Ajax Minor's Blog, page 6

A Christmas story

These past few weeks we’ve talked about one of the activities Linda and I love most: FISHING! Now why don’t we talk about what is often a favorite time of year for many of us, CHRISTMAS.

As you know by now, if you’ve followed my Blog, I always try to hit topics of either general or current interest. But always topics that relate specifically to my books. So what does Christmas have to do with Sun Valley Moon Mountains (SVMM)?

Among other things, SVMM is a Christmas story. Really?! Of course you thought the novel was about the loss of a child. Certainly, that and grief are the meta themes of the story. But the tableau against which it is set may be much more. First, and most simply, the tale takes place around the holiday of Christmas. Ingenious of me, huh? Well, the calendar is not the only thing that links the story to the holiday.

First, Jaq and Kate have a party to celebrate the Winter Solstice. Now they are self professed, even with tongue in cheek, pagans. So they throw a Solstice Party (True confession: Linda and I throw one for ourselves every year!) I’ve read that it’s generally acknowledged that Christ was born in the Spring. But in order to attract converts the birth date was moved to December to replace the old Solstice celebrations. Well, Jaq and Kate hold one for their friends in Sun Valley. What happens? Lots. The sun stops in the sky, just above the western horizon, before going to sleep on the shortest day of the year.

Then the fun begins.

Jaq and Kate recieve a tree on Christmas Eve day from their friend, Father Nicholas Marduk Beele of the church of Our Lady of the Snows. But the tree, like their daughter Ur, is just a little bit different.

If you haven’t read the story and are a bit curious, check out what happens to a very strange tree.

Finally, who is this person, or whatever else he is, Nick Beele? Find out in SVMM. 

Check out the quotes from the book this week on Facebook or Twitter. Read a Christmas story of a very different kind!

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Gone Fishin’: In Cold Blood!

“Fish have to eat every day.” That’s what our guide and buddy for over 30 years, and owner of Lost River Outfitters in Sun Valley, ID said. Sounds reasonable. Why would I ask such a dumb question?

It was the day after Thanksgiving and Linda, Scott and I were standing thigh deep in the Wood River. The temperature was in the 20’s and it had begun to snow. Fish, of course, are cold-blooded animals. We have fished in Sun Valley before in February, but I guess I assumed that fish, like bears, endured the winter in a state of torpor and would awaken briefly to eat. Not so.

Which is good news if you are an angler in search of a thrilling, though chilling, experience! Winter fishing is not for the faint of heart, but it is worth the numb toes. In the dead of winter it’s usually necessary to hop out of the river every 20 minutes or so to thaw out. But November wasn’t quite as frigid. So we three would stand together and Linda and I would pass the baton, or rod in this case, off to one another after each catching a fish or two. Or if they were on the smaller side, 13-15 inches, maybe every third fish.

Surprisingly, you won’t feel the cold when throwing at your target or retrieving your nymph. Nymphs, which float subsurface, are the ticket in the winter. Betis do hatch all year but may not be ‘on’ any given day. The prime winter insect is the midge. And, yes, the bug is exactly like its name. SMALL. Since they are tiny, if you want to go dry you lift if you see a rise anywhere near where you expect your fly to be floating. If they are ‘on’ and you are with an experienced guide, midges can be a blast. But nymphing is really preferred.

There is truly something magical about throwing your fly as the snow swirls around you; as the nymph lands on the surface of the stream amidst a whirl of white. As I’ve often said, intense concentration is mandatory while throwing and retrieving. You may think the fish are a bit dopey from the cold, but I lost two big fish, Brownies I think, since they didn’t go aerial. Those fish were on their A-game.

But once you’ve landed and released your fish, and handed your tackle off to your fishing bud, Linda in my case, it’s worth it to just, well, look around and soak in the scene. That day on the Wood, as the snow swirled in squalls, I looked up at the steep hillside on the far side of the river and imagined I was in a chapter from Lord of the Rings. Spruce and Ponderosa covered the slope, and scattered about, all the way to the top, were outcroppings of sedimentary rock, deep red like smoldering logs and triangular, spiking up like dragons’ teeth.

While the fishing can be good (we ‘stuck’ around 50 fish and landed 30), that doesn’t mean there aren’t challenges to winter angling. First, leave the summer weight waders in the basement and get a good pair of Neoprene waders, which are kind of like wetsuits. A couple pairs of gloves aren’t a bad idea either, as it’s easy to get them wet when retrieving line or taking the hook from your fish’s lips. Wool hats are recommended. Finally, it’s mandatory to have a beverage to warm you up. Scott usually has a flask of bourbon or scotch at the ready after we quit. If you don’t drink alcohol, have some hot tea in a thermos to take off the chill.

Winter fishing isn’t for everyone but if you have a thick skin and a warm heart it can’t be beat. Here’s Scotty and Linda after we got out of the water just before dusk:

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Gone Fishin’: Culture Wars and Rage on the River

I’ve been writing about fishing for the past few weeks. How I got interested in the sport, some details about the art of fly fishing for trout and have posted gorgeous pics from the trip Linda and I took to Idaho in early October.

Fishing is an avocation that relaxes one through the exercise of intense concentration while casting and retrieving your fly followed by the thrill of releasing your fish and then taking a moment to soak in the sounds of the stream and beauty of the landscape. So what could ever go wrong?

In October Linda and I fished one day with our guide and buddy Scott Schnebly, owner of Lost River Outfitters in Ketchum, ID, on the lower Wood River. It was a spot called Stanton. Special fishing holes on a river may acquire monikers like ‘Tire Poppin’ Pool’, ‘Cliff Pool’ and Stanton. As with many pursuits, there are certain rules of etiquette. In fly fishing, or any type of fishing for that matter, you usually are allowed to fish a ‘run’, which is a bit of fast moving water that may have a deeper, quieter pool at its head or tail, without another angler wading into or casting into your ‘water’.

We were working our way up a ‘run’ to a pool at its head, casting upstream, when a man and his wife set up their beach chairs on a spit of land above us and began casting into the pool above us.  Good form would have been to work the run just above ours, especially on a river that might be large, but not HUGE like the Madison in Yellowstone. Maybe twenty yards wide. We were having some success with both Rainbow and Brownies and excited to see if there were a few ‘bucket jaws’, big boys, in the pool, but the couple had taken that water. And once disturbed by an angler a piece of water or a pool might scatter the fish for hours.

Our guide told them they should move upstream, as this was our ‘beat’ at the time. The fellow replied that there was plenty of room for them. Not really quite accurate nor good form. Scotty became a little hot and told him to move. Now we got a chance to see the ‘culture wars’ we are engaged in, in the US, play out on a river. ‘F-bombs’ were launched and the fellow, who was using spinning gear, said he’d had it with goddamned fly fisherman.

Now there is a bit of friction between spin casters, especially bait fisherman, and fly fishermen. Some bait boys think the fly casters a bunch of elitist snobs. It is true that fly fishing is a more expensive pastime. You usually stand in water, not on a bank, and therefore need waders and boots, and vests for flies, leader and perhaps a pair of forceps to extract your fly from your fish’s mouth. This fellow said he hadn’t seen anything this bad in Vietnam, playing that card, and besides, his wife had had a stroke and couldn’t walk upstream. Although she had been perfectly capable of walking down a steep bank to the river. Whatever.

I really thought the two would cross the stream and come to blows, so I began shouting for everybody to calm down. Which they did. To defuse things I asked the spin caster what he was using for a lure. EARTHWORMS, he said. We chatted for a minute and then he apologized for his language in front of Linda and that was that. He left a few minutes later and we walked upstream and left the pool in peace.

Okay, I fly fish now. But I grew up and with spinning rods and thoroughly enjoyed that sport. And, honestly, I really don’t feel ‘elitist’. Yes, I went to Princeton and worked on wicked Wall Street. And, yes, I’m a damned Democrat. But I’m no better than the next guy. Hell, it’s not like I discovered a cure for cancer. If we would all follow a few rules of common courtesy we’d be better off. Ya think?

Finally, why did I capitalize EARTHWORM? Because in my opinion they don’t belong on a river. Rivers are very sensitive and difficult environments for fish. They are much less productive of trout than a lake. A healthy river may have 600 fish per mile, while a lake may have thousands per acre foot. And when a fish takes a fly it usually is hooked in the lip. But trout tend to swallow live bait, and so extracting the hook without killing the fish is nearly impossible. It’s true that many anglers like to ‘kill’ their fish, take their limit and have them for supper. I get it. But take them from a lake if you can. Besides, rivers can contain harmful pollutants, which probably aren’t good for your health.

In Colorado, where we lived for two decades, the rivers can have arsenic from gold mining. So for the sake of the fish, the river and your health, take your fish from a lake or maybe just go to the fish counter at Safeway.

Peace!

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Gone Fishin’: To Dry or not to Dry

There are three basic types of fly used to lure the fish: Dry, Wet and Nymph. I really don’t know much about wet flies since I’ve rarely used them. When we asked our guide buddy, Scott Schnebly of Lost River Outfitters, why we never fished ‘wet’, he said we could but the fish tend to be much more aggressive when smacking a wet fly, meant to imitate a small fish.  This means they are more likely to swallow the fly and this decreases the chances of the fish being released tired but unharmed.

I would suspect that the battle between those who prefer dry over nymph and those who choose the reverse has been raging since Isaac Walton published ‘The Compleat Angler’ in 1653. Although it’s probably fair to say that the argument is imbalanced, since I’ve rarely met a ‘nympher’ to disparage or refuse to fish dry fly. However, I’ve met many anglers who will throw nothing but a dry. So what’s the big deal?

In general, when dry flying you tend to identify your fish, your target, then ‘present’ the fly to it to eat. Usually fish feed on dries when there is a specific insect hatch, say a Betis or a Trico hatch.  So one of the things you try to do is ‘match the hatch’. That means selecting a fly which will float on the surface and reflects, in general size, shape or color, the insects hatching. The clearer the water and the calmer the surface, the harder it is to get your fish to eat an imposter. You get away with more in the faster moving water when nymphing.

Nymphing is often criticized as ‘blind fishing’, because you will try to find water that ‘looks’ fishy. This includes ‘riffle’ water, water at the head or bottom of a pool and seams between currents of different speed. The big guys always prefer the slower water. Fewer calories expended per calorie consumed. While it is true that you are playing at probabilities, since you can’t see your fly under the surface, nymphing requires intense concentration. The fish might eat your fly at any point during a float of several tens of yards. Sneeze and you may have missed your fish. Dry flyers wait for their prey to stick its snout above water and sip the fly; and they know where their fish is holding.

However it is possible to ‘hunt’ while nymphing. Linda and I often hand our rod off to the other while fishing. The tackle free angler can sneak up on a promising pool and direct the cast:

“Okay, you hit him right on the head! 10 feet farther and a little righter” (anglers take philological liberties).

I’d also say that casting accuracy is preferred when dry flying and technique is paramount in nymphing. Your nymph is always attached to an ‘indicator’, which may be a dry fly (and may get eaten itself, telling you something about the right insect to throw) or a flashy, floating piece of plastic. As a result your line has to contend with more wind resistance and the probability is increased of piling a cast up or tangling up your leader, to which the fly is attached.

Another advantage of nymphing is that you won’t have to head back to the car if you don’t have the right fly or there is no hatch. Nymphing guarantees you a shot at landing a fish, provided you don’t have the wrong fly, wrong water or left your ‘cast’, like a golf swing, at home.

As you can probably tell I’m a nympher, as much as I like throwing dries. Either way angling is a different kind of hunt. You actually contend with another life force when you engage your fish.

And when you land a fish from a stream, unless it is a little ‘dink’, hold it gently against the current before releasing it so it can recover and suck up some oxygen. Catch and release in a river makes sense. Streams are hard environments. Food is less plentiful than in a lake and the fish expend a lot of calories fighting the current. Leave your fish for another angler. Linda and I have caught the same fish in the same water on successive days!

Check out my Facebook, Twitter or Instagram this week for a few links to get you started on the sport.

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Gone Fishin’ : 3

I wanted to talk to you this week about the differences in the types of streams where you fish, freestone and spring creeks.

Freestone rivers are fed, in general, by snowmelt and rainwater. Both rely on physics to flow. Freestone rivers and creeks are gravity fed. They are my favorite to fish. All have bottoms that are a mixture of sand and rocks, which can be dislodged and tumble downstream at high water in the spring. They are especially beautiful if you take the time to peer into water and let your eye savor the variety of shapes, sizes and colors of the rocks. It’s also fun to turn a stone over and find it literally crawling with nymphs, which will eventually emerge to become stoneflies, mayflies and a host of other airborne insects that then live a brief life in order to mate and lay their eggs for the next generation.

Caution is the watchword when wading. Usually your kit includes waders (creative name, huh?), a pair of sturdy boots with soles that can GRIP, a vest for carrying your tackle and a wading staff. The staff is recommended if you are unfamiliar with the river or it is particularly fast and deep. It is no nuisance since it collapses into segments and can be carried in a holster. Another benefit is that the holster is secured to a belt that wraps around your waist. This will keep the water out of your waders if you happen to go down.

Old fashioned waders were rubber and very heavy. If you fell and they filled up you could drown. Not only novices are at risk, but seasoned angles and even guides have been killed in a plunge, as happened many years ago to a famous guide on the Madison. Know your water, know what to expect or take a local guide if the water is unfamiliar.

So much for the dangers. What about the pleasures? We’ve already spoken of the colorful stone bottoms. But the sound of a river flowing is soothing. And fishing requires so much concentration that the calming ‘white noise’ of the river coursing can help block out everything but your attention to your fly.

And you MUST always keep your focus on the fly, whether dry or an indicator fly to which your nymph is attached. A few seconds of distraction and you might miss your fish.

Always be on the lookout for pools and eddies, where the current slows noticeably. This is where the big guys like to ‘hold’. They don’t have to expend as much energy feeding. But avoid ‘frog water’ where the water simply sits. However, faster water can also hold big fish, particularly along ‘seams’ where a swift current and a slower one run side by side.

Another side benefit of freestone fishing is the hiking you have to do to get from one pool to another. You can relax and let your focus wander to the plant and animal life around you.

Spring creeks are a different experience. They are formed when underground water sources well up.  They are much slower moving and usually have a pretty constant water temperature year round. So they are reliable and easier to wade. Why fish freestone then? Well, since spring creeks move at a slower velocity they tend to be pretty glassy at the surface, allowing the fish to keep a close bead on predators, including anglers. If you can see the fish chances are it can see you! You must move slowly and deliberately. But the slower current and the availability of oxygenated water provide an ideal habitat for plant life which begets the insects that feed your prey. So fishing in spring creeks, like the Gold Medal water of Silver Creek south of Sun Valley, can be tranquil, rewarding and also frustrating at times when you scare off a big Rainbow or Brownie.

And don’t dismiss small creeks and the feeder streams for the bigger rivers. Simply take lighter tackle (short rods shooting lighter line) and hop in. They’re great for casting practice, as you have less room to throw and must be more accurate.

Next week we’ll talk about flies. The aristocratic ‘dry’ and the more humble ‘nymph’.

 

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Gone Fly Fishin’

I grew up doing lake and ocean fishing. So how did I become a fly fishing addict? Linda.

Two weeks ago I wrote about my early ‘career’ as a fisherman. Here’s more of the story.

Linda grew up playing golf and had never fished until we took a backpacking trip to the gorgeous Wind River Range in Wyoming in 1980. In Colorado, where we lived for 20 years, you are often either in the forest or above treeline. However in the Winds you exit the forest at around 10000 feet and the footpath can go through open meadows with a clear vista of the high peaks beyond. The trail winds through rolling fields of bright green grass studded with glacial boulders and wildflowers. Magnificent.

Most lakes have little or no room to backcast so spinning gear is the ticket. To throw the light monofilament line on a spinning reel, artificial lures, such as Daredevils, must be used. Another option is a clear plastic bubble that can be filled with water and then stoppered shut, providing the weight to launch a light fly.

Usually we would pack in the first night’s meal. Chicken for example. After that you are on your own and at the mercy of feeding fish. Usually the trout were cooperative. Linda became fascinated with the sport and we would cook an evening meal and sometimes a breakfast of freshly caught trout and eggs. Those were the days when campfires were still allowed and the smell of burning pine and frying trout was magical. At night we would sit and look down onto the plains below glowing pink orange under the setting sun.

After we returned to New York, Linda asked if I had ever fly fished. I hadn’t. And so she signed us up for a weekend at the Joan and Lee Wulff Fly Fishing School on the Beaverkill, one of the original birthplaces of American fly fishing, along with the Neversink, Willoweemok and Esopus, in the 1800s. Well, to pun, we were ‘hooked’.

Fly fishing is suited perfectly to a lifelong passion. You can indulge your interest and focus on fly tying, etymology, riparian systems or even rod building. It is also a great way to relax, though not in the conventional ‘lying in a hammock and reading a book’ way.  The sport requires intense concentration and so it is impossible to do anything other than focus on your dry fly or nymph indicator if you want to have a chance of ‘sticking’ your fish. They are FAST!

Throwing a fly line also requires lots of practice. Though not as difficult as swinging a golf club, it is in the same area code. The fly must be landed in precisely the right spot where fish are holding and then the line handled and mended so as not to crate any ‘drag’ that would spook the fish or in any way look unnatural. It takes years of practice. For years I couldn’t avoid watching my line on the backcast, which would invariably wind up with me eating my own fly! And then there is WIND. Driving fly line into a 20 mile an hour breeze is no mean feat.

I’ll be posting some pictures from our recent trip to Idaho over the next week and then talk more about the differences fishing free stone rivers and spring creeks as well as between dry fly fishing and nymphing. Check out the pics on Facebook or Instagram.

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Gone Fishin’

As you know by now, if you read my blog, Linda and I went fishing in Idaho a week or so ago. Last week I talked about the beauties of fishing in The Wood River valley and on the Lost River near Mackay, ID. This week I thought I’d write about the art of angling itself.

And angling is an art. One has to know WHERE the fish are, or ‘hold’, when they might be HUNGRY, or ‘on’, what flies or lures might attract them, or ‘matching the hatch’, how to CAST accurately…Well the list goes on.

I’ve been fishing as long as I can remember. As a young child my dad and I fished Lake Candlewood near my hometown of Danbury, CT. We fished from a boat and used spin casting gear, consisting of  a reel with a crank and a ‘bail’, to allow the monofilament line to release when casting and closed to provide tension when bringing in a fish.

Exciting stuff, huh? Usually the lure is cast sidearm. But it’s important to know WHERE to cast. Often into grass, lily pads or around rocks. One has to take care not to get hung up. But the time and patience were worth the effort when we landed fish. One of my best memories is of landing small sunfish, fileting them and cooking them in butter right there on the boat!

I think though that my favorite time to lake fish was early morning. Often the surface of the lake is, quite literally, as smooth as when the first thin sheet of ice covers the water in early winter. On cooler mornings the water might be covered with a light fog, making the experience, around dawn, magical.

Later, as a teen, I fished the ocean. My dad had a seasonal business so we would pack up and head to the Florida Keys for a month (my teachers were understanding and I did my work in the car!). We would fish either on the Florida Bay side, to the west of the keys, or on the ocean side to the east. Radically different environments. The Bay, which is part of the Gulf of Mexico, was very shallow west of the Keys and the fish, Spanish Mackerel, Weakfish and Snapper were all small enough to be caught with light spinning gear, as you would use on a lake. Especially enchanting was fishing around the Mangroves, which grew in the salt water and harbored nice fish. I always felt like an explorer when we moved through the Mangroves and thought of books like Hemingway’s ‘Islands in the Stream’.

Speaking of ‘the Stream’, we would fish in the Gulf Stream, about seven miles off shore to the east, for sailfish and dolphin. It was truly amazing to actually ‘see’ the Stream, a dark blue expanse of water that cut a line right through the ocean, the demarcation being between the shallower green water and the Stream, where the depth plunged from one hundred to six hundred feet.

We would also ‘troll’ around Sombrero lighthouse, which was a perfect environment for ‘reef fish’: barracuda, tuna and amberjack. And man do ocean fish fight! They are stronger than their fresh water counterparts, as the sea is a more abundant food source and because currents make the fish more ‘muscular’. I guess it’s like spending twenty four hours a day in the gym!

You might think it boring to sit in a lawn chair at the stern of the boat and drag your bait behind you. But the rolling waves, slapping you with salt spray when the wind gusted, and the sun and the smell of the sea were deeply invigorating. One word of caution if you do go deep sea fishing: if you get a touch of seasickness make sure to sit on the ‘lee’ side of the boat. That is, downwind. Quite the mess if you lose your breakfast to windward! The only good thing I can say about seasickness is that once you place one foot on shore it goes away. Fortunately I learned early to avoid greasy bacon for breakfast!

I’d planned on taking about fly fishing as well but I’d expect you’re about worn out at this point. We’ll save that for my next Blog. I will be back in Connecticut next week for a 50th (no way!) high school reunion next week, so my brilliant Social Media Guru, Evelyn Helminen, will be posting some earlier material. See you in a couple!

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I-dee-ho!!

If you’ve read Sun Valley Moon Mountains, you know that my main characters, Jaq and Kate, were anglers. They especially loved fishing the Lost River in Mackay, Idaho. It was on the Lost that they caught a ‘Fantastical Fish’ in a rain of tears and blood.

Well, since they were modeled on my wife, Linda, and me, it should come as no surprise that we love both the Lost and all of the water around Sun Valley. Jaq and Kate went fishing in December, when ice had formed along the river’s banks like ribbon candy, the cottonwoods were black and bare and the Big Lost Mountains, rising a mile up and out of the river valley, were dusted with snow.

We have fished Sun Valley in the winter when it’s snowy and COLD! But our preferred time of year has always been the early Fall. The cottonwoods and aspens flash bright gold and if lucky, aspens might even come in shades of orange and an almost fluorescent pink. They pulse in the afterglow of sunset.

So last week we hit Idaho and went on the river for four days with our friend Scot Schnebly, who is also owner of Lost River Outfitters and the best damned fisherman on the planet, in my humble opinion.  Actually, we fished not only the Lost, but the lower Big Wood, a freestone stream that runs right through Ketchum and all the way south to Magic Reservoir. At one time, I’m told, Magic was the biggest earth dam in the world. And we also fished the Little Wood in the desert. It is a lovely stream that cuts through sagebrush and lava rock, near Craters of the Moon national monument.

But our favorite is still the Lost. If you’ve read Sun Valley Moon Mountains you’ll remember that Jaq had a vision of four people looking down on him along the ridgeline of the Big Lost Mts. Well, here it is:

Not only is the foliage mind ripping in the Fall, but the water level is lower, or ‘skinnier’ as we say. This has pluses and minuses. It is easier to wade and to access fish in their holding areas, where the water is deeper and slower.  However, it is also clearer because of reduced flow and the fish are ‘spooked’ much more easily. If you  can see them, chances are they can see you unless you are VERY cautious in your approach. This makes angling more challenging but also more rewarding. Check this photo of the Lower Lost below the dam.

Next week we’ll talk more about flyfishing and this week will be posting some more photos of I-de-ho!

 

 

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New Voices: Alex Harris and Kathy Jenkins

This week we will publish the last two of the poems that were submitted over the past couple of weeks. The first, Break the Clock, by Alex Harris, grinds ‘rose colored glasses’ firmly under its heel and is a call to action. The second, Untitled, by Kathy Jenkins, is in the wonderful sub-genre of satire. Ever been ‘chapped’ by something on the internet? Read her poem!

Break the Clock

by Alex Harris

We break our walls down to go back to the past giving up on tomorrow

But what is yesterday it is a place of failures heartbreak and tears

We have to push on fight for tomorrow

fight the tears hold fast because tomorrow is coming and we can’t stop the clock

time keeps moving and the pendulum of life keeps swinging

we can try to turn the hands back but we miss what is happening today or what will be tomorrow

 

Untitled

by Kathy Jenkins

Twas browsing through the comments feed,

To sate my narcissistic need.

When I stumbled upon a falsely leading post.

What is this? I cry. This surely some forgotten ghost.

This surely some forsaken ghost.

Promises of riches, popularity and more.

If only I will share, as I have so many posts before.

This one simple click and nothing more.

As I have clicked so many times before.

A single click and nothing more.

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New Voices: J.L. Hull and Allen Kurtz

In a recent Facebook post I had asked if anyone would like to submit a poem and I received FIVE new works! Last week I published a poem by Keith Jason Carlock: The Autumn Victorian, a lovely poem about Love and Death.

This week I am publishing, with permission, two more: And Every Hue by J.L. Hull and another, Untitled, by Allen Kurtz.

I hope you enjoy them, and next week I will publish two more. They are recorded here without comment but I’ll be asking for impressions on my Ajax Minor Facebook page this coming week. Great to find people expressing themselves in verse!

AND EVERY OTHER HUE. . .

by J.L. Hull

I need fire

I need flame

I need blood to flow

I need to be awakened

By the spirit that once gave birth

To who it is im meant to be

Let the color spill upon my palate

Brush pressed deep into the canvas

So that even my bones can feel it

Give me liberty or give me death

Feed me the freedom of expression

And let the pigment bleed the colors of my spirit

I am dying in this darkness

My creative spirit yearns to breathe

Yearns to bleed

Yearns to be

Yearns to paint the truth upon the skin of those who doubted

And I shout it out from unbroken depths

Free me from this hell

And give me way

Im dying within

And no one seems to notice

So give me grandeur

That they may see my heart again

So that every moment is forever

Upon this blank canvas

Raw umber

Cadmium red

Black and blue

And every other hue

 

Untitled

by Allen Kurtz

My thoughts are so jaded no Beauty before my eyes

What’s the point anyway in the end everyone dies

So Raise Your Glass and make a toast to my premeditated overdose

I don’t feel a thing I’m comatosed I’m sorry this pain just had to end

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