Camille Claudel|Sculpture|Goddess Art|Passionate Art

Mental Drawings of Demons...

The back and forth of good and bad
the sifting of our errors
how and where do we find our revival
of clear intentions?

Mental drawings of demons of the heart
They make the wheels spin their evil ways
tragically.
Yet sometimes
despite the wounded closet
there is a lovely token.
The gift of understanding
magically bringing revelations
we had not recognized
before the sleeping princess. 
Waking that beauty
no further breeding of dragons
occurs without clear planning.

Sometimes we conquer that dark side
spend time considering the view from top of the hill.
Watch sunsets
consider mythical monsters
and meet what might become bad decisions
head on
with an opposite approach
and our own fire-breathing tongues.

And then?
The wheel spins again
symbols of chaos within our hands
new inventions
new attractions toward depression
monsters in the closet
intimidating czar
despite the ones we conquered ore.

We are a fragile being
yet resilient.
Despite the temptations
the quest for new ideas
roar.
Despite the lust of new ideas
that might disable the heavens angles
we continue on
reveling in new inventions.

Do it... it's only just round the corner,
one new experience, 
one new insight, 
one new innovation, 
one new discovery
designs created from what is possible.

Painting our lives
drawings of scorpions
biting their own tail
or disabling objectionable disabilities thereof.
There is room for safe breathing
we are safe within the IDEA
of creativity
meeting the ways of right
or wrong
fault or reason.

There within the birds that cover our eyes
we decipher
and meet our own glorious
newly uncovered
finds of delight.

We are not that many steps away
from tiny whimsical angels
that remind us of
real life and our own breathing.
There is safety in that call.

by Kathy Ostman-Magnusen
22 April 2009

The image is of my painting "Orchids" (original is sold) It is a 30x40x2 oil on canvas

Every other angel
seems to get it right
every other tiny angel...
just not mine.
We'll have to have a word or two
once she stops dreaming.

As if she didn't know it
there are strings
attached to everything.
Just about everything
wears a coat.

Ward off the hunter
he comes to victimize
every loose end
except his own.
Alone
foolish to own that I'm fragile
even though my angels gone
a flying.

Mascara runs down weeping eyes
stupid eyes that cry
who simply don't understand
their tears
can be waterproofed
and defied.

Deep down
I've always loved empty cages
reminding me
of angels who capture sparks
and learn to fly off.
A pattern of flashes
once kept on leashes
released.

Wheels continue spinning
for the aimless
a primary defense of the queen's gambit
of trading off stars
that shine too much
lest she lose her stage.

So I sift through moments
of unrehearsed lines
I'd never hold her to them anyway
oh angel
of mine.

Everyone's garden seems trimmed
nowhere to hide a wanting fairy
no room for boxes
of secrets
no where to shelter hidden meanings
tied to strings.

I've planned an invitation
going to send it
by a doves wing
fore although my tiny angel is far away
I'll embroider her memory
and attach it to all my songs.

Yes
everything wears a coat
and everyone understands
a certain long lost tiny angel
and empty pockets.
Despite what people tell you
and no matter how loudly
there are fairies
who burst forth from their cages
leaving a jealous heart
alone.

05 May 2009
by Kathy Ostman-Magnusen
Copyright 2009

Image is of my painting "Bed of Dreams" 30x40 oil,gold leaf on canvas. The original work is available for sale through my rep Monkdogz Urgan Art, NY http://www.monkdogz.com