This is a knife painting in oil of an old barn in Pennsylvania. It is painted on a masonite panel.
An oil painting of the Southern California coast.
An oil painting of a friend's getaway in New York state. The picture was taken by the owner in the fall.
An oil painting of an Amish buggy in Ohio in the winter.

In July I flew home for a month. It was so good to see relatives and friends. I wrote the following poem after I came home. Memories are so dear to me and this is my way of remembering.

Going Home

Summer is a time of reflection
and as a bird flies
I travel north
Through cloud filled skies.

Cool, clean air fills my lungs,
Expectations mount.
Robins searching for food
deer too numerous to count.

Wildflowers blooming everywhere,
Fields of sweet corn sweeping by,
A rainbow circles in the mist,
An eagle's nest reaches for the sky.

They gather, as a bird gathers her little ones
Chatter fills the air,
Favorite foods are shared,
All ever alert for a hungry bear.

So many unacquainted faces,
All the children are now grown,
Another year gone by and with
The wind I'm going home.

Daisy painting in oils.
Florida beach in oils.
Copy of an old painting done in oils.

Rockport winter scene in oils.

Rusty!

This is a 14 x 18 oil painting of Kinna and Rich's Golden Retriever, Rusty.  Rusty turned 11 years old this May and this painting was a gift for Rich's birthday in March.

I painted this from a photo of Colin and Corey taken about 17 years ago!  We think Corey was trying to convince Colin to do something with him   (probably something naughty!).  They had popsicles, as they usually did,  after a swim in the pool.  Corey always had a way with words, but Colin doesn't look convinced that whatever it is he's telling him is a good idea.

The Cemetery

It had been there forever, like so

many deceased.

Years ago the steps crumbled and

fell in disrepair.

Weeds flourished and the retaining

wall was gone.

Below lay the small oil town,

like the wall, the oil too was gone.

A honeybee stung the

child's leg.

Flowers were quickly placed and

the silent spirits watched,

fearing for their resting place.

Letters flowed in,

was there no one who cared?

Fireworks blazed from the surrounding

earth.

The town clock peeled out the hour

and, like a heavenly choir, the church bells

burst forth a melodious tune.

The memorial parade was in remembrance,

never forget.

Mother

Her hair was like the night,

Long and dark.

When braided it hung past her waist.

Her eyes gleamed and twinkled

like stars that lit up the evening sky.

She was tall and her cheek bones

were pronounced as if carved out

by Rodin.

She was our comforter and always

in command, the willow sticks the

enforcer.

At sunrise her song was heard throughout

her home, humming parts she had forgotten.

They were songs her ancestors carried

from the old country.

Endurance, skill and faith were hers.

She was a free spirit with her

poetry and stories that she wrote

long after others slept.

In time grandchildren filled her lap.

One could smell her coffee before arriving,

freshly brewed and steaming hot.

Her dumplings were incredible

Light and fluffy, desired by all.

In the sunset she left us to accept her

Crown in a higher kingdom.

This is an oil painted from a barn scene in NYS.
This is an oil painting of a Florida beach.

This is an oil painting on tissue paper from a photo.

Sunflower in oils.
Poppy in oils.
Betty at art show at Orange Park Library '09

Grandma

In the darkness the silence is shattered
by footsteps as a solitary figure walks
on a well known road.
A row of giant arms reaches out
as if in comfort
Her cries echo and bounce off the
encircling hills
like a wildcat calling to its' mate.
The grave is covered with flowers
and still she waits
the key passes from one hand to the other
Is it to the secrets of her heart?
Her own pass her by
a large desolate farmhouse looms near
laughter is only a ghost here
gone now
only her call 'come bossy'
remains.

Death's Hue

In the blinding sun the black caravan rounds the bend
Mid towering dark sheds and leaves of yellow green,
Beautiful red roses fall to their short-lived end,
A brilliant mind rests on the frail form-unseen.

Throngs on the autumn hills, brown with fall grass,
Their white shirts flicking in the gathering night;
Each waits their fallen hero here to pass,
Red-eyed from weeping, anxious for the shuddersome sight.

The silent golden moon stands guard
As the white plane with long blue flashings lands,
The yellow cargo lift moves near and pauses
To accept it's burden from a crimson-colored hand.

Black drapes, the stressed red, white and blue
Receive upon it's polished, gleaming floor;
Men, great and small that he once knew,
No color barred to see him just once more.

A sky of many blues looked down that day,
The rideless black horse turned and pranced,
A caisson comes pulled by six matched grays,
Loved ones kneel to kiss the flag, without a glance.

She comes, black veiled in death,
Imploring God to take the spirit of this man,
On her arms two young bluebirds rest,
For others remain, the returning of his body to the land.

To do him honor they line the plot,
Green berets, Irish Guard, troops full of might;
To a fallen Father a son's salute is caught,
Jets, cracking guns break the silence of the night.

The ground is touched , the flames arise,
And in the orange tongues of flame a nation cries.
Brothers and widow stare, postponing the moment of their loss.
To be a great president, what has been the cost?

Inauguration '09

Hope is found in the sea of humanity-

Held high in the hand of man-

An outburst-fills the air__

And is heard__across the land-

And with the turmoil-is felt-

The hope of all-standing still-

Many different hues-pressed together-

Watching and waiting-in the chill-

Full of wonder-fear and dreams-

Abandoned-he stands alone-

What tomorrow holds-for mankind-

Is unknown-

18 by 24 original oil of Palm tree and Heron.
18 by 24 original oil painting of Big Talbot Island. 16 by 20 original oil of girl feeding gulls.
16 by 20 oil painting of spring done on tissue paper
on canvas.

My Father's World


Do you pay attention as you journey thru this life?
Hold the beauty of today in your hand,
and watch as yesterday's troubles fly away.
You must learn to see and trust in what you see
Even when the storm clouds gather,
Walk towards your dreams,
Where the path is littered with sticks and stones.
Paint the sky as you go,
Reach up and touch the clouds.
Listen for the sound of the bagpipes
As a lonely figure walks along the shore
in the evening mist.
Tell me how you feel and
I'll give you my teddy bear.
Fill my lap with sweet scented flowers
and let the water from the falls
wash me clean.
Hear the distant roar of thunder
as the drops hit the warm earth.
Walk in the rain with me and listen
to the song of the birds,
Always vigilant of the promise.
When you lay your head on your pillow
dream of the crow feeding the baby kitten.
This is my Father's world.
All is well.

Memories

Memories

I walked out and closed the door

To enter here I would no more.

Oh the memories this old house did hold

Of years gone by, of winters cold.

Of children bathing by the old wood stove

Then off to bed when they were told.

To the outhouse we would go

Fighting off ghosts and knee-deep snow.

A summer swim in a damned up creek,

An evening game of hide and seek.

A Sunday trip to Grandma's house

Around devil's elbow quick as a mouse.

If we were good and didn't fuss,

There'd be an ice cream, just for us.

Summer's over, to school we go,

Fall leaves falling, colors all aglow.

Down the hill on a piece of tin

Ice forming on many a chin.

A Christmas tree that we cut down,

The smell of the season all around.

Carols sung and stockings hung,

A turkey roasted and fresh baked pies.

Christmas morn and a hidden tree,

Then presents revealed for all to see.

This was our family, 10 siblings strong,

We all will be gone before to long.

In our place there will be

A new generation building their memories.

Time goes so fast, time goes so slow

Generations come, generations go.

In our hearts we'll always hold

Memories past, worth more than gold.

Come and Go With Me

There's a place I long to be,

Come and go with me

To the cottage by the sea.

In the early morn we hear

The lobster boats as they go to sea,

And listen to the seagulls cry

As they dive and soar across the sky.

When the sun begins to set

We'll walk along the beach

Listening to the crashing waves

As they crawl within our reach,

Come and go with me.

There's a place I long to be

Come and go with me,

To a cabin in the Smokies,

In the state of Tennessee.

We'll walk the trails together,

Climb to the waterfalls

And listen to the coyotes' mournful call.

We'll grill out in the evening

Within the campfire's glow,

We'll remember days gone by

And gaze at the star filled sky.

Come and go with me.

There's a place I long to be,

Come and go with me.

It's called eternity.

There will be no pain or sorrow

Only endless blessed tomorrows.

We'll dance with all the angels

We'll dine with royalty.

We'll walk the streets of gold

and never more grow old,

The heavenly choir will start the song

And all the saints will sing along.

Come and go with me.

Maine

The two paintings above were both painted on masonite using a palette knife.  My references were photos that I took on one of my many trips to the coast of Maine.  The top painting is of the Pemaquid Lighthouse.

Smokey Mountains

These are oils on canvas I painted from photographs taken in the Smokey Mountains.

This is an oil on stretched canvas that I painted from a photograph I found on the internet.

Baby Mockingbird

We set together

in the early evening

the mockingbirds returned

time and again

to a nearby tree.

Were they feeding

someone?

Again we watched,

with my camera in tow

I climbed the tree.

Perched on a branch

near the nest

he stood--terrified

soft gray and white

hairs standing straight out

I looked into his eyes

I was not a predator.

They came fast and swift

swooping down from

many directions

the love of the parents

for the child

you would die for him

but you must live for him.

Darkness descents, the mimicking

goes on into the night

repeating and repeating.

The Easel

Light splashed this morning on a barren easel

Sketches lay scattered on the floor.

Tubes of paint were squeezed

Into distorted shapes.

The scent of spirits filled the air,

A vase of fresh picked flowers

Struggled to hold up their heads.

An untouched canvas stood

Waiting the artist's brush.

The telephone rings,

The empty easel still waits as

The light fades.

Cumberland Crown

I live in a forest on an island.

My arching branches reach out, down and up.

We enjoy our solitude,

Draping Spanish moss makes it's home on my branches

And sways with a breeze.

The ocean reaches out grasping at my arms

The wetlands protect me

And in my shade wild horses rest.

Masked bandits pass in the night

In search of food.

An armored creature cautiously meanders

Below my low hanging branches.

I hear the tapping of a woodpecker

On a distant tree.

Mankind comes and walks the pathways

That I line

And our canopy gives them shade.

I have stood here forever and my

Arms are weary.

The stories I have been a witness to

Are endless.

I will be here till the strong wind

And the driving rain and the encroaching

Tides pull me from my home and I return to the earth.

Where I'm From

I am from yesterday,

I wore a dress made from a flour sack.

I am from the snow, the ice and the winter wind.

I wear long stockings that won't stay up.

I am from made up stories, not from books

not from television.

The stories are continued from week to week.

I am from your sunshine,

You are from mine.

I am from endless lines in long black robes,

singing Holy, Holy.

I am from Cartys, Browns, Pattersons,

Meat and potato pie.

I am from shamrocks, blarney stones

and glorious green hills.

I am from a ship and a boy of twelve

coming to a promised land.

January 10th, 2009

Welcome to my blog page!  I will be sharing some of my paintings and poetry with you on this site, so check back often.  Let me know what you think!