Singleton Hippie Art, The Lonely Flower

The Lonely Flower
(C) Singleton 2009

With her sun~puckered lips,
and weedy little legs,
she teetered above
the garden of little ones at her feet.

And she cried.

One by one,
the others were whisked up
by young lovers....
"He loves me, he loves me not",
bundled into little bouquets for Hallmark Holidays and after thoughts,
plucked up by
chubby little fingers
and embraced for their afternoon perfume.

But not her,
The Lonely little Flower,
she stood here day after day,
growing taller and older,
her hair a natty mess of twigs and pine-needles,
her petals, all but picked clean,
by the pitter patter of little feet landing on her colors....
her world was with the flying, the humming, the crawling,
the clouds....
And she cried...
Chubby little lop-sided cheeks quivering,
until The Sun Kissed her again
and pointed to the
nursery at her feet...

Her tears,
a fountain for the seedlings,
brought back by feathered friends
to grow here, learn here, beneath her umbrella...

Love grows....

Colored markers, pencils, ink on Cardstock. From the hippie garden, with peace and love.

The words keep coming....through the looking glass

Hmmmm. They didn’t start out prophetic. They started out as reflections. Little midnight doodlings. Obsessive Saturday night scribblings. To save my mind. To keep me breathing, in and out. Deep breaths. Manic pencil strokes that rescued me from the moment.

I usually paint on the walls. The never ending, snaking ,growing taller walls that house my soul.

And then, Joe died. And the clipboard with the stupid cardstock paper and the world from the living room window suddenly became the only way out. Thoughts just started flying by… zipping by actually, like Dorothy’s view from her cruddy ole Kansas window. And so….there were pictures of this thought, and that moment , and God knows what, stacked up half dressed and half drawn on the coffee table. Lined up like soldiers, they patiently waited for the moment that the color, the meaning, the why of it all, would make sense.

I’m touring now. Visiting my own pages. Meeting the spirits , the kinfolk, the paper pages of the last few months. Funny. I recognize them all. Their familiarity is family. But if I had known then, what I know now, I might have changed some of their names.

Peace, love and the future is a spooky little thing.

I found this at the very back of my blog today, stumbled on it accidently....And knowing what I know now, had to repost it....May the circle be unbroken...

Singleton Hippie Art, The Girl who had only been Kissed by the Sun

The Girl who had Only been Kissed by the Sun
(c) Singleton 2009

And there she was
all legs and sun freckled arms,
Eyes heavy with Morning dreams
and 99 cent Mascara from the night before,
when
She met him.

Not for the first time,
or even the hundreth,
but the only time
that she
noticed his smile...
the way he looked at her
sideways,
puddled eyes peeking through vertical blinds...

And suddenly,
The Girl who had only been Kissed by the Sun,
waited...

for him...
For the kiss that would wake her

and take her...

9 x 12 watercolors, markers, glitters, ink and make-up from an old worn compact. Painted on a "The Hippies are having Sabotical" Saturday afternoon....