Art on Display

“Clearly, you can see it is a cycle of killing. The arrows are death at their own hands as they bowed and surrendered more and more to the white man.” Jenny looks at her Grandfather.

“Honey, it wasn’t that simple. Half the tribes used us to get rid of their rivals. We took land they weren’t using and set up farms and cities.” Grandpa points at the ring with his cane “This is a bone colored ring with a couple of arrows and blood. Hell, you could make something better with some paste and paper.”

“Grandpa! He is a world renowned artist. They brought this here to commemorate the opening of Indian Hills at Columbus Circle. It’s a real piece of art.” Jenny looks at Grandpa like she has seen a holy relic

“It’s a piece of work, all right! But you’re shopping at a place named for the guy who ended the Indians way of life.” Grandpa looks around at the glass enclosures and brightly colored banners. “Yep! Those Indians sure would like all this spread out here.”

178 words

Written as part of a challenge called Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers, details are available at

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Remember this Land is Your Land

There had been several attempts to dismantle National Monuments by big oil for years. But alas, someone put pen to paper.

http://www.rawstory.com/2017/05/trumps-plan-to-dismantle-national-monuments-comes-with-steep-cultural-and-ecological-costs/amp/

Poetic Tour of Eight Capital Sins

Gluttony

Sugar 

Caloric bliss 

Washed down in syrup 

Another chunk 

Another liquid fizz 

Nothing satisfies 

Lingering need for more 

Then crash 

repeat

Pride

The world versus me 

They haven’t got a chance! 

Teflon hero immune 

To cause and others 

Solitary divine 

Right by self-interest

Vainglory

Center attention resides 

Places build up within others 

Written on banner  

Held hands high 

Charging foward 

Little Big Horn awaits

Sadness

If you only know 

Sharing isn’t caring 

Leavening the field 

Dragging you down here 

Blame and hate 

Chains keeping you down

Anger

Enthrallingly distributed 

Across all views 

Problems involving everything 

Excited drawing blood 

Hoping pain caused 

Damage little concern 

Visceral intentions

Control absolutely

Avarice

One more million

One more collection 

Things horridly glorious 

Poor only want nothing

All that shines

All that glitters 

Mine

Acedia

Attention span withers 

Dreams awash vision 

Mind dances fancy thoughts 

Incredible drowse embraces 

My work drifts away 

Soul joins the shadows

Fornication

Flesh dripping taste 

Candys last linger clings 

Forbidden flavor always best 

Touch builds memory 

Desire creating scene 

Fulfilment hopeless 

Repetition guaranteed

A long time ago there were eight capital sins, corrupted souls got lazy and combined aspects of a few. Besides 7 sounds better as deadly sins

Decoration Day

image

Officially it’s Memorial Day in the US. But it was once Decoration Day.  The origins of this run deep.  The Union troops first celebrated the holiday on May 30, 1868.  But their were ones before that.

April 26,1866 was the first offical celebration of the Civil War dead in the south.  The gravesodd the Confederate troops were decorated with ribbons and buttons.  It was a symbol of homespun touches.  The south want left with much. Most of the people in the south eye fast from rich before the war.

There small marking on Anniversary of major battles were common for both Northern and Southern graves.  This was a war that no one thought would ever come.  It’s a war that started with only a Northern Army and  Northern Navy.   The South were farmers with little industry.   Every able bodied man who wasn’t a plantain owner fought in the South.

The Northern Armies were full of troops that well to do people paid others to take their place.  In the North, a grand horse race track called Saratoga opened in the height of the war.  The Southern people raced to Richmond to riot for bread.  The honor of the fighters for the South was not lost that all but Gettysburg was fought in their homes, their fields, over their crops.

Both sides died in a war to force the country back together. From the beginning when families watch on the side lines outside Alexandria.  To the surrender at Appomattox Courthouse.  These men lead to a celebration to honor all those lost in battle under Stars and Stripes

Meant To Be 

My soul has washed up on

    time’s beach out of place 

My eyes pale and change green to blue

I remember things I have not seen 

I’m certain the corner ahead

    hides my past from view

Shadows cone to greet me 

   with flashes previous

Falth whispers  ” meant to be ”

  ears assemble pieces together

Thousand puzzles with no image

    descend  into view

Tallowed like a glove, they all fit ideally 

Their embrace frees fear to conquer anew

It could be madness or immaculate  

    that fills me now

A mirrors image either way to inner                journeys beyond maps

I was destined to arrive here eventually 

Fields of dreams tucked in beds under

    mystical mountains 

I’m a fulfilled spirit walking amongst

     wishes and prayers

Under a star filed blanket I pause to                reflect the 

History taught me about time and place 

Nature slipped my place  through time

I understand divinity is destiny

   is meant to be 

Shoo-fly Ruins – Exploring My World 

A first blush these aren’t the ruins you go to visit.   Actually this is what find look like before they are cleaned up and repaired and signed.  The rock outlines and fences spread out across 4 acres here.   There are changes in styles of rooms and positioning with other rooms.  Over four hundred years people lived here.   They used rocks as foundations and covered them with branches or skins and wooden frames.  

In the picture above, the sapling pine sits where a door was.  There is an oval ring where a house stood about 1150 AD toward the end of their stay here. 

It’s on the Houston Mesa Rd off of North Arizona 87.  There’s a weird feeling to the place.  You could spend more time here than you realize. 

Reblog – Gaspard de Besse: Robin Hood of Provence

The Curious Rambler

Gaspard de Besse, Robin Hood of Provence

Just like Robin Hood, Gaspard de Besse robbed from the rich (who detested him) and gave to the poor (who adored him). But while Robin Hood’s roots are shrouded in mystery, there’s no doubt about the identity of our French outlaw.

Young Gaspard
Gaspard Bouis, later known as Gaspard de Besse, was born February 9, 1757 in Besse-sur-Issole, a small village in the Var region of southern France. His father died one year later, and Gaspard was placed in the care of the local priest. The priest assumed Gaspard would follow his footsteps into a religious life and made sure he had a proper education.

However, Gaspard was a charming, handsome smooth-talker who wasn’t suited to the priestly way of life. At the age of seventeen, he left the small town of Besse and went to Toulon for a taste of the city. It’s in Toulon that he began his…

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Profound

​The embodiment of profound

Obfuscation of the message

Panacea to common sense

You unite in dividing

Noble scarecrows bow

Highness of sorts, never reached

Your dias commands quite a view

Reality may never see it that way

Their loss and suffering of ignorance 

If you could impart your ways again

We are dying to hear the cure of our ills 

Only one can dance us to the edge

Into yonder Valley lies paradise

Or is it our grave.

<a href="https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/249091/">Profound</a>