Date: January 18, 2024
Painting
The Burning Oak Spirit
In the heart of woods, where whispers tread, Upon the earth, a fiery bed, A spirit rises, fierce and grand, With crackling leaf and embered hand. Roots entrenched in ancient lore, Its branches reach for evermore, In glowing heart and sap of fire, It stands, a beacon, tall and dire. With mossy beard and eyes that gleam, A fusion of life and flame it seems, Through forest's hush and creature's flight, It guards the grove in day and night. Each leaf a spark, each twig a blaze, Within its grasp, the fire stays, A timeless dance of ash and spark, A spirit bold, against the dark.
Date: January 17, 2024
Random Thoughts
My enemies swing at me all the time. I am always ready. It is only my friends that ever catch me off guard
Date: January 14, 2024
painting
Tinker Bell And The Samurai
In twilight's soft and waning light, Where fantasy and steel unite. A warrior clad in armor dark, Bears the silence of a lark. Beside him stands, in verdant grace, A creature from an ethereal place. Her wings aglow with magic's sheen, A sight so rare, so seldom seen. He, with his blade so sharp and true, Guardian of a code, an honor to pursue. She, with her dust, and dance, and flight, A whisper of wonder, a beacon of light. Their worlds apart, yet here entwined, A juxtaposition of two kinds. One of earth, one of air, In this moment, a pair so fair. He speaks in silence, strong and deep, She in giggles, a laugh to keep. The samurai's might, the fairy's flair, Together they make a contrasting pair. In the realm where sunset sings, And night's curtain softly rings, They stand in peace, with gentle might, In the fading glow of the coming night.
Date: January 14, 2024
painting
The Elite
In a world where the threads weave a tale so elite, A couple stands strong, fashion's heartbeat. With plaids that cross like the roads of the land, Their style speaks a language we understand. He, in his jacket of patterns bold, With a beard so neat, and look so cold. Sunglasses perched on a nose held high, A watch on his wrist that catches the eye. She, with her lips like a rose so red, A beret on her head, and mysteries unsaid. Sunglasses reflect the secrets untold, A bow tied neat, in blue and gold. Together they stand, the envy of all, In a moment so perfect, it seems to enthrall. The world's a stage for their grand parade, In the finest of fabrics, their memories made. With poise and grace, they claim the street, In the silent rhythm of their heartbeat. The elite of style, in the sun's soft glow, A portrait of fashion, from head to toe.
Date: January 14, 2024
painting
Beholder of Time
In a land of smoke and sprocketed gears, A behemoth gazes through the years. Its eye, a well of endless depth, Sees the world's secrets, kept and swept. A cloak of iron, a soul of cogs, It watches over time's dense fogs. With cannons quiet and books unfurled, It guards the gateway 'twixt each world. Its gaze pierces the veil of age, Each moment captured, a living page. Around it spirals the eternal dance, Of gears that tick in a precise trance. The sentinel stands, both wise and grim, A keeper of when, of her, of him. In the silence of ticks, the rhythm's hymn, The future unfolds on the present's brim. Through lenses of bronze, the past unwinds, A tapestry that its vision binds. The behemoth , a creature of time and rhyme, A chronicle wrought in metal prime. With each turn of gear and each coil's embrace, It witnesses history's tireless chase. The machinations of the world it views, From the grandest epics to the subtlest hues. In its realm of turning wheels and steam, It contemplates the human dream. A guardian of what has been and will be, In the clockwork's heart, it holds the key. With an eye like the moon in a starless night, It beholds the world in the palest light. The behemoth stands, in the temporal tide, A silent sentinel, time's own guide.
Date: January 13, 2024
painting
shirt print
In a canvas vast as the deep sea's hue, Petals unfurl in a sapphire stew. A garden of lapis, so vivid, so bright, A floral expanse in the absence of light. Each bloom a gemstone, cut from the night, Radiant and gleaming, a natural sight. In patterns that echo the stars' own array, These flowers of stone hold the moon's soft sway. Their edges are sharp as the crisp ocean wave, In blues that the richest of treasures would crave. A dance of the petals, so wild, so free, In a rhythm that pulses with the deep blue sea. An endless field where the cobalt flowers rest, In shades that the heavens have surely blessed. This floral fantasia, a cerulean dream, Where petals and minerals in unity gleam. A blue that enchants every dreamer's gaze, In each delicate fold, the cosmos ablaze. In this tranquil kingdom where blue lilies reign, The echoes of serenity sing in refrain. Each stamen and stem in harmony lies, Under the watchful gaze of sapphire skies. A tranquil sea made of blue blossom waves, In the garden of tranquility, where the quiet saves. An opulent sea of tranquility flows, In the hue of the gem where true calmness grows. Here in the azure, we find our release, In the lap of lapis, we dwell in peace.
Date: January 13, 2024
Prints On Clothes
Whispers of the Void 2
In the silence of space where the stars converse, Lies a spiral of clouds, the universe’s verse. A dance of the cosmos, so wildly spun, A celestial ballet, second to none. In its core, a secret beckons, untold, A swirl of hues—azure, silver, and gold. Each whispering wisp, a story divine, Woven by time in an astral twine. Gravity’s hand conducts this choir, Pulling and twirling, higher and higher. From the void’s soft hum, a harmony spills, A symphony crafted by cosmic wills. Downpour of light, like rain it streams, A cascade of stardust, or so it seems. Between each droplet, the silence roars, In the vast expanse of the cosmic shores. This gyre, a cradle of creation’s breath, A sight to behold, vast as it's depth. Here, in the void where the echoes drift, The fabric of reality starts to shift.
Date: January 13, 2024
painting
Whispers of the Void
Date: January 13, 2024
painting
The Forest Arcanum
In the heart of the wood where the shadows play, A creature of bark bends the light of day. With tendrils wild as the windswept sea, It cradles the secrets that none can see. A cloaked figure, small yet brave, Stands before the ancient knave. With a staff in hand and a spell to weave, In the dance of magic, they both believe. From the open tome at the figure’s feet, Rises a spell, an arcane heartbeat. A sphere of light, in a web of blue, Spins a tale as old as dew. The creature listens, its eyes aglow, To the whispering winds that around them blow. In this hallowed place where the old trees yearn, The pages of nature gently turn. Magic hums in the air so thick, A story spun with a sorcerer’s trick. In this moment where time stands still, The forest breathes its silent will.
Date: January 13, 2024
painting
The Spectral Warlord
In the shroud of night where shadows weave, A warlord stands, his soul to grieve. Armor aglow with the light of the moon, His spirit whispers of battles strewn. Beside him paces a beast of flame, Eyes that spark like lightning's claim. They share a bond, both fierce and bold, A story of valor, in silence told. With katanas crossed upon his back, He walks a path where light lacks. Followed by ghosts in cloaks so dire, They tread through night, their eyes like fire. They command the storm, the wind, the sky, A spectral march, a silent cry. In unity, they face the dark, With every step, they leave their mark. The warlord's might, the beast's bright mane, Together they ride, forever untamed. In the realm of specters, they find their worth, Silent sentinels of an ethereal earth.
