Tree People
by Kicking Bear Productions
Title
Tree People
Artist
Kicking Bear Productions
Medium
Painting - Acrylics
Description
Kicking Bear Barry
The story of Old Blacktop...~ Bearstyle
He rides in dangerous from the storms of yesterday with his bones quivering in ache.
Her name aint Janis though she claims it is...She has tall bending shadows strung out dancing on the highways at the swirving curves on the oceans ole blacktop.
Her heartbeats of whiskey bars in body shots filling the roadway in the zig zag of a mockingbird line.
Bare footprints etched in gray gravel dust unraveled histories to the red dirt pounded fine.
She has cruised the unspoiled draw bridge wicked with a python moving in serpentine green...even her snakey scales are touching roots on roads unseen.
Stone washed canyon stairs earth brown magic breathing in the ghost paintings fair to the distance never traveled.
In desert love, a dry heat washes the bones in the riverbed of loneliness meeting the oasis cured by nature.
Gypsy witness bathed in the sun light blistered empty within the sky of her.
Limitless visions muled the art of blue veils near running jack rabbit trails.
If it wasnt for my signatured blood on tap, mapped out on these medals and ribbons torn, I wouldnt be walking in this deserted maze reborn.
Reaching rituals rising in the curve past corners lost.
Sometime ya take love when it comes at all cost.
Primative horizons dropping down as I see her in the road...perfect songs are laid out in her sassy tongue.
She is laughing in silouette holding her hands like paper cups unseen.
Her white dress smudged.
I like the cowgirl boots.
She wears the ten cent pearls around her neck...
Thats a fine tattoo...
As for me faced east stopped at the four way, I am riding my trusted harley with the year 1969 stamped on the pigskin motor.
Its my bike she likes; cause it's a sweet little bitch and the model throttles down the catwalk in electro-glide style.
I am always wearing Holy blue jeans in a stale symbol of prayer doing it my way.
Wheels of thunder tearing it up..my leather bound thoughts are marching in parade of foolish dare...sure I'll give her a ride without a care...
Her scent of burning flowers keeps guiding the compass in a valiant thrill...maybe I'll take her all the way up the mountain to Harley Hill...
I suddenly notice the pearl handle pistol sticking out through the rawhide...it's always in the bull hide boots.
I run my fingers across an ancient scar...I cant help but grin.
Silver snake spurs stumbling and spark across the fast lane...its about her and all the places Ive already been.
A wild ride in a landslide where hearts should never rust.
Its tough enough reading the signs of the red stones on a sacred Meza blurred in a melting haze.
But this girls nuts in her crazy sideshow ways...
She whispers in graveyard shifts with a sweet kindness drunk.
Wild bull riders, all night fighters unspoiled within nature...
My thoughts are suddenly emptied into the skyways smoking hot without water.
Flexing the black leather gloves over my fingers dry and rough. I'm up to snuff and I know when to hit the throttle when things get too tough...
Gunbarrels choking back another shot undone as the signal fire sends smoke rings over the red land.
Over sized hands cover these squinting eyes for what seems days.
Pausing in courage by a tumbleweed framed in a killing smile, I visit the howl of the coyote pacing the desert winds that never bluff.
Transforming Trickster.
A Quail flies high from a falling deer horn lost cold from winter.
I scent the milk from a broken Cactus spine.
Headlights blinking.
Headed to the roadhouse.
Im thirsty from desert valley days rustling sand covered dunes in hills rippling in mighty waves.
Hello!! I ask in a voice looking right at her...
Answering in a grin smelling of gin; she climbs onto the scooter wearing sun glasses and lipstick.
The back pack looks empty.
Lets ride !!
Protecting Wild Things,
Kicking Bear Barry
The Eccentric Poet
Uploaded
April 29th, 2009
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