Under a glassy moon
The lonely sailor hums a tune
That carries across the bouncing water.
A free and fancy song
That takes his heart along
And carries me back to my lover.
The bright sparks of fleeting light
Dance beneath the blackest night
Like memories across my mind.
And the ever present past
Kills the distance to the last
And the smile is easy to find.
Her Granddad
My daughter lost her granddad today.
He would have been her best friend, only time would say.
He always light up bright, she had that special way.
My daughter lost her granddad today.
A smiling face is what the other always got
When they came together and they came a lot.
But now there is a hole in that little heart
How do I tell her that has to stop.
She is too young to understand the way.
But it kills me to think that she never say
I love you grandpa to his loving face
My daughter lost her best friend today.
He would have been her best friend, only time would say.
He always light up bright, she had that special way.
My daughter lost her granddad today.
A smiling face is what the other always got
When they came together and they came a lot.
But now there is a hole in that little heart
How do I tell her that has to stop.
She is too young to understand the way.
But it kills me to think that she never say
I love you grandpa to his loving face
My daughter lost her best friend today.
She Is Loving It All
There’s so much to see and discover
So much mystery and wonder
First it is up and then it is down
Then the whole world is just turning around.
Our daughter finds so much in life
From beauty and joy to strife
But she has no time to waste
For plain, or boring, or bad taste
And she never backs down from the fight
She sees the greatness in laughter
And no thought of the after
She never thinks of which way to fall.
She climbs with no fear
And screams in your ear
And she is loving it all.
There’s so much for her to see and discover
For her so much mystery and wonder
First she is up and then we’re all down
Then the whole world is just turning around.
The whole world is turning around.
So much mystery and wonder
First it is up and then it is down
Then the whole world is just turning around.
Our daughter finds so much in life
From beauty and joy to strife
But she has no time to waste
For plain, or boring, or bad taste
And she never backs down from the fight
She sees the greatness in laughter
And no thought of the after
She never thinks of which way to fall.
She climbs with no fear
And screams in your ear
And she is loving it all.
There’s so much for her to see and discover
For her so much mystery and wonder
First she is up and then we’re all down
Then the whole world is just turning around.
The whole world is turning around.
Holding Fishing Polls
Twenty million brothers sitting holding fishing poles, around a well in the middle of a desert. Each was asking the ones around him, “How do we get water”. Then one of the men saw the need and stood up. He began to speak in a mild voice and everyone gazed upon him. He spoke of food and desire. He spoke to their hearts by addressing there needs. They looked at him and no one spoke. No one looked away as he talked of great banquets and flowing wine. He had them in his voice. As he began to talk of a vision of a lake full of fish and fresh water, one of the brothers raised up. No one noticed him until he spoke. He spoke out a simple question that sparked a revolt among the crowd, “what about the well?” The bubble of grunts of the crowd rippled up to the one leading the group. He denounced the one mutineer as foolish. “How long have we sat at this well hungry and growing tired? What have theses fishing poles gotten us out of it? Have any of us gotten more than a drop of water from it? Can we live on drops?” He quickly sat down and was not heard from again. He blended into the crowd and no one but himself even remembered the question as the leader began to speak of this lake just over the hill. At the peak of the fervor he commanded them to get up with their poles and follow to this lake. The crowd jumped up from their silence with shouts and exclamations of “the lake”. All twenty million turned and ran with all they had, except 1. 1 man did not move but remained sitting in his spot still clutching his fishing pole. He sat and watched the crowd run towards the distant hills. As they disappeared out of site he turned back to the well and looked in worry. “It’s true. What has this well ever given me, besides a few drops from time to time? But then again I’m still here and those few drops have sustained the lot of us for so long. Am I a fool for not leaving?” He stood up, walked to the well and said in desperation, “I am here!” He threw his pole in and sat down where he was. At once it began to rain. It began to down pour until everything was soaked and the well began to fill. The water reached the top and spilled over the edges. The rain did stop a good time after that, the sun eventually came out, but the well never ceased over flowing. It spilled out constantly and formed a steady stream of sweet, pure water. The bubbling filled his heart and his spirit laughed with joy. Grasses, trees and all sorts for grains and berries began to sprout up along the stream. He was well fed and satisfied.
But what about the group? He never knew what became of them. But from time to time passers by would appear. He would invite them to stop and offer them some of his food. They were all perplexed at his bounty in the middle of the desert and would ask him how he came upon such a fortune. He would tell them the story of the twenty million, of the well and of the rain. All were curious but not all understood. Some ate what he offered. Some stayed, ate and got fat. Some stayed, ate, understood and shared. And some ate and took sacs of food and bottles of the water with them to their groups. Streams appeared over the whole country. Many men were feed. But many never heard and they continued to search and continued to be vulnerable, to be lead to stale, stagnate lakes.
But what about the group? He never knew what became of them. But from time to time passers by would appear. He would invite them to stop and offer them some of his food. They were all perplexed at his bounty in the middle of the desert and would ask him how he came upon such a fortune. He would tell them the story of the twenty million, of the well and of the rain. All were curious but not all understood. Some ate what he offered. Some stayed, ate and got fat. Some stayed, ate, understood and shared. And some ate and took sacs of food and bottles of the water with them to their groups. Streams appeared over the whole country. Many men were feed. But many never heard and they continued to search and continued to be vulnerable, to be lead to stale, stagnate lakes.
Welcome
PaperClipMoonArt is nothing more than an outlet for my "bad" art. I have no training and very little practice, but I do enjoy art in all its forms. I wanted a place to collect the pieces of my production that I enjoy.
Thank you for coming.
Thank you for coming.
Passion
I was alone. The room was empty and dark, save the tiny glow of my desk lamp. It was cavernous in the hull of the inverted vessel. Sound echoed around me. Small squeeks and accute pings of things cooling and sagging and taking rest. But I was all alone.
Why? I did not know. But the fact was clear. I could see the far end clearly, lit slightly by the diffused light from the moon. As it drifted in, through the hundreds of square, dusty window panes, it revealed theribs of the grounded vessel, with just enough light to give their allusion, to show them as a ghost in a dark attic.
I sat at one end, firmly planted upon my chair, bent over a large empty desk. The desk was barely lit by the lamp that mocked my form. It sat directly in front of me across the desk’s vast landscape. The edges of thedesk being almost undesernable and fading to nothingness at the corners, giving it an appearance of ovalness. I sat there staring at it. I'd been here for several hours. Time to time getting up to wander around the desk, kicking up dirt, disturbing the natural silence. Sometimes just gazing atthe emptiness that surrounded me, but never stopping. Never letting it go. Continuasly turning it, and turning it, until I am left with what I have now. Nothing. No closer. This that is before me is all that i can see. But, then I stop looking. Maybe I fall asleep. Maybe I'm just tired. Idon't know, but for whatever reason I forget it is there. It is gone.Where did it go? Did I hide it somewhere or did it leave on its own? I can't even remember now what it looked like. Was it ever here?
Then the grown of a steel timber above points my attention back again tothe vastness of this empty shell, and it is reappears.
I want this place to shine. I want it to brim with joy and prosperity. The comings and goings, to numerous to count. People climbing aboard out bound planes, others arriving on waves of cars. Still, others waiting at lunch counters that don't have enough room for one more cup of coffee amid the crowds of plates, half empty glasses, and half full ash trays.
Screams and whistles, people and planes calling to one another, saying "hurry" or "now's the time". Children playing between the lockers andelderly women, revealing their stocking feet, because they just couldn't go one step further.
I want the light to pour in. I want the flood gates to be opened. Everyinch, shining bright and new. The view of outside, clearly visable through the large open doors, and the sun high in the sky, warming and lighting all.
I want the noise to be outrageous. I want the smells to be consuming. Iwant the sights to be like none before. I want the air to even be revealedby the brightness let in by the open windows. I want this place to be full, in every sense. Joy upon joy. Excitement at every corner. Passion and pain and all that life gives.
How do I make all of this out of where I sit now? How do I convert ahollow form into a bustling environment where light permeates, where purpose is pronounce?
Why? I did not know. But the fact was clear. I could see the far end clearly, lit slightly by the diffused light from the moon. As it drifted in, through the hundreds of square, dusty window panes, it revealed theribs of the grounded vessel, with just enough light to give their allusion, to show them as a ghost in a dark attic.
I sat at one end, firmly planted upon my chair, bent over a large empty desk. The desk was barely lit by the lamp that mocked my form. It sat directly in front of me across the desk’s vast landscape. The edges of thedesk being almost undesernable and fading to nothingness at the corners, giving it an appearance of ovalness. I sat there staring at it. I'd been here for several hours. Time to time getting up to wander around the desk, kicking up dirt, disturbing the natural silence. Sometimes just gazing atthe emptiness that surrounded me, but never stopping. Never letting it go. Continuasly turning it, and turning it, until I am left with what I have now. Nothing. No closer. This that is before me is all that i can see. But, then I stop looking. Maybe I fall asleep. Maybe I'm just tired. Idon't know, but for whatever reason I forget it is there. It is gone.Where did it go? Did I hide it somewhere or did it leave on its own? I can't even remember now what it looked like. Was it ever here?
Then the grown of a steel timber above points my attention back again tothe vastness of this empty shell, and it is reappears.
I want this place to shine. I want it to brim with joy and prosperity. The comings and goings, to numerous to count. People climbing aboard out bound planes, others arriving on waves of cars. Still, others waiting at lunch counters that don't have enough room for one more cup of coffee amid the crowds of plates, half empty glasses, and half full ash trays.
Screams and whistles, people and planes calling to one another, saying "hurry" or "now's the time". Children playing between the lockers andelderly women, revealing their stocking feet, because they just couldn't go one step further.
I want the light to pour in. I want the flood gates to be opened. Everyinch, shining bright and new. The view of outside, clearly visable through the large open doors, and the sun high in the sky, warming and lighting all.
I want the noise to be outrageous. I want the smells to be consuming. Iwant the sights to be like none before. I want the air to even be revealedby the brightness let in by the open windows. I want this place to be full, in every sense. Joy upon joy. Excitement at every corner. Passion and pain and all that life gives.
How do I make all of this out of where I sit now? How do I convert ahollow form into a bustling environment where light permeates, where purpose is pronounce?
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