Summer passing quickly. So far, unable to paint Dmitra from photo, colors too flat, no life in the expression. Time out. Painted an abstraction of the Chosoviotissa Monastery on Amorgos, high on the cliff

Addison-Wooley Gallery in Portland, Maine showed this exhibit during August, 2011. The photographs are 17 x 22 inches, printed in an edition of 40 on Epson Ultra Smooth Fine Art paper with archival inks.

( strong hands, clear eyes, wide mouth, unlike any other, yet she steps easily into the dreams of strangers, for each the completing self

( firm hip, shoulder, incurving waist, soft round of breast, a slim young waitress, teased, laughing, calls out: "More than a mouthful goes to waste …"

( smooth skin, descending to hip, up and over, also inward, along the pelvic bone, swell of belly curving down to silky welcome

( She said, "I got up early and made the coffee. I put the two mugs side by side, then I remembered that you weren't here any more."

( I woke up on a wooded path. It was dark and I was severely hungover. Disorienting flashes of light came from some sort of generating plant nearby. I don't remember how I found my car, but I can see the

( My first summer job was at a company that made high tech fans for the military. I reported to work holding my lunch in a paper bag and waited for instructions. Merlin, head of the maintenance department,

Michelangelo’s Shoulder It dawned hot in Georgia. Don rubbed his head and blinked. He got out of bed and paused before a makeshift easel where a drawing, taped to a board, showed a woman sitting on a park

Signal Fire On a deserted beach at dusk, a man rolled a note into a cylinder and stuffed it into one shoe. He patted the wallet, keys, and knife in his pockets, took off his clothes, and walked into the

I have lived on Kauai, Oahu, and the Big Island. On Peaks Island in Maine. On the Cycladic Islands in Greece, recently. Tomorrow we leave Naxos. It is sad each time, leaving an island. Each is distinct,

Hi, here are some drawings made in the last two months. Please forgive beginner clumsiness. On a spring morning in Rhodes, I entered the Old City and heard beautiful guitar playing by one young guy sitting

When I was 24, I wrote that I should "wake the ever present into words." Ten books later, I wrote: "only those who dare the no-space between humility and pride, escape the cruelties of

"I've lost my way, a bit, Batman. I don't know what to do next." "Get small, Joe." "That again!" It's not easy getting small. Like dying---the death of your defenses, your

Beauty and the Auk Auk, port bow Beauty matters. We need it. But why, what is it? There is no excellent beauty that hath not some strangeness in the proportion. Francis Bacon (1561-1626) This seemed right

Why Draw Language is a prerequisite of civilization; literature is a consequence. Fine writing explores, models, and sometimes leads culture. At bottom, however, literature is talk---sounds spoken or written.

Batman and The Goddess of the Standpipe "What next, Batman?" "That fruit plate looks pretty good, Joe." "Right." Joe Burke examined the purple flesh and tiny black seeds of

"The great problems are inherently insoluble as they involve opposing polarities in the self, polarities necessary in any self-regulating organism... Some people seem to grow out of these problems,

Hi, By way of introduction, here are a few poems from previously published books. Only new ones from now on. Thanks very much for reading! Back In Town Billy Frailly’s got a new shirt, shaved and walking

Hi, please bear with me as I learn how to post, mark up, etc. My name is John Moncure Wetterau. I grew up in Woodstock, N.Y., lived in Hawaii, lived for thirty-five years on the Maine coast, lived briefly