poemintheaspens.blogspot.com

A poem among the Aspens

Monday, June 6, 2011. Through the muddle of too much vodka. I vaguely remember Natchez's gleaming lights. Across the tumultuous Mississippi River,. The multicolored bulbs along the docks with. Neon extolling catfish and fried pickles,. And I recall the sun biting into the horizon. And odd pairs of lights nipping at each other. Hurriedly on the bridge that always scared. The crap out of me whenever I had to cross it. I remember the dissonant hum of cicadas. Clinging to cypress trees, and the sultry. Provo...

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A poem among the Aspens | poemintheaspens.blogspot.com Reviews

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Monday, June 6, 2011. Through the muddle of too much vodka. I vaguely remember Natchez's gleaming lights. Across the tumultuous Mississippi River,. The multicolored bulbs along the docks with. Neon extolling catfish and fried pickles,. And I recall the sun biting into the horizon. And odd pairs of lights nipping at each other. Hurriedly on the bridge that always scared. The crap out of me whenever I had to cross it. I remember the dissonant hum of cicadas. Clinging to cypress trees, and the sultry. Provo...

<META> KEYWORDS

1 fried pickles

2 posted by warren

3 no comments

4 early autumn sunrise

5 gray and dismal

6 melancholia depression tendency/gift

7 1 comment

8 summer aspens

9 a summer recollection

10 proper word

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fried pickles,posted by warren,no comments,early autumn sunrise,gray and dismal,melancholia depression tendency/gift,1 comment,summer aspens,a summer recollection,proper word,2 comments,headwaters/frenchman's creek,about me,warren,followers,blog archive

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A poem among the Aspens | poemintheaspens.blogspot.com Reviews

https://poemintheaspens.blogspot.com

Monday, June 6, 2011. Through the muddle of too much vodka. I vaguely remember Natchez's gleaming lights. Across the tumultuous Mississippi River,. The multicolored bulbs along the docks with. Neon extolling catfish and fried pickles,. And I recall the sun biting into the horizon. And odd pairs of lights nipping at each other. Hurriedly on the bridge that always scared. The crap out of me whenever I had to cross it. I remember the dissonant hum of cicadas. Clinging to cypress trees, and the sultry. Provo...

INTERNAL PAGES

poemintheaspens.blogspot.com

1

A poem among the Aspens: fried pickles

http://poemintheaspens.blogspot.com/2011/06/fried-pickles.html

Monday, June 6, 2011. Through the muddle of too much vodka. I vaguely remember Natchez's gleaming lights. Across the tumultuous Mississippi River,. The multicolored bulbs along the docks with. Neon extolling catfish and fried pickles,. And I recall the sun biting into the horizon. And odd pairs of lights nipping at each other. Hurriedly on the bridge that always scared. The crap out of me whenever I had to cross it. I remember the dissonant hum of cicadas. Clinging to cypress trees, and the sultry.

2

A poem among the Aspens: melancholia vs. the muse

http://poemintheaspens.blogspot.com/2010/06/melancholia-vs-muse.html

Tuesday, June 8, 2010. Melancholia vs. the muse. 12x16 oil on linen panel. A tonalistic painting in the tradition. Of the early American Tonalists. This is one of my favorites - just like the feel and emotion. Provoked by the sodden foreground, the birch trees beginning to. Color out, and the pale sunrise beyond. I have a real problem with winter, as many of you do, and I find it hard to keep my creative juices flowing when everything about me is gray and dismal. Perhaps. Said of this tendency:. November...

3

A poem among the Aspens: Summer aspens

http://poemintheaspens.blogspot.com/2010/05/summer-aspens.html

Friday, May 28, 2010. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). From my art website. View my complete profile.

4

A poem among the Aspens: June 2011

http://poemintheaspens.blogspot.com/2011_06_01_archive.html

Monday, June 6, 2011. Through the muddle of too much vodka. I vaguely remember Natchez's gleaming lights. Across the tumultuous Mississippi River,. The multicolored bulbs along the docks with. Neon extolling catfish and fried pickles,. And I recall the sun biting into the horizon. And odd pairs of lights nipping at each other. Hurriedly on the bridge that always scared. The crap out of me whenever I had to cross it. I remember the dissonant hum of cicadas. Clinging to cypress trees, and the sultry.

5

A poem among the Aspens: June 2010

http://poemintheaspens.blogspot.com/2010_06_01_archive.html

Tuesday, June 8, 2010. Melancholia vs. the muse. 12x16 oil on linen panel. A tonalistic painting in the tradition. Of the early American Tonalists. This is one of my favorites - just like the feel and emotion. Provoked by the sodden foreground, the birch trees beginning to. Color out, and the pale sunrise beyond. I have a real problem with winter, as many of you do, and I find it hard to keep my creative juices flowing when everything about me is gray and dismal. Perhaps. Said of this tendency:. Thursday...

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A poem among the Aspens

Monday, June 6, 2011. Through the muddle of too much vodka. I vaguely remember Natchez's gleaming lights. Across the tumultuous Mississippi River,. The multicolored bulbs along the docks with. Neon extolling catfish and fried pickles,. And I recall the sun biting into the horizon. And odd pairs of lights nipping at each other. Hurriedly on the bridge that always scared. The crap out of me whenever I had to cross it. I remember the dissonant hum of cicadas. Clinging to cypress trees, and the sultry. Provo...

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