Abuse, Agape, Alienation, Alienation From Self, Alison, Attachment, Authenticity, Being True To Yourself, Christianity, Evil, Happiness, Hope, Human Nature, Jana, Knowledge, Learning, Life, Living, Love, Lovers, Oppression, People, Poetry, Quality of Life, Relationships, Spiritual Alienation, Spirituality, Unconditional Love

A Flock of Sparrows for Majel: The Tragedy of Fool’s Gold

Paul Sunstone

A Flock of Sparrows for Majel

(About an 8 minute read)

Jana was nearby,
For a decade, always nearby.
But I was not close to her.

She became my wife
And we shared a house.
We shared a bed.
We shared our bodies,
And we told each other
We shared our hearts and minds.

In truth, she was that spot on my back
That I never could see,
And that I never could reach
No matter how often,
And no matter how hard
I stared into the mirror,
And turning this way or that,
Tried to spot her.

Continue reading “A Flock of Sparrows for Majel: The Tragedy of Fool’s Gold” →

Human Nature, Life, Living, Love, New Love, People, Poetry, Romantic Love, Terri

A Flock Sparrows for Majel: “When We Pivoted on Our Egos”

Paul Sunstone

A Flock of Sparrows for Majel

(About an 8 minute read)

Do you remember now
That long ago dewy night
When we dissolved our proud walls in the Milky Way?
We were surprised to discover our hearts were twins.
And we began purring together like two cats cuddling.

We were strong and confident and nineteen.
We had returned for the summer from our universities,
And we lay, face to face, and eyes to eyes
On the hill behind your mother’s home.

Continue reading “A Flock Sparrows for Majel: “When We Pivoted on Our Egos”” →

Art, Nudes, Paintings, Visual Arts

The Dancer

Paul Sunstone
The Dancer Winter 2019 350x703
The Dancer. 8 x 16 Acrylic on canvas (2019)

The is the first nude I’ve painted.  I did a lot of figure drawing some years ago, but I’ve had no interest in painting nudes until now.  For some reason, I found it was hard for me to figure out how I wanted to paint her.  There are about seven trial coats of paint on her — beneath what you see!

Like so many young women these days, the model told me she has serious issues with the appearance of her body.  Consequently, I think it was a bit brave of her to suggest I do a nude of her.

That also made it especially gratifying when she saw the painting and told me she thought it was attractive enough to help her with body-image issues.  In fact, I was so happy to hear her say that, I totally forgot to seize the opportunity in order to suggest she pay me a fee for having painted her.  What a horrid mistake!

I thought while I was painting this it might not only be my first, but also my last nude — given how hard it was for me to get what I wanted.  But since completing it, two more people — one man, one woman — have suggested I paint nudes of them, so now I’m beginning to wonder if this might be my new profession.

What makes it so odd to me is I typically do portraits and I practically have to beg people to pose for me.  But — and this is counter-intuitive to me — it seems at first glance that it’s easier these days to get volunteers for nudes than for portraits. What on earth?  I feel so old now!  So outdated!

Free Spirit, People, Poetry, Terese, Teresums

What a Fool!

Paul Sunstone

(About a 1 minute read)

What a fool!
I mean you, of course.
You who never believe me,

Never believe me,

When I tell you —
Just as honest as a baby’s butt —
That your spirit is a shining silver ribbon
Woven from songs and stretched between stars,
And consequently, you happen to be beautiful,
You never believe me!

But why is that?
Just why is that?
Do you think I make this stuff up?
What a fool!

I look. I see. I report what I see.
You’re a silver ribbon made from song.
Accept it, you donk. It’s the truth!
The truth dressed up incognito.

Look, we’ve been friends now for what?
Three years? Four if you count
The wear and tear you’ve inflicted on me.
And in all that time
Have I even once told you a falsehood
(Excepting only those times that I have)?

So why don’t you ever believe me
When I tell you you’re
One of the most beautiful and graceful
Free-spirits I’ve ever known?

Sure you have flaws.
Everyone has flaws.
Everyone is not me, for instance,
And so everyone has at least one flaw, am I right?

Your flaw is you lack faith,
The faith to believe me
When I say you have wings and can fly.
What a fool!

Have I ever told you
What a pleasure it is
To know someone who is
Beautiful and graceful,
Kind and loyal,
Fun and funny,
Non-judgemental and accepting,
Free-spirited and loving?

But enough about me.
You’re a lot of those things yourself!

Abuse, Alienation, Alienation From Self, Art, Life, Marysa, Outstanding Bloggers, People, Poetry, Writing

To a Young Artist — Take Care of Yourself

Paul Sunstone

(About a 3 minute read)

The snow came today and the cold,
The cold came with it so hard
It cut through the walls of my cottage.

But nothing today came colder
Than the news someone once
Had laid you on a white table
And under harsh and glaring lights
Stole your insides with a scalpel
To leave you only with your skin.

I am not a stranger to such things.

I have seen in my life how a man,
A man who can walk into a fire
And live to walk out again,
Can someday be taken up by a tornado
And without reason spun so hard his very self —
Everything that he is — is flung from him,
Cast by the winds so far away
That the man must travel decades
To find a few pieces of who he is again.

And I have seen how a woman
Whose spirit is light and tender,
Whose smile is a warm sun,
And whose laughter is a light breeze across flowers,
Can without warning or reason or mercy
Have molten lead poured into her,
Poured down into her to settle and freeze in her heart
By the man who professes to love her.

By the man
Who professes
To love her.

I am not a stranger to such things.
I am not shocked by the news today.
I did not cry for you when I heard
Of the table or the lights or the scalpel.

I did not cry for you
When I heard once again of the monsters among us —
Of what they had worked upon someone —
And I do not yet know you well enough
To mourn true and honest
Your pain, and your suffering, and your alienation:
I’d be BSing you if I said I could.

But you told your story
With such power and grace,
You told it with such insight
And with such understanding,

That you grabbed my guts
You chilled my blood,
You made the thought of you being abused
Rush through my mind like the broken ice
That crashes down a mountain stream
In the winter.

You can turn words on a lathe, my friend,
Turn them with precision and grace.
You can craft them
Into real and solid things
That punch with images,
Meanings, truths, and insights —
That punch.

There’s something great in you,
A seed at least.
I see it.
Do you?

If not for yourself,
Then for the sake of others,
Take care of yourself:
The world is better
That you’re in it.
Take care of yourself.

Life, Mental and Emotional Health, Poetry

Born to a Better Sun

Paul Sunstone

(About a 1 minute read)

Sometimes you phone
On the days you are cartwheeling
Into a black sun.

Then I listen to your voice,
Your voice so soft,
Your voice so gentle
That I can imagine it must have glided
Across a newborn’s skin
On it’s way to me.

I never hear in your voice the solar flares.
I never hear in your voice the flares,
That are ripping through your mind,
That are tearing it apart.

Once long ago you were whole.
Do you remember now
The years when you were whole?

Once long ago your teachers
Had no other word for you,
No other word than “brilliant”.

We all had no other word for you
Than “brilliant”.

You we thought were a traveler
Born to lands we’d never known.
You we thought were an explorer
Born to reach a distant shore.

You we thought had eyes
That would look inside the stars.
You we thought had eyes
That would see the nature of time.

You we thought were destined,
Destined for a better sun

Back in the years before,
The years before your began your fall

Into the fires of a black sun,
The fires that killed
Something inside us all.

Advice, Alienation From Self, Authenticity, Being True To Yourself, Coffee Shop Folks, Jackie, Love, Lovers, People, Poetry, Quality of Life, Relationships

Does Someone Love You Now?

Paul Sunstone

(About a 4 minute read)

Do you remember now those decades ago
On the porch of the Oak House?

The evening you wrapped us in a thin blanket
Elbow to elbow in solidarity
Against the October chill?

We listened to the coyotes calling to the late sun
And waited for the night
And waited for the comet
That hung above the San Luis Valley that year.

You were a girl then. Seventeen and sick with worry
The boys would never want you —
Want you enough to stick with you
Beyond the sex you gave them,
Want you enough that the love you felt
Would ever be returned.

I was forty-three — and twenty-six were the years between us,
The years you reached across to ask me in earnest:

“What must I become,
What must I turn myself into
To earn a boy’s love?”

That afternoon on a bed of moss and stone
You had fallen asleep next to me
In the shallow water of the Upper Pool.

Small bubbles formed on your pubic hair like silver jewels,
Sun and shadows raced and swirled across your satin skin,
Something older than the gods spoke
In your graceful curves, spoke in an ancient tongue
Of your youth and your fertility

And I could not believe
Anyone so beautiful

And I could not believe
Anyone

Could feel so alone.

Do you remember now those decades ago, Jackie,
When you bravely reached across the years between us,

When you broke open your heart,
When in the growing dusk
You called off your guards,
And in the gloom
Surrendered your proud walls,
In order to reveal to me naked and honest
Your desires and your fears?

Do you remember now your lips were trembling,
Trembling as you spoke,
And not from the cold?

You were seventeen years old
But a hundred years tired that night,

Tired and worn,

Chased down,
Cornered and numb

From how the boys would lie and use you cruel,
From how they had taken the least,
Ignored the rest,
And left the best of you behind.

You spoke of a hollow chest,
You spoke of an emptiness,
You spoke of a twilight
Through which winds of loneliness twisted and wailed
By night and by day.

And you spoke of a growing hatred,
An exhausting hatred for yourself,
A quicksand sucking you down.

You were so sure no boy could love you
Ever

Unless you could become an alchemist

And with estranging fires and poisons
Turn the lead you thought you were
Into the gold you thought you must become.

Tonight I wonder what you have become
In the cauldron of the two decades
That have passed since I told you,
Urged you, that night on the porch
Not to hide yourself beneath a mask,
Not even a mask of gold.

I all but begged you to be true to yourself —

True so someone could love you for who you are.
True so that someone
Could love you Jackie
For who you are.

I ached that night for you to make my words
Your path and your road, your light and your guiding star.
I ached that night for my words to nourish you.
I ached for my words to encourage and to heal.

Did you grasp my advice?
Did you discover the meanings
That ran like a subterranean river
Beneath my words?

Did you see the truth
That I tried to point you to?

Were you able to turn the words
I spoke into something real?

Have you had the guts
To be yourself?

Tonight I wonder, Jackie,

Does someone love you now for who you are?

Or do you wear tonight a mask of gold

And the winds still twist and howl
Through the emptiness of your heart?