
and the beauty they may bring
a rarity called
Oil on Canvas/Mixed Media/Tissue paper round canvas board,
by Emily Cato 2003.
I used to make more art before i met my husband, which was in 2000. He likes / loves my art-he is really encouraging. However, when you are part of a romantic pairing you general do activities you both can do together like watch tv, eat dinner, go to the movies, go on a walk, ect. Art is so much like,”hi, i am ignoring you.” I mean he never tells me to not do it-but i think he feels left out when i do-even when it’s the writing poems things and not the art in the basement/easel thing. I miss art.It is basically a time management issue. I need to make time for it while he’s at work or something. I know this but it’s difficult. I am full of reasons why not, instead of reasons why i should make art?It is completely stupid and utterly ridiculous…i cannot explain.
primrose, with thorns, too fuzzy
too mangled and muddy to see….
primrose, with thorns, hidden
beneath your colorful bounty of joy,
beneath my fingers, your sharpest points,prick me
into another ending,
heartbreak at a glance,
devastating to the touch.
primrose, a prick of blood, a sure sign
spring will follow suit, soothing winters snowstorms with
the blush of color beneath a thunderstorm,
and all that mud, my dog just dragged in.