Kim Keith
featuring work by Samy Charnine
Ocean of tranquility Oil on canvas, 22 x 28 inches
On Fire
Inspired by “Ocean of Tranquility” by Samy Charnine
Bare belly to the sand, liquid and pure;
drawing to a yawn zippered in the horizon
complete with a touch, spreading up-spine
like molten silk.
Let me quench in the tide
for awhile and drown in your mouth;
I crave you here
against rocks, there against pillows
until fingers melt
and flesh gives way to make room for dawn.
Foamed surfaces pulling freedom,
passion-tongued crooning
within your envelope arms
and syncopated along the ebb
recession and flow into me.
Let it break across my mind
or crest on a thigh, naked to the heavy
sigh escaping unfurled sheets
as toes curl and balk against
abandoning the warmth within
until night crashes like waves
and I can smolder against
the ember of your shoulder once more.
--
Kim Keith
CR 2010
It’s Only Crazy If You’re Caught
Inspired by “The Swing” by Laurie Lipton
Alone allows.
I have permission to find out the plight of my Windex bottle,
cramped into a cabinet, cross-legged and scrunched
into a smaller package than I was ever intended to be.
And I can peek out if I want, spit my tongue at the cat
or let slivers of light slice my face. I can dangle my feet,
pricking with gravitational pull: forward and backward,
high upon a rafter in my bedroom—at least where I used to keep
my bed, now pushed out into the hall
to make room for my ropes and pillows and flight.
A doorbell brings shoes with laces that tangle
and slap me around my ankles; knitting needles
that would surely find an eye socket, and a tea set
with a cracked spout and cold leaves stuck to the bottom
of cups and saucers, round as my words
or the doilies and handkerchief corners—worn to shreds
by the wringing of arthritis and go away.
Please, go away.
Alone allows.
Van Gogh over My Shoulder
Inspired by “Café Terrace at Night” by Vincent van Gogh
He stares as I crochet on my couch,
a piece of his head strewn on my wall
tacked with unmatched pushpins and fascination.
Magnetized attraction drawing away
from woolen chains to glass shards
against cobbles, weighted whispers
of patrons debating about cognac
swirling in a snifter capturing ivory black
and phthalo blue backdrops.
His ever-presence is unnerving
at times as I feel my eyes
dabbed into cadmium and ochre dollops
or sucked across fabric skies, woven
into my dreams; the movement of secret
lovers’ clasped hands beneath the table lip
as fragile music breaks me, sings me
to him in forbidden melodies
echoing across ages
and now we are joined by my living room,
his café and an uncontrolled temporal lobe tremble
shifting in the beauty of night.
