jim christ

 

neelia gal

neelia gal
the winds of bedlam
had you flying
round and round

the wind was whipping you
to your marrow
torn feathers were
all over the ground

I prowled
on your horizon
howled at you
without a sound

I was on fire
the sun was sinking
our sky bled
as night fell down

neelia gal
you had me buried
somewhere in a vein
of a lost gold mine

the dark pressed
all into nothing
buried in green edged blues
gone empty kine

mirages drifted
through and around me
a laughing wolf lost
in a desert of time

searching open wide windows
in endless walls
hunting dry shifting sands
for an oasis of rhyme

 

love between them
(runaway imagination about the sonoma coast)

in northern California
just south of
Russian River mouth,
a short distance from
rugged northcoast cliffs;
there's an alluring female shape
that emerges from the Pacific
known as Arch Rock.

just north of her,
barely attached
to the west edge
is another
known as Goat Rock.

he's a masculine sentry
that knows the answer
to the age old question,
"when is a river not a river"
as he watches Russian River
become Pacific.

this is their love story:

the rock called goat
stands wide based
feet in pebbles,
parking lot and surf,
deep in the west edge.

he's a grain of sand
on the geologic beach.
they are specks
diminished
in the ocean of time.

within reach she arches.
turns mist, surf
and clouds as well as
jade sea wrinkles into
a living breathing picture frame
around his love.

she lights fires
within his dark opaque
crystalline goatness.

eons pass
while he stands
firm and attentive.
she arches demurely from
and to the connecting seagreen.
they slow dance with a whole new beat.
they move the years.

birds fly
a feathered bridge
between them.
Occasionally,
an errant groundcloud visits
with a chain
of silver ocean mist
to bind them.

his best times
come every hundred moons
or so
when in clear
and windy darkness
a bright star
perches just above horizon
and reaches through her sacred arch
to touch him with its light.

other times
sun and moon
send them tides.

 
mere ors

when I said,
"I see miles
in your eyes"

it was because
the closeness
and distances

poured out
in joy
and pain.

or perhaps frustration
from near
and far ago.

or I see myself
looking back
at me.

or something
like that.

 


 

jim christ

all things considered
(theotherside) audio
     author is currently a technical illustrator/graphic artist of northern california. he was born in New York and moved to Los Angeles in the mid 60's. After adolescence in LA and a tour in the Air Force, max relocated to San Francisco and then Sonoma County where he started a serigraphy studio and service as well as jobbing at everything from construction to truck-driving. As founder and manager of Wild Boar Productions, Jim promoted and produced Truck Competitions and Shows as well as musical events in small and large venues in the wine country of northern California as well as contributing studio work and graphix. Has been described as an ocean that's only six inches deep.

     At this time is assembling a body of work in linocut and woodcut in preparation for a show at the California Museum of Fine Art in Santa Rosa (this is going very slowly).

     When Jim isn't working, he's usually scribbling down these little groups of symbols that somehow paint the edges of this thing called life.
yours,
climbmax aka jim christ



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