Tuesday, June 17, 2008

The Rising of Everything

my six year old
asks her mother
mom, when you get a kiss on the lips
does it go straight down to your heart
and suddenly
i am all too aware
of the cynism,sarcasm and contempt
that far too often
muddies the lens
thru which i view this world
in her sing song voice
she asks for ice cream after dinner
in the background
NPR speaks of carbombs in market squares
the rising of everything
tempers and temperatures
food and fuel
she knows of none of these things really
but the harsh realities of this world
are beginning to reveal themselves to her
it is difficult to witness
but inevitable
if not necessary
like the first scuff on a new white shoe
it is a daily lesson to be learned
to feel with innocence
to believe that yes
a kiss on the lips
truly does go
straight down to the heart


"The Faithful" (mixed media)

"The Good Red Road" (oil on wood)

Saturday, June 14, 2008

105 in the Shade

the rattle and skid
of a can being kicked down the street
has no room for echo in this heat
somehow a dove with electric blue eyeshadow
has managed to make it's way to the seeded feeder
while a male lights beside her hoping to generate
a little heat and seed of his own
my beer is full of flies
drunk and drowning
and the sunflowers have all wilted
under the wrath of their namesake
my youngest
newly two
squeals and splashes in six inches of water
and yet again
i realize that i have alot to learn from her


Wednesday, June 11, 2008

there is nothing in this room
save the sound
of ice
slowly melting
in a glass

Monday, June 9, 2008


it is hard to imagine
that a mere seventy years ago
these streets were filled
with the tremble and sorrow
of guns, tanks and boots
this elegant antiquity
of stone, brick and morter
now plastered with placards
for ipod and prada
techno kids
dressed for space
swarm to the house beats and blips
with swimming eyes and sweating lips
eons away from the grounded ease
of accordian and violin
romance thrives
in each spoke
of every bike
along each canal


Friday, June 6, 2008

The Weeping Meadow

Music and stills from the film by Theo Angelopoulos. I watched it the other night and these images have been haunting me since. A stunningly beautiful film. It is Greek Tragedy for sure and very slow paced, but I welcome that in the midst of these mad rush, non stop, sound bite, instant gratification, ever grinding days. And too, I am, of course, a sucker for melancholy.

The Cheap Sweet Stuff

you can always find the junkies, whores, cops and poets
at the donut shop
they've all got a weakness for the cheap, sweet stuff
sucking the sugar off their thumb and forefingers
white powder in the corner of their mouths
eyes rolling in the back of their heads
as the eyelids slowly drop closed
staying up too late
working too many hours
under strenuous conditions
all providing a service
all but the junkies that is
the donut shop owners are almost always korean
with some gaudy little shrine over the register
while some fruity incense burns and blends
with the smell of fried dough and stale smoke
a 70's cop show flickers on the black and white t.v
with tinfoil and a coat hanger
like some alien stork fallen from the sky
they fled their country for this
a better life
their little slice of the pie
and each of us under these buzzing fluorescent lights
are taking some kind of comfort in the others presence
all milling about in the american dream


Thursday, June 5, 2008

Bus #180

a homeless man on a bus
said to me
"you walkin around in a goldmine and you the only one ain't got any gold"
"son, in this life you push the button for the floor you wanna get off on"
i must remember that
sometimes it's hard to see the beauty
when you're standing right there in it


"Primitive Graces" (installation with salt crystals,metal filings,cinders,rusted bolts,twigs,dirt clod,quail eggs and colored thread)


tejano music spilling out of a busted up am
killing time desert style
cracked lips
cotton mouth
bloodshot eyes bleeding hate and mistrust
cold cerveza sits sweating in the sun
others waiting patient in a red igloo
oil stained and beat to hell
pickup bed is loaded with talismans and psalms
knotted rope, rusted gears, rotting hay and a coyote carcass
a brindled pit bull with a missing ear rolls in the dirt
a child of three
half naked and filthy
straddles the dog and hops on it's belly
all eyes follow the car and our white faces in it
we are not welcome here now
there is no reason we should be


Untitled (ink and acrylic on paper)

Raised Red Flags

i wake this morning with someone else's voice
not even the lone song of the unseen bird
in green and gray sky can shake it loose
i hear the crunch of gravel under foot
as i walk past silver mailboxes
raised red flags
signal communication
waiting in dark confines
there is kudzu and bee
water and vine
the rain and the rail
i search for my fathers footprints
but the path has been swept clean and i am left to travel
by memory or chance
a tiny quiet pushes up and out of my eyes
clouding each step
redemptive and cleansing


"Tooth & Nail" (detail) mixed media

"The Order of Things" (detail) mixed media

Wednesday, June 4, 2008


Hello and Welcome to The Rain & The Rail!   I must tell you that it is with my collar turned up and my hat down low that I am venturing out into this world of blogging. So I have decided to use this as a forum for sharing some of the past and current paintings, poems and various projects I have been working on other than music.
I hope you enjoy it and will return from time to time. 

Nathan Hamilton