Painting: Intimacy, by Mitch Barrett
Poetry: Intimacy and the Harlequin Dance
by Kaye Lynne Booth
Displayed in 2010 at Kaleidoscope Gallery
in Battle Sea Park, London
Intimacy and the Harlequin Dance
We dance through the masquerade of life
Disguised to fit the music
Of so many different melodies
That at times, we forget which tune
Holds the heartstrings of who we really are.
Then one day, we find the perfect dance partner.
But to attain the perfect rhythm
We must open ourselves up and reveal our souls.
Intimacy requires that we relinquish the mask
To expose the genuine self that lies beneath.
After all the years of dancing to false tunes
Will we be able to keep time
To the genuine dance and the original rhyme?
Or shall we don the mask once more and continue to
Keep time to the false melody of the Harlequin dance?
First published in Dusk & Dawn Magazine 1996
First published in Colorado Life Magazine (September/October 2016)
Yucca! Yucca! Yucca!
Kaye Lynne Booth
They spatter the open mountain meadows
Like snow white spears reaching up
Above the tall grasses
Worshiping the sun.
Soft white flower spikes
Contrasting razor sharp spines.
The porcupines of the plant world.
Waiting, waiting for autumn winds
To dry their flower stalks into husks
That whisper the rattle of their name
First published in Manifest West #5: Serenity and Severity, Literary Anthology by Western Press Books (2016).
Sun and Shade
Kaye Lynne Booth
Wildflowers spray bright
Splashes of colors
In a sea of brilliant greens.
At the pump, my arm pistons the handle
Up and down until it
Spews forth its cool, fresh water.
A bouquet of butterflies
In orange, yellow and blue fill the air
With their brilliantly fluttering petals.
A woodpecker appears
From an unseen hole
And takes flight.
At the bridge, the river’s roar
Fills the air, moisture glistening from
The delicate strands of an intricate spider’s web.
The sweet coolness of
The shade is refreshing to
My sweat-drenched skin.
Here the sun is only seen in patches
That the canopy of trees
Allow to penetrate these depths.
Rocks are carpeted
With grays, browns and oranges of rough lichens
And greens of soft mosses.
I recline in the
Soft, cool grass
Listening to the distant water.
A spider dropping from a tree
On its silky thin thread startles me,
Reminding me that it’s time to go.
First published in Colorado Life Magazine (July/August 2018)