One of my favorites Rainy Tulsa Sunday

To purchase/Bid

A break during rehearsal

To Bid
To Blog

A Few of my Favorite Things

Remember 'The Sound of Music?'  This painting was created after the song in that movie called , I think, 'Favorite Things."  Can you find some of the things from the song?
This is on auction this week.  you can bid, view or enter my ebay gallery here

Spray of Cardinals

This painting and its corresponding poem were in our recent show in Tulsa, OK.  To bid or visit my ebay gallery, Click Here

SPRAY OF CARDINALS

Looking out my window to the backyard,

cup of coffee in hand,

winter apple tree, for an instant, seems ripe with fruit. 

It is a desire for the return of spring that brings on this illusion. 

Closer examination reveals

cardinals scattered among the branches.   

Their crimson silhouettes,

stand, most brilliant against the bleak, washed sky.

For months, I have looked out on this scene--

Grey sky,

grey fence,

grey branches. 

Rooftops of neighboring houses are degrees of grey. 

My eyes now, weary of grey, are delighted by this late winter offering. 

I become aware that I am cupping my coffee in both hands,

as though receiving Eucharist.

Then, in a flash of red, the tree ignites in winged flight.

Startled, I blink, and everything is the same again, only different. 

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Stepping into Fall

 

Another painting from our show with the poem, " We Walk," written by Scott Aycock

 

WE WALK

We are on retreat—

a cabin in the woods.

Leaving behind cell phones, and computers—

we walk.

The path is wide, clearly marked—

no getting lost.

We feel at ease on this unfamiliar path,

whereas, back home, in the city

familiarity seeds boredom,

and yes, sometimes resignation.

Trodden paths turn to ruts,

roots are exposed,

like fingers pointing.

We are lost.

For now, though,

in tandem,

we walk.

me in front

and then pausing

to observe a mushroom,

or catch my breath,

she will take the lead. 

Out here, cooperation, not competition,

Rules the day.

I offer a hand crossing a creek,

and stopping to rest,

she offers me water and a smile.

Still we are cautious, but curious.

New trails are like that,

only a hint of what lies ahead.

We walk.

It is mid-September and already,

the sun sits lower in the sky.

Slant light is warm, almost hot,

as the trail steers us into one of the many grassy clearings.

On this high plane

we walk

among blue stem, cacti, and crimson-crowned sumac.

The path gives way and dips into deep shadows.

I stop before wading into

                Pine—

                                Oak—

                                                Juniper.

She steps beside me,

her arm brushes mine.

Standing there, she whispers,

“can you feel it?  It’s like leaving summer and walking into fall.”

True, the heat gives way abruptly,

cool moist air rushes up the descending path.

Stepping under the canopy

there is a hushed silence.

Instinctively, I reach for her hand and

we walk.

SOLD! Peonies

Snakes Painting by me.... Poem by Scott

My husband, Scott and I recently had a month long show at a local gallery.  My husband is a poet, and I, of course, the painter.  Each painting had a corresponding poem.  This one had a great poem about a little boy falling asleep on a hot Sunday at church.    To visit my ebay gallery, click the link to gallery.
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SNAKES

                                                                                                                                                               

Sunday mornings

Southern Baptists

Summer heat

All those “S’s” hissing!

In the garden, preacher warned,

“Snakes will lull you to sleep.”

My head in grandmother’s lap

Twirling fans,

suspended from the ceiling.

Never pushing air enough…

sweating

                hearing voice,

not words…

                rising, falling

                    rising, falling.

The stroke of her fingers

tongue at my neck

in my ear

Hissing!

Preacher’s voice

distant and hollow

    as though listening underwater,                                          

to a voice calling

                softly, tenderly

                   rising, falling

                hissing in my ear

sleep. . . sleep. . .  ssssssss . . . .

 

Snakes by Margaret Aycock oil on canvas

My husband, Scott and I recently had a month long show at a local gallery.  My husband is a poet, and I, of course, the painter.  Each painting had a corresponding poem.  This one had a great poem about a little boy falling asleep on a hot Sunday at church.  To read the poem feel free to click the link to my blog.  To visit my ebay gallery, click the link to gallery.
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Aycock House Holiday Sale

Pics from last year's show at the house... Fun!  You are invited!  Bring a friend .  This Saturday November 21 9-5   1135 N Denver, Tulsa