Bailey's Bunch

Paul
He beckons his muses,
sees their faces in his fires,
living
molten goddesses
whirling,
pitching,
wooing imagined shapes into fragile forms,
and it must be how the sun feels
when she’s done building comets,

Even shattered shapes
reform in the furnace of his sleeping,
become whole again,
and wait for
other dreams to join them.

Susan

She causes flowers to sing,
To vibrate, to assemble on
still papers,
to pulse hurricanes of color
to our willing senses.
She borrows bee’s wax,
forms it into habitats for
nails, shards of glass, toy soldiers,
random bits from strange ethers
melted into finite forms,
most whole.

Judi

She takes us back
to places we’ve never been,
walks us through landscapes
of pastel joy,
courses water from
imaginary springs,
adorns it all with blooms and doors
which pull at the muscles
that make us smile.
We wander from frame to frame,
from place to place,
into the bright destinations
of Judi’s world.



Kim

She gives form and freedom to the ghosts of trucks,
to orphaned islands,
to secret woods where,
surely,
Helen dances,
where ethereal warriors drink and laugh.
She collects wax visions
that make the eyes see colors
that might not be,
kneads photos of furred friends
into things forever formed,
and sees the whole soul
of things unseen.

Mark

He reveals the beauty
that only the inner earth
has seen before.
He coaxes creatures from the raw rock,
finds winged things in steadfast stone,
holds up the bones of lizards,
long
gone
lost

He twists the gold, the silver,
Wired to the vivid colors
alive in the marrow
of the earth itself,
to bring cold harmony forth,
to warm our hearts,
to hang from our necks
and add to OUR inner beauty.

Mike O’Connell