Rose On The Run, A PAINTING STUDIO Poem by Stephen Craig Rowe

     Wait all the winter long for spring soft winds, rains and green in the warm for the roses.

      The colors and scents seem to close a door to the world, yet open a window.  Time in the garden, small though it is tends to take one away from the trial and strife of the day to day.

     Or so it seems to me as I get into the roses and day to day see the roses run in life from cold winter roots, tiny shoots that become buds and blossom in late spring and summer.

    There free and alone all the chit chat bird song and sound is absorbed  by the images of summer as the roses are on the run.

     Roses on the run, ever a joy.  Here today and ever in memory.

     Wonder not how sweet the blessing, but take and behold the wonder of the poetry in the fold of a rose.

     Rose on the run no one can hold you forever.  For we are also poetry held in the fold of the rose.  There but for a moments grace we hold each other in the reality of a sacred image never frozen in time, for time is all time. 

     Rose on the run, petals in the sun rain on your brow smile as sweet as summer sounds spoken in silence against a screen door slapped shut in the wind.  Spring held taught then wrap the buzz of night around you.  None of the ghosts speak but rather sneak in your sheets and surround dreams tossing and turning as real as real is.  In dreams as a rose on the  run and reflections in the  wine. 

     As ever be well,  Stephen Craig Rowe     

Painting Studio First Rose Bloom In The Small Garden 2011, by Stephen Craig Rowe

     The first rose of this year recently bloomed in my small garden and I had to take camera to the yard in order to share some of these images and words.  Am sure some are thinking, “ old Stephen is a bit nuts about his roses and into his cup of gin again”.  Fine, for this is true and would not have it any other way because of the joy found and seen in the first rose of spring as she flowers, then graces my eyes with a silent poetry, a visual affirmation that the artist is alive, well, and in tune with nature as much as one may be in the miracle of life in the all.  Or something like that as one re creates images that capture moments the painter/poet desires to share. 

     There one may begin to understand my personal feeling for the first rose of spring, for there seems to be a light within the flower that displays an energy as if the rose gives light as well as takes light.

     Though only a simple painter and sometimes bad poet there is a  profound beauty in the fold of petals of the first rose of spring.  As ever be well,  Stephen Craig Rowe

One Well Placed Word by Stephen Craig Rowe

      I once wrote that one well placed word can change the world forever as one well placed stone can topple the strongest wall and at the time did so in a poetic context.  Recent events have shown that this is true.  The revolution in Tunisia inspired by the act of fruit vendor Mohamed Bouazizi is an example of the innate human desire to improve not only one's lot but to improve the common good.  It is reported that Bouazizi refused to pay a bribe in order to operate his fruit stand, he was then slapped by the official and his scale was confiscated.  When he went to the officials to reclaim his scale he was refused entrance.  He then bought some petrol and lit himself afire in front of the office.  A well  placed word, a small stone placed to topple the wall of oppression has freed his people.

     This act in Tunisia has inspired others in the region to demonstrate for human rights, freedom from oppression caused by age old dictators, kings and queens appointed by themselves, rule with a total disregard for the people, enrich their own coffers while the subjects suffer.  This is not a new story as this sort of management of affairs has been going on forever.  Make the rich richer and fuck the people has been the rule.  Pretend to care, give a little here and there for personal gain and fuck the people into poverty.  Well, Kings and Queens, those that rule.  One well placed word, act, and small stone is about to tumble the wall and change the world forever. Or so it seems. 

     I for one pray for peace, the right of people to choose a government of and by the people. 

As ever be well.  Stephen Craig Rowe

RAIN ON THE MOUNTAIN A Song Poem by Stephen Craig Rowe

" In the space between the words poetry is

best spoken aloud, quiet and near the fire. "

Stephen Craig Rowe

The eyes spark alit in the embers of words quietly spoken, ever remembered in texture, tone, shape, form, rythem and grasp. There she came nearly frozen from winter's crewl grip in silence with a heart full of life, yet nearly stone cold, alone and removed from the fire sweet warm and light.

In the shadows she sang quiet in the meadow, real as the dream within. Walls strong enough to sustain and repel the Ice Princess and the Snow Queens clear blue kiss. Rain, rain, rain, spring rain mist the mountain. Hear her caw and calling. Late in the night, past the midnight hour. Dare to watch the stars and drink the silence.

Ever clear as a kiss of rain upon a rose or tossed about on a leaf reflecting the

light of stars splashed on all of the oceans

of the worlds.

Is it one thing? Or another? Here there and ever, never everywhere.

Knee deep in rose petals she danced in the Spring laughing in the creeks, rivers and streams. Dancing on the seas. As bright as Moon light, and as free as the salt sad burning tears of joy and rapture

that scar

then heal.

Fingers trace

blind signs.

As the Spirit sings that ever special note. The word from within that has ever been and ever shall be best spoken, quiet near the fire, and the light in your eyes. For there one becomes the space between the words and God willing experience

Poetry.

As ever be well. Stephen Craig Rowe

No espaço entre as palavras é poesia melhor falado em voz alta, calma e perto do fogo. " Stephen Craig Rowe Os olhos faísca alit brasas no silêncio das palavras faladas, sempre lembrado na textura, tom, forma, forma, ritmo e alcance. Aí ela veio quase congelado de inverno da crewl grip em silêncio com um coração cheio de vida, ainda cerca de pedra fria, sozinha e retirado do fogo doce quente e luz. Nas sombras ela cantou calma no pasto, como o verdadeiro sonho dentro. Muralhas forte o suficiente para sustentar e repelir os Ice Princess e da Neve Queens azul claro beijo. Chuva, chuva, chuva, chuva Primavera névoa da montanha. Crocitar e ouvi-la chamando. Atrasos na noite, passada a meia-hora. Ouse ver as estrelas e beber o silêncio. Ever clara como um beijo de chuva sobre uma rosa ou atirados sobre uma folha refletindo sobre o luz de estrelas splashed sobre todos os oceanos dos mundos. Trata-se de uma coisa? Ou outro? Aqui, e nunca, nunca em toda a parte. Joelho profundas no rose petals ela dançou na Primavera rindo nas enseadas, rios e córregos. Dançando sobre o mar. Lua tão brilhante como luz, e tão livre como o sal queima tristes lágrimas de alegria e arrebatamento a cicatriz então curar. Dedos traço Sinais cego. Como o Espírito que canta sempre especial nota. A palavra de dentro do que já foi e sempre será melhor dito, calma perto do fogo, e à luz dos seus olhos. Para existir um torna-se o espaço entre as palavras e se Deus quiser experiência Poesia. Como sempre estar bem. Rowe stephen Craig

ROSE ON THE MOUNTAINS. Please Help End Mountain Top Removal Mining by Stephen Craig Rowe

Though I have lived most of my adult life in cities, towns, and the farm. I was blessed as a child with a deep abiding love and respect for nature. Have never lived in the mountains but have visited them east and west in the USA, plus while living in Europe I became in awe of the lure and beauty of the mountains. As a city slicker I have read about strip mining for coal and did not think much about it until I only recently learned of mountain top removal mines. I was in shock, my mind turned white as a ghost as my Irish began turning red at the thought of anyone blowing the top of a mountain off for monitary gain. How and why would anyone do such a thing?

Have the bloody bastards no conscience? I fear not.

Did a bit of research and found some good people that are about the cause of ending and preventing Mountaintop removal mining. The rose is a symbol of love, respect and care for the mountains and the betterment of all. Please take a moment of your time to explore the following links and to see what part you can be to end this crime against nature and humanity.

http://ilovemountains.org/

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mountain_top_removal

http://www.mountainjusticesummer.org/facts/steps.php

Thank you, and as ever be well,

Stephen Craig Rowe

Post Script: Special thanks to Kathryn Magendie

http://www.tendergraces.blogspot.com/

http://www.kathrynmagendie.com/

Spring and Signs of Life a New Day Turn Within And Without by Stephen Craig Rowe

Just the other day I was talking to a friend in Kokstad, South Africa about all manner of things as friends do talk about. The past, present, the now, and future. My current ills and healing and events in her part of the world. Then she asked me if I had any dreams. Before I could answer there was an activity on my street. Sirens and such three or four doors down about a flair up or whatever. I excused myself and went to the porch to snap a pic or two. It was all over before I knew it was about and the fire men were folding the hoses. Attention to detail is paramount to attention to flighty events. Though half a world away, I would rather be there than in the blind. In the dreams and in the hands and heart. There was a break in the clouds and was able to place my hands in the garden for some signs of life.

My thought was so beyond words. Then bent for some signs of life of last years roses and I was amazed

The greening and colors took me by

The Day Lily poking her head in my happy face! A good day is a long day in the light. As ever be well, With love, Stephen Craig Rowe
By the by, Tender Graces the Novel by Kathryn Magendie to be released in April is available for pre order http://www.bellebooks.com/books/TenderGraces.asp

The Full Moon Of November

The full moon of November


is

away

above the clouds.

Thin fingers

of

trees

scratch

the

sky

as

roots dig

deep

in

beds of fallen

blooms,

leafs,

flowers.

All the roses

silent.

Yet rage

in the

change of seasons.

Soft as the rains

that

shall soon

be

snow.

In the light of

the

Moon of November

Muted

never silent.

And on the

other side

of

the

moon.

Ever shine on.

As ever be well, with love, Stephen Craig Rowe

Painting Studio, My Mothers Birthday

Introduction: July 24 is my Mothers birthday. I was at work when I called her. Had to have someone watch the door and take calls as I called my Mother. I had to go out doors to get a good signal on my phone. On the street in my tuxedo I called and wished her a Happy Birthday! Cars were buzzing around in the skyline tango, people were waving at me. And I was on the phone with my Mother. Mom was at the home with Dad and he was fast asleep.
I responded to a note from my little sister Carrie. As ever be well and God bless yu and yours.
Dear Carrie, I am ok and work has been busy. Yes I know that Mom's birthday was today and I called her this afternoon from work. She was with Dad and was surprised to hear from me. She said, " How did you know it was my birthday? " It made me smile that I remembered. We all know I am not a card sender or any of that stuff. Smile! I have not heard from John at all. I am not in any pain and am working five nights a week. There is some intrest couple of paintings but the bloody bastards have not written a check, yet. I pray they do soon because I do not want to prolong the surgery. Then again, I do not want to be in the hospital when Dad goes. Yeah, a lot is going on and my simple mind is always racing. Am thinking of calling my friends in the Blue Angels when Dad gives it up to God. I know, and it makes me cry just to think of this. Just maybe think of this if one of the jets was even close to the military ceremony for our Father. How very cool a fly by would be. To honor, salute, and wave goodbye to a proud vet of WW2 and the father of six misfits who each have found their own way and are finding their way home. Little Sister I think I may just post this note at the Painting Studio. Love you and yours more than words can tell, as ever be well, your bro,Stephen Craig Rowe

More than words can tell,
As ever be well, with love,
Stephen Craig Rowe

Save Sayed Pervez Kambaksh

A university student in Afganistan has been condemed to death for downloading and distributing information about women's rights on his computer. Please take a moment to sign the Independent's petition by following this link:

http://zeynepankara-live.spaces.live.com/blog/cns!612AF29A1928F789!5453.entry

Thank you, As ever be well. Stephen Craig Rowe