April
Buffalo
11”
x 14”
Oil
on Canvas
by
Bud
Gibbons
from the collection of Denny & Vickie Kolakowski
April Buffalo
Buffalo Creek
explodes April
with the
power to make you ask yourself,
Is this now?
Trout hug the
bottom
at
transcendental depth,
water
skippers disappear,
kayaks rest
on roof racks.
Moss tears
from rock
and drunken limbs dive reckless
over crayfish
that hunker down
under granite
garden.
Fly rods
sleep,
Stepping
stones drown,
Mallards scan
the shore line
and kazoo in
protest.
All is
contagious here
along streams
that make thunder
out of
midnight rain,
Delivering me
to shake
hands with the invisible
and kiss
all that is
unknown.
Back Bay
9” x 12”
Oil on Canvas
by
Bud Gibbons
from the collection of Denny & Vickie Kolakowski
The ocean has its salt
and say
while some of us cling
to the back bays.
I’ve been too practical,
too careful
to step into muck,
to touch floating algae,
to inhale the sun
simmering over stagnant pools
of skunk cabbage.
The love of my life
reaches
where I retreat
like a washed up clam.
Maybe today will be my day
to dance upon the lily pads
even with snapping turtles
chewing at the edges.
Today
maybe we will both
rise from our marsh
like great blue herons
and wing back
to the heart
of the sea.
Shadows
of Blackstone Hollow
24”
x 30”
Oil
on Canvas
by
Bud
Gibbons
from the collection of Denny & Vickie Kolakowski
Shadows of Blackstone Hollow
Glacier
tracks scatter
under oak and
hemlock,
Volumes gray
as the Confederacy
in solemn
truth
nod with fern
hushed in
lichen, root
and wine
scent.
Minnows
bubble at the
feet of shadows
that suck
summer
into
terrestrial.
Plowed by ice
that
eradicated dinosaurs,
this woodland
crease
now of
screech owl effervescence
ripe in spore
and honeybee
offers:
Everyone is
as perfect
as you,
And time is
not made,
only spent
mercifully
lost,
forgotten in
the fantasy
of growing
old
without John
Lennon.
Mantra
10”x 14”
Watercolor
on Paper
by
Bud
Gibbons
from the collection of Denny & Vickie Kolakowski
Mantra
When my dad got dementia
I started grinding my
teeth
and clinching my jaw
all the time
until my face got numb,
then he died.
How can anyone live
without
Post-It notes?
People like that are too
smart
to know anything,
They dwell inside the
memory
of rivers and trees,
Where every second is
life-changing,
Where all anger is lost,
Where they don’t worry
about things
that won’t happen,
And they know damn well
we’re all just renting.
Uncle Leonard was a medic
killed in World War Two
and everything I know about
him
lives in my mother
who he adored,
He still looks dashing in
his uniform
in the photograph on the
bookshelf
which hasn’t moved in my
lifetime.
He stares at me with a
slight smirk
like he knew he’d never
meet me,
like he knew his
Hollywood pose
would be the only thing
left of him
one day.
The mantra of my dad and
uncle
in the flow beyond the
branches
prove
there is no need
for closure.
Bionote
Dennis R. Kolakowski - These poems are a recent resumed effort, with short stories, essays and poetry published in outdoor magazines, literary journals, and periodicals throughout the 70’s and 80’s. Writing throughout the past ten years has included screenplays currently in pre-production and development. A member of the Pennsylvania Outdoor Writers Association and a mechanical engineering graduate of Pennsylvania State University, I’ve served as operations manager for the Pittsburgh Center for the Arts, Pittsburgh Filmmakers, the University of Pittsburgh Applied Research Center and the Allegheny County Medical Examiner’s Office. Please see www.sleepingdragonproductions.com.
Artist Statement
Assume nothing/consider everything, stand back and look close – Every time I remember, it rewards. Sometimes makes it to the page.
Professor Emeritus Charles W. "Bud" Gibbons, III - Please see www.budgibbons.com.
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