HeyJaredArt & The Written Way
Rants, Pomes and Prose from a paint filled mind...Receive an email post every week with your subscription....
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 10
- Latest publication
- Sep 29, 2026
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- Earliest in this view
- Jul 9, 2026
Latest issues
Time away… (opens the original)
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Ya, I know it’s been a while, weeks, months, or just days: sorry another week yet. You’re blank, that is without ideas-not even one.Sitting by an autumn window, the sun feels warm on my face. It’s casting a shadow on yours. We both cut a line across a golden floor. Hmm, you would like me to remove your blank expression. Sorry, my palette is empty.Rest on your easel, just a while more. I’m sure I’ll mix what colours you need. Enjoy the sun-autumn dusk comes early.I need rest.Sitting on a garden c
It’s Knocking On The Door (opens the original)
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So far it’s just a clear skied whimper. The sun playing midday tricks on the ground. Nothing vibrant yet, but my dog loves the falling leaves, his snout buried deep. The tomatoes are picked and eaten, yum. Their place of birth and growth gone ragged, brown and pale yellow, waiting to fall. Empty grapevines, leaves fallen, perhaps to give back to the earth for renewal in the spring, two seasons forward. Autumn becomes tangible.I’m given pause to daydream of an autumn that’s outside the confines o
A Murder Of Caws (opens the original)
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Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedThe murder of caws Dark suspicion On bending limbs Whisper on a breeze Ferns wave and bow I too in return Stone path winds As I sit-dram in hand Rising to the sun It winds to the distance Our eyes meet Solemnly The Buddha sits Solid in concrete form Feeling a wander One stone at a time Flowers to the left Soft green grass As shoulders Hold steady Each stone Perceive living One step Then another My steps Solid on each stone T
Jean Louis – St. Jack (opens the original)
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The old hoboOf Buddhas goneInto the windsGoes the painThe angelic the solemnThe love of friendsSustains the poets wayHardened roadsTo soft sandsReturn youSaint of pen and heartReturn youTo the strange cottage in BerkelySeek solaceIn the middle wayBodhisattva of the roadOkTokay</p
Days Nights And Days (opens the original)
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There are days like today, (all bluster trying to trade summer for fall), that I’m at a loss for something to read, or write, draw, paint-hell even to get my mind to some task around the house. There seems to be a dam somewhere between my mind and my eyes. Not even a nap was achieved with any success.Lately, the idea of collage has been bouncing around my brain. I have to have a look for a piece I did almost a lifetime ago. It was done during my days of painting that flowed out of me faster than
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