He Thinks…

He thinks about the two red cardinals
Playing a game of tag among the bushes

He thinks of wondrous waterfalls
And imagines portals to magical worlds

He thinks of the sun filtering through the trees
Casting patterns of light and shadow on the ground

He thinks of the two delicate butterflies
As they dance in and out of the shade

He thinks of the soft movement of leaves
In their sensual dance with the breeze

He thinks of unhurried walks through the woods
With no destination in mind and no trail in sight

He thinks of his various story characters at play
Surprising him as they evolve in his mind

He thinks of soggy leaves, candy corn and trampolines
And he smiles as the images form on the surface of words

He thinks of the many moments he wants to share
As he looks out his window towards the woods

And … always, just below the surface
He thinks of her…

Artist: Christine Comyn; Poet: Mike Evans

Monique

Even engaged in their on-going playful argument, Monique found herself looking past Sara. Something drew her eyes to the couple a few tables away. She had the urge to study them closely. She knew she would paint this scene later … it was already forming in her mind. Yet, there was something more to her interest in them – something she was missing, but couldn’t quite place. Whatever it was, she felt it would add a special nuance to the painting.

Sara’s familiar ending argument brought her back, “You have to paint with abandon to truly capture the essence. The more you study, the more you lose the essence – the magic.” With this final playful stab, Monique gave her friend her own familiar ending argument. “That’s why artists sketch … to capture the essence, Sara”, Monique smiled and followed with her infamous argument ending expression for Sara – sticking her tongue out. Sara couldn’t keep herself from laughing – it worked every time, Monique observed.

Still smiling, Monique’s attention was once again pulled to the couple – what was it that drew her so strongly to them she wondered? Adding to the puzzling thoughts in her mind, she noticed a vaguely familiar shaped shadow moving over them – looking up she saw Jenny in motion. Sara must have noticed as well – as she heard Sara call out, “Jenny, time for a drink?”

Then she felt it – the way the man locked onto Jenny … the essence.

Jenny was heading towards them, when she abruptly stopped … at the couple’s table … and now she was waving Sara and her over to join them. Monique didn’t know how to feel. She was much more comfortable observing, but not actually engaging – she couldn’t even look at the man. She awkwardly accompanied Sara to their table.

Noticing that the table was short one chair, Monique watched as Sara effortlessly pulled a chair from an adjoining table – so easy for her to engage. They sat near the woman, Angela as Jenny had introduced them – and an artist as well. This made Monique relax just a bit – but she let Sara do the talking. Of course, Sara relished in diving into another familiar argument – now that there was another participant.

Always the observer, Monique watched Angela intently through the sides of her eyes – all the while engaged in the familiar give and take with Sara. For some unknown reason, she instantly liked Angela – she realized that the man, whom Jenny forgot to introduce to them, and Angela were not a couple after all. But, she sensed confusion in Angela, a distracted introspective look in her eyes – something Monique could relate to given her current situation.

The words “Van Gogh” brought Angela into their conversation … and into Monique’s life…

Artist: Vincent Van Gogh; Author: Mike Evans

Serious Moonlight

Walking along the path at night
Momentarily silent in their thoughts

A rustling sound behind the trees ahead
She instinctively slides her arm inside his

He smiles “probably just a squirrel, dear”
As he feels the electricity from her touch

His fingers slowly trace the softness of her palm
As they slide and fold to lock between her fingers

In his grasp, she pulls herself close to his ear
Whispering words only he can hear

He flushes – she does that so easily to him
He smiles again as he breathes her in

They stop, as they knew they would
The moonlight bright on their faces

She feels him flow inside her
Telling her – with more than words

Their special moment together
Under a serious moonlight

Artist: Leonid Afremov; Poet: Mike Evans

With Each Breath

with each breath she takes
thoughts of him flow within her
his touch still lingers

Artist: Christine Comyn; Haiku Poet: Mike Evans

Jenny

Her instant reaction to Dylan surprised Jenny. She had simply glanced at him on her way to sit with her friends and something pulled her to him. It wasn’t like her at all – but, his eyes seemed to penetrate her – inviting her to him.

Forcing herself to expand beyond his gaze, she recognized Angela sitting with him. She also saw the Tolstoy book on the table – her favorite. How silly she must have sounded making such a fuss about the book – but his broad smile in response sent shivers through her.

She vaguely remembered acknowledging Angela and found herself waving her friends over as she sat as close as possible to Dylan. She unconsciously brushed his arm and felt electric … “where did that sensation come from?” she wondered. She found herself babbling about Anna Karenina, but started to sense Dylan was as entranced as she was … a warm feeling welled up in her.

She couldn’t look away from Dylan when Sara and Monique came up to the table. She just kept staring into his eyes as she introduced them to Angela – forgetting to introduce them to Dylan, as he pulled her deeper into him … how was he doing that?

She felt certain Angela and Dylan weren’t a couple – not the way Dylan was looking into her. She found it odd that Angela hadn’t mentioned Dylan to her. Though in honesty, she and Angela were just getting to know each other – having met when Angela saw her creating a painting of this café a couple of weeks ago.

Like so many other young artists, she and Angela – as well as Sara and Monique – came here to immerse themselves in the “Van Gogh” atmosphere. Typically, the artists bonded in a common spirit of creative searching – feeding off of each other’s energy. Yet, Jenny hadn’t quite connected with Angela – it was as if there was this strange negative field between them – maybe Dylan…

Angela’s voice sounded like an intrusion, until Jenny heard the words “will you be alright by yourself?” Without thinking, she replied for him, “Dylan can spend some time with me tomorrow – we can talk more about Tolstoy.” Yes, so unlike her – tomorrow she thought … and smiled.

Artist: Vincent Van Gogh; Author: Mike Evans

Tomorrow

Dylan’s arm was electric where Jenny had touched him. Yes, electric was a good way to describe the feeling he thought to himself. Jenny seemed to emit an electric field that pulled him into her – his eyes locked to hers. He was vaguely aware that her friends were at their table – odd that Jenny hadn’t introduced them to him.

Jenny’s words seemed to engulf Dylan. She said, “I can relate to Anna’s character – she follows her heart no matter the consequences.” Dylan smiled at this – he heard the same enthusiastic observation from Angela on several occasions.

The words “Van Gogh” momentarily pierced the field around him and Jenny. Dylan glanced over to Monique, Sara, and … Angela – she was looking directly at him in such an odd way. What was it? … He felt she was looking deep inside him – in a way he had hoped she would for a long time – actually, all the way back to when they first met in high school.

He knew she never thought of him as a boyfriend, but he always hoped that would eventually change. After all, she always confided in him and even asked him to accompany her for the summer in Arles – didn’t she. And she never went out with other boys as far as he knew. But, until this moment – she never gave him the slightest hint of any interest deeper than friendship … and now … and now, he saw it in her eyes. He found himself giving her a slightly inquisitive smile in return.

And yet … with a simple movement of her hand on top of his, Jenny pulled him back into her. Thoughts of Angela looking at him the way Jenny was looking at him right this moment seemed unlikely all of sudden … he must have projected onto Angela what he now saw while looking at Jenny … and Jenny was so intoxicating…

He didn’t actually hear Angela’s question to him, but he perked up when Jenny replied “Dylan can spend some time with me tomorrow – we can talk more about Tolstoy.” Was it possible? … he was going to see her again tomorrow … a warm sensation flooded through Dylan – tomorrow he thought – tomorrow…

Artist: Vincent Van Gogh; Author: Mike Evans

Sara

Dylan’s glance into Angela hit her full force. But with a simple touch on top of his hand, Jenny brought Dylan’s attention back to her and his eyes remained there. Angela felt … she felt … yes, what did she feel? It was an uncomfortable and unfamiliar sensation.

“What do you think Angela?” Sara smiled – and before Angela had a chance to fully recover her senses, Monique interjected “Come on Sara – you can’t be serious – Van Gogh’s ‘Café Terrace at Night’ is one of his best paintings by far – not ‘Starry Night’.” “But I love the movement in ‘Starry Night’ – ‘Café Terrace at Night’ is brilliant – but much too calm for me.” Sara replied.

Angela settled and smiled – happy to be pulled back onto familiar solid ground. “Of course there are so many beautiful ones, but I have a special love for ‘The Red Vineyards’.” Monique and Sara looked at each other and smiled. Sara moved closer to Angela, casually putting her left hand on the back of Angela’s chair and gave her a conspiratorial smile. Monique attempted to muffle a nervous laugh and quickly blushed – thoroughly confusing Angela – she was missing something. Sara whispered, “Monique and I are currently attempting to replicate that painting” and then winked.

“Why do you have a special love for ‘The Red Vineyard’?” Sara asked – almost laughing the words out. Still a bit confused, Angela answered, “I think it is one of the first pieces where you can clearly see the influence from Paul Gauguin – I love the broad perspective and bold thick colors.” Now it was Monique who moved closer to Angela – her right hand on Angela’s chair. “Exactly!” she laughed.

Monique and Sara gave Angela another appraising look and apparently decided … “Angela, you must come out with us tomorrow to paint” they said at almost the same time. Angela felt their excitement and laughed “Alright – sounds like fun.” Sara moved even closer – almost to her ear – as she whispered “We are experimenting with the two approaches – Monique is painting at a deliberate pace like Gauguin and I’m painting with abandon like Van Gogh.”

There was something in the way that Sara smiled at her – she couldn’t quite place the feeling, but she knew she liked Sara. She looked to Dylan and asked “I’m going out to paint with Monique and Sara tomorrow – will you be alright by yourself?” Jenny spoke for him, “Dylan can spend some time with me tomorrow – we can talk more about Tolstoy.” Angela felt a slight squeeze on her hand as Sara said “Good, it’s settled then.”

Her discomfort with Dylan momentarily forgotten, Angela felt another unfamiliar sensation – but this time she seemed to welcome it…

Artist: Vincent Van Gogh; Author: Mike Evans

Along The Edges

Thoughts of him
Skipping along her edges
Looking for an opening
A place to enter

She wanders the beach
Ending at the shore’s edge
She feels the ocean waves
Wash over her bare feet

She considers stepping back
Just out of their reach
Yet, she stays – entranced
Feeling their soothing rhythm

The ocean breeze joins in
Playfully brushing past her
She smiles, remembers his touch
Allows thoughts of him to enter

The distant between them
Not quite so far now
They dance together today
Along the edges

Artist: Garmash; Poet: Mike Evans

A Language Unknown

Silent beauty descends from above
Angel wings of white snow flakes

Sunlight filters through the trees
To catch a glimpse of the dance

Crystal reflections sparkle in the breeze
Branches sway to touch the white magic

Mischievous white flurries play tag
Teasing around branches of the trees

With silent beauty they continue to fall
To cover the land in a pure white blanket

A message from heaven to earth
In a language unknown to man

Nature’s mystery at play

Artist: Denise Armstrong; Poet: Mike Evans

His Words

He flows into her world
On the surface of words

His writing dances on paper
In rhythm with his thoughts

He feels her breath in every word
As he gives life with each stroke

He senses her smile and sighs
She flows out of him in waves

…

She peers over his shoulder
Trying not to make a sound

She has to see his thoughts
As he writes them down

The words pull at her heart
Her eyes light up with desire

Her hand brushes his shoulder
She wants him to know …

…

He smiles and pulls her close to him
No longer his words … they are hers

Artist: Lord Leighton; Poet: Mike Evans