A Colorized Edit of my first painting on canvas. Photo by KAMoore
Touched with Grace
Peace I’ve Found
Feet on Ground
Slightly blurry photo of the original painting Photo by KAMoore
Sculpture and Photo by KAMoore
Glaring, Hopping, Flying, Squawking
The Ravens caw always talking
To me it spoke of dead men walking
Obsidian eyes fire deep down inside
Skulls and bones tossed aside
Seeds of death Sewn and strewn
A Murder gathers screeching doom
The world spins round
Sculpture and photos by KAMoore
East of Sedona – Photo by KAMoore
On a road that was more of a path East and above Sedona. Known for it’s spirituality, renowned for its beauty.
The little truck that could – photo by KAMoore
Photo by KAMoore
Thoughts zig and zaggle
Brain plays tricks
Crawling with ticks
Eating my Soul
Slurping from a bowl
Dead birds decay
Dragons to slay
Walk in your sleep
Promises to keep
As real as it seems
No chips to redeem
Born to die
Unable to fly
Cant make me cry
Ever wonder why
Fear it may find you
I won’t let it bind you
Curled on the floor
Raving to a door
Suggest a fix
Pick off the ticks
Wipe my brow
Tip a cow
What did you say
Oh that was me
Small Pyramid Sculpture – Sculpture and photo by KAMoore
A nice place to be
Finding ones middle
Not to the left or the right
A place of calm understanding
It takes much searching to find it
When you do It is even harder to keep
The world constantly working against you
Pushing and shoving To keep you from peace
Is it the nature of humans To fight and cause strife
Imbalance trying to surround us as it cuts like a knife
I will keep fighting to stay there through art and the like
Overcoming much struggle and conflict To walk in the light
Arches Utah, Edit and Original photo by, KAMoore
The early morning air was dry and biting.
Frost seeking to form, denied by the waterless atmosphere.
The desert spoke without moisture to sooth its grating voice.
It’s allure found in the silent petrified semblance bestowed on all things.
Even the life motionless, waiting, watching; Lizards, Snakes, Spiders, and Scorpions.
The fur covered beasts tucked away in the cracks and crevices enjoying their partners heat.
They all wait for the rising sun to reach it’s warming fingers over the distant mountains.
The rays touch teasing the blood to flow and bring motion to stilled creatures.
The wildflowers fading.
The monsoons sung.
The arid lands spread out seemingly endless to all points on the compass.
Lands that lay primarily quiet in wait, with sporadic dirt devil whispers and angry gales of impatience. In wait of the distant storms to bring fresh flowers, a deluge of waters and simultaneous eruption of green sprouts from the formerly charred and cracked earth.
Once again calm with practiced restraint.
The season of dry is long, make no mistake.