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Withering Cedars, Georgia, United States
My name is Tim Morris. I currently dwell in Northwest Georgia on my estate, Withering Cedars, nestled at the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains, with my lovely wife and two beautiful daughters, where I teach high school American literature. I have been writing poetry for the majority of my life. I write about what I see around me. When asked, I describe my style as "realist romantic surrealism". The environment, sex, jazz, religion, politics, family, etc., are the subjects on which I tend to focus. When I am not writing, I play the banjo, didgeridoo, or drums or wander aimlessly shooting odd objects with my camera.

Saturday, April 9, 2011

"it's funny how things work"



















the painter
searches her canvas
for one drop,
it matters not
how minute,
of soul cleansing ecstasy.
she swirls her brush
in a palette
of hope,
jumping from blue
to black to green,
and spreads her
reconnaissance
into fissures of a pre-pocked
surface,
the pain of revelation
searing her eyes,
her lips,
the tips of fingers
on her right hand.

a chinese flautist,
navigating a creek bed
six-thousand miles away,
wipes yellow acrylic
from the mouthpiece
before he begins to play.
confused, he looks
at his hand,
the tips of his fingers
tingling with electricity,
as he prepares his breath
for a song
penned in remembrance
of his sister,
a painter,
who passed one year ago
today.


2 comments:

jonnia said...

brilliantly done! the yellow paint!

The Junkyard Poet said...

Thanks!