Christina's Poems... Earth and Art

Modern utility is a staunch reminder of just what the thinking mind brings. The electrical buzz of a street lamp at night grotesquely invades the celestial sky, and the wonder the night intends. No longer content to withdraw in repose, we have traded experience for materials, emotion for knowledge,... Sign in to see full entry.

Sometimes I see the sun, and I want to cry... but the clouds stop me. In grief I see a unicorn, or a daisy, or cotton candy melting on the fingers of the sky of my youth. Shapes rise and form and undulate as the ephemeral world transcends the child-like view the now. Echos and reflections surrender... Sign in to see full entry.

Quiet dusk with her creeping legions, takes hold on the purity of the day. Her structure is simple, yet profound, like the rings in a tree -- an endless and beginningless proposal that is content to be unanswered. An ancient yellow willow, hanging on to the last remnants of youth, waves in the... Sign in to see full entry.

Smooth liquid color, gracefully transparent, flows onto the paper with willingness and ease. Illucidating ideas from the recesses of my mind, it portrays the beauty that is searched for in life, but is uneasy to find. Intangible intimations float in and out of view... a paint-soaked portrayal of the... Sign in to see full entry.

I can see by the look in your eyes that you're not with me. Your fires have faded, engulfed by my own. Ravaged scales tip the sands of time, and we wait on that sea that promises to entrench us. Sure death, prospective sleep, ravenous clutches of blue and gold... your beauty is entrancing and I do... Sign in to see full entry.

Choose the sea. She is dark and full of depth... Cold and lovely... Coy and dangerous. Not like her land sisters... seas of amber grains, ready to comfort, ease, wildflowers spark life into dead and soulful eyes. Emotions stumble in the grass, and find themselves lying still for the first time in... Sign in to see full entry.

Breathing is good. Climb a wave to the next moon and kick up the dirt and sail. Nobody lives where your mind doesn't tell them to. Fantasy's a trip, but reality is lost. Go find it buried in the paintings of tomorrow, while the meek understand why today is today. By Christina Bartlow Copyright ©... Sign in to see full entry.

My song is many miles away... centuries long, yet phrases too short. It waits, traveling on the wind, for the encompassing. She strikes her pose, content to live with the stones among ruined tents and tribes and seas of wandering. She is livid I have not found her. Melody serene, moved by branches... Sign in to see full entry.