Tuesday, November 22, 2011

 "the Chameleon" a page from my sketchbook 11x14 drawing pastels

You do not see that which blend into all that surrounds
Sounds, color, the children at play …. the chameleon
Flitting through life, sounds of your feet on porceline
A steady clack of heeled shoes
Inaudible chat; hand to ear
silken hair hides the phone
your eyes are blank, lifeless,
like a doll
There's purpose in your walk,
your stride
As light brown and patterns flow to your movement
All paths lead to the devil
yet you pass unaware without a care
You do not see me as I decide if you want me
If I were even in your league,
If you could see my worth
The sun beats on the cold,
makes little headway
Still I stay to the shadows
And the sound of your journey grows faint,
Then is gone......
As so I,
 my existence
in your passing.


Wednesday, November 16, 2011

"I try to stand in the light" .... from the sketchbook black and white drawing pastels(Nov 15, 2011 )

A thin vale of black covers the demon and devils as their warm breath blows the sun's red sands
Slight stir of headlights dance upon the desert floor, a favorite song is playing on the radio
In the shadow are the many who seek the cold warmth of their light, to grow, to awake
To cast their own shadow upon the timeless lands.
Only a few reach out to touch the rays and in their turn choke the light
And the violet landscape soon reveals the branches, withered, decayed and twisted

Sunday, August 28, 2011

"Station 19, India 1944" Pencil, Charcoal, Acrylics on Illustration Board, 2011 Terrence L Cope

Grey mist of trees that line the banks
A wind that whips the oceans ‘round
Inside the currents, Indigos and half-light,
The bodies, silhouetted marionettes
Glide just below the ocean’s edge
Gentle hands that clutch the tender threads
hollowed eyes peer eternal, buried in their strife
And your children dine on table scraps, hand me downs
The gift of those who took it all
When you were trying to prove yourself
When it was you who sacrificed …. at the building of the wall.

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

"Happy Jacks Go Buggy" 24x36 Pencil on Gessoed Multimedia Board by TL Cope

I sit in a room
no window in sight
and Stare at this puzzle
that's nailed to the wall
All the pieces are black
In the dark there's no light
I.LL SIT ALL ALONE
and keep it together
YET the Pieces they fall
and WITH aLL my might
I can't keep it whole
I can't make it right



Wednesday, July 27, 2011

P-51B Red Wrecker III, Charcoal and Chalk 11x17 by Terrence L Cope

When I became a man

I put aside those things   of children

As I began to gray

I sought to be that child again.

Sunday, July 24, 2011


am a monster
who dreamed
he woke
and found himself a man
and it scared me ......



I’m puzzled at chimes Of nursery rhymes
 and children’s books.
That silent cry, child-like whimpers,
Inaudible tremblings of crooks
Lost in the woods,
A break of the twig that lay in our way,
That shuffle of leaves in a shadow's cast
Short is this path ‘neath their boney branches,
nothing more and nothing less
Still
the slightest of breeze, the softest of rain,
the short hand of time erasing our passing
We listen to only the notes that we choose
Acting surprised at the way that you answered
When did you decided to leave the woods?Leaving your toys, the bear and the owl
Abandoning things once deemed important,
To embrace the fears of graying years.
Forgetting to laugh,  
Trying to be strong as your heart just grew tired,
Your hands too frail to hold on to the rails,
And the future, a joke,
A collecton of mirrors that show what’s behind you
Life capsulated inside the honey jar,
 A few lines remembered, jotted down,
A few lines from the book of a child 
To capture your life undefined
Lost in a struggle,
Confused,
Words and pieces in the puzzle of “you”
Now nothing remains of those days in the sun
Still ....
..... you finally got back
to that house at Pooh corner by one.


Tuesday, July 5, 2011

"Seaplane a study of the Rufe," 20x30 Oil on resinfibered multimedia. 2011 Terrence L Cope
Morning Sketch in Carcoal, a study. July 5th, 2011 by Terrence L Cope, click for larger image

breathe deep, the air holds many things,
and within its blue comes those with wings.
circle the osprey, the glide of a gull, 
my mind oft'n wanders with their lofty call.
To touch the land,
To feel the sky
surreal in its frameing,
this melding of seasons,
 inside abstractions,
inscribed on my soul
with the place of no naming
in a time with no passing

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

the sketch below is charcoaled in ....

Inside a window, embers glow
A heart beats to the rhythm tears
Trapped and caged a lioness dies
From voices that she failed to hear
Back and forth she'll pace the floor
Awaits that moment etched in fate
To dread this silent cage she'll roar
Drowning out that one mistake
A key that locked the open doors
That led to paths her life will take.
Oh! Could there be something more?
Could she'd 've been someone great?
Look at her and listen close,
To eyes who stare through graying curls
And you will see how free she danced
When she was but a little girl.




Saturday, June 25, 2011


Morning Sketch "P-40E New Zealand Airforce" 18x24 blocked in charcoal on stonehenge paper, click for larger image

A line
Laid with intention
Charcoaled in
Relationships
Shadow and white
A trick of the light
A slight of hand
We are not artists
We are magicians
and Liars ....

Thursday, June 23, 2011

Morning sketch 11x14  06232011 Carcoal on Paper by Terrence L Cope

The moon cast shadows
Streetlights glow softly
Boats on the river
Are silhouettes mostly
Sounds of the City
Float off in the Distance
Music familiar
the echoes of Rampart
And stars intermingle
With the lights of the buildings
And that faint little twinkle
In the soul of your eyes.

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

This mornings sketch 06/21/2011 11x14 charcoal on paper by Terrence L Cope

You know.
Love you ....
but sometimes
I feel
like
like
like
drawing
a
Nakajima
A6M2n
Type 2
Float Plane
allied code name
Rufe ....
and sometime
I
don't.....

Monday, June 20, 2011

Morning sketch 6/19/2011 11x14 Pencil, Pastel on Paper by Terrence L Cope (click for larger image)

You have to understand,
it's been a while,
too long
The pictures I have when my eyes close are so real
The smell of your hair, sound of your voice,
my heart, my soul, reaches out to feel
Oh, ever so smooth was that touch,
that gentle soft way the satin played
While stars they chase the sun away
And you are so many miles away,
Until I close my eyes......

Saturday, June 18, 2011

Morning Sketch 11x14 by Terrence L Cope 06/18/2011

A Masterpiece.
This breath of art
  All clowned up
red and black hair,
drapes like candle wax, 
makeup and tattoo sleeve
... beautiful like a painting,
attitude to hide your age,
very young, but not so much.
They call you whore and it hurts.



Thursday, June 16, 2011

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

.....from the sketch book. 11x14 pencil on paper, terrence l cope

Seduction
Warm and wet
Resistance
Futile
Defined
A ride
On the serpant 
Across the Badlands
My body
Rest it's soul
Lies where she left it...

june 15th, 2011 a page from my sketch, pen and ink by Terrence L Cope
click for larger image

The hours sat in a small glass at the end of the bar
No ice, neat, sipped slowly, ....... twist of lime
Seconds tick away, reflection in a mirror behind the bottles
Waiting to see her....one more time.



Monday, June 13, 2011

Sketchbook 06-13-11 Pencil on Paper by Terrence L Cope

I reach out to touch the sun, flying so close
To hide in its light at the wake of the dawn
Withdrawn, waiting, watching from shadows,
Softened Colors that pass in revue ,
Pomp processions for this day
In its infinite depth of prying stars, dark and distant
A small prick of light, in itself, cast no warmth
A distant flames flicker, lights from the windows
Exists only to dance on flesh that’s wet and glistens
In amber sweat which wets hot flesh, cooling,
Defining, rising skin touching skin, shallow breathing,
Seaside breakfast, mimosas and the soft splash of tides
Rising, echoing the wings of the damsel fly 
Echoing the death of night, softly and hidden 
Souls rise up to touch the vanquished moon,
Rise to catch the last star, falling,
Rising up then slowly they die
To be wash away in violet skies
And the breeze finally arrives, teasing the reeds,
Lifting up the wings of the hunter, sea birds
Stir of froth from the crashing waves
Stirring the salty air,
Letting  fly your darken hair,
Defined in this morning light,
A slight stir of sand,
Erasing our impressions,
Removing all that passes,
Denying our existence.

Thursday, June 9, 2011


High atop battleship hill the children stand all quiet and still
They touch so lightly, gentle spirits, sacrificed, adrift within the sun, alone
In trenches dug in dirt and clay these spirits go about their way
Apparitions that appear so plain, like shadows on a cloudy day
Are glimpsed within peripherals, in windblown grass, in history books
In some class in which I paid no attention with the lone exception
Of one spoken word, a wandering thought of dark haired girls to which I feared to talk.
And pay no mind to old men, long   decayed; their doctrines that had ruled the day
Who wrote their names on fields of corn, sunken roads and shallow graves?
There’s a peace upon the sunny ground now, eclipsed by passing pillowed clouds
Their fleet existence can be seen upon our sins as they go floating on the wind
They show the way but do not stay for long on these stones of white
But are to only read forgotten names and stroll quietly about their way
For clouds are not allowed to stay within the ghostly stills, high atop Battleship hill.

Wednesday, June 8, 2011



Moments in gold,
To look back and
think of where I could go
what I could do .......
things I could have  ......
if I could cash in .......
those golden moments I had
with you!

Sunday, June 5, 2011

 "Untitled Sketch" 11x14 Pen and Prisma Marker from sketchbook: 060411 by T L Cope 
Pen and Prisma Markers- Todays sketch, 060311 by TL Cope

Sunday, Sunday I deny ...... 
You are but beginnings end
I live my lie in solitude
and live my truth in sin
I live my hopes in lonliness
Sheltered from within.
Hear me now the fleeting sound
The tattered sheets, the barren ground
An empty heart, it's beating pounds
Dark rhythms of the souless.
Whispered under labored breath
An attempt at my forgiveness.
Bone and flesh, it walks a path
And dreams of life eternal ......






Tuesday, May 31, 2011


Monday, 
awoke without direction.
To race the future with no special plan
Impaled on some dream I seek reserection
For love was the cross and  hte nails in my hands




Thursday, March 17, 2011


In the thin veil of morning
Behind a hidden rose,
Red and rain, like diamonds, 
sit as tears amongst the thorns 
Lost within it's beauty
A fragile flash of life
Sacred to this moment
and the early morning light.

Monday, March 7, 2011



Random thoughts, refined and lost, deep within the truth
Loving acts of kindness; missing dreams of youth
One blank page to capsulate all of my concerns
Such simple things are often lost 
Inside these lessons learned

Sunday, March 6, 2011


Strange solace 'tis found in this morning’s coffee,
Trying not to think ...........of ghosts.....
that hide in a moment.....
Lost souls in their anguish
Like steam they are rising
To vanquish the air, only to fade
Disapear in the half light
Of the start of a day
I sit stiring reflections
That dance on the ripples
Staring back, Somber zombies
That live in the dark brew,
an awakening of souls 
A wish for control,
A wish to be sharper, 
More aggressive,
more personable,
my search for survival,
....... and no fear of tomorrow,
To be one with the future the rest of my days
Yet soon I must peek out from under this ritual
And war with those monsters it once kept at bay.

Saturday, February 26, 2011


Do not embrace these windswept leaves that brown within the winter trees, that blow away like scattered ash to lie alone while shadows past and silver suns set ‘pon your head and flowers bloom to make your bed. Pay no heed to those which stand and judge the work of God and the toll of time upon your face, upon your soul, those tattered scars, that promised life, forever marred, and seek that love within the dark and hold me in these waning years.

Thursday, February 24, 2011


O’ Linda with the brightest eyes, stands alone, black dress that silhouette those years that passed,  your children gone, you look around, there’s something’s wrong. It’s all changed, the mirror doesn’t reflect that girl who twirls and sways to candle light and barefoot soul, those songs upon the record, play away your yesterdays and inside a dream you dance alone with shadows on the wall.

Thursday, February 10, 2011


Ancient marbled mountains recede in winter's icy flow
Blue sapphire envelopes the spot where I often stand
Eye of sorcerers, glare and wander in dark angry spaces
Bird’s o prey glides the thermals high above this shadow land
My silhouette is long; it taints the mists that swirl inside the water's fall
I alone, within myself, can hear the quiet mountain’s call
Against this cold I cup my hand into a fist, as if to hold a tiny rock
And carefully I take it all and calmly put it deep within my pocket
I turn myself against the cold; I turn my thoughts against the snow
I warm my heart inside the sun that spots the dyeing forest floor
Brown and wasted, crisp it crackles as I ramble down its mighty slope
My soul once touched the face of God, for here is where he gave me hope
But now I’m lost in cityscape, and humanity covers like greying moss
I try to breathe the petrol air, and within its stress my life is lost.
To escape would be my only hope; sanctuary’s found in nature's charm
Sadly though,  to return to what I love the most will only do my lover harm
So I walk amongst my kind, drifting through its alleys, networking, searching
And in those lost a solace times my soul travels to that place I once called friend.

Wednesday, February 9, 2011


there are phases
in my life,
things of interest,
things to share with my father
as time passes
on a continuous stream
of hopefuls dreams
of broken sceams
things
to hold on to
interests 
often times
make no sense,
seem to clutter
that futile feeling
that all is for not,
that when it's over it goes with you
hangs over my head
Like a dark cloud
questioning the reasons
For what is the use
I capture it in pictures
to revisit this journey 
and this again I question
what quest do I take with me
in the ending of my days
In my reach for heaven
what do I take from here
What was this light
That once felt love?

Tuesday, February 1, 2011


It's not a struggle, these demons I wrestle.
For me, feel not sorry, for it's just my way.
My obsession is control. I mean you no harm,
don't be afraid, please, don't be alarmed
For you scare me more than you realize.
To walk amongst the living is the greatest of fears
for I wish to hide in my head, live in my lies
find comfortable depressions, solice in the dark
I don't wish to come out, to do so is painful 
This fear of my failures is a strain on my heart
but to stand alone, by myself and look in your eyes
I peak around walls and stumble outside

Monday, January 24, 2011


Oft times we sit, quiet, trying to stop time's passing. Our eyes close to treasure lost moments as if that one deep breath will make it all clear. We attempt to still our hearts .... our minds.... those random thoughts that collide, out of control, seem only to smash against some wall. We, with all our might, seek the stillness of the air, yet the questions still rise and the sun still sets and the answers never come.

Thursday, January 20, 2011

"Self - mutilation" 18x14 Acrylic on britol by Terrence L Cope 

A line
Drawn
Staring back
Taunts me
As if laughing
It owns me,
It sits on piece of white paper
White fucking paper ,
Bright  
White
Paper
 Just a line
Dark, black, charcoal
Burnt wood
A beginning,
Stopped
As if to reflect my life
It Stands alone
On this stupid page
Like some "imagined" importance
By itself,
Going nowhere
A block ........
A LINE

Sunday, January 16, 2011



Life is the program, you are the programer
Life is the program, you are the programer
Life is the program, you are the programer
Life is the program, you are the programer
Life is the program, you are the programer
Life is the program, you are the programer
Life is the program, you are the programer
Life is the program, you are the programer
Write the program .....................corrupted

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

"Flying Tiger" 18x24 Pencil on Paper by TL Cope. Click for larger image

Cold morning air, motors spit fire through the velvet smoke, propellers turn
Painted warrior, a chariot awaits your rise, she's been up for hours now
Wood splintered, canvas torn roundel, you silohette against the sun
As bullet rips the flesh, blood flows in fire and oil stains the glass
Black smoke, rich and burnt, lifeless, dances to the ground
Its dark spiral pirouettes in the winds, anguish cries carry then fade
Scented letters tied in ribbon under silken scarved tattered skies
It was simple then, it did not end with this life, this war,
Today, I am not so sure.

Monday, January 10, 2011

"Nude - white and reds" January 2010 Graphite, Ink and Acrylic by TL Cope.


Sunday, January 9, 2011

"Second Light"   20x24 Acrylic Painting by TL Cope. Click for larger image


The sand always shifts on the East Coast
Outside looks good here, the paddle out looks rough
Yeah! Let's try here ..... do you have any wax?


Impressions locked in colors residing in a moment
I open up my palette to  paint a pretty picture
To tell you how I see you in a very special way
Lost in crayon colors no one will ever know
I’ve built this shrine, this temple; you’re how my garden grows.   

Thursday, January 6, 2011



Standing in awe of what lay before,
Staring thru cloudless skies and the infinite,
I, So small once measured?
What size am I once pass this horizon?
Do I exist at the edge of the universe?
Thrown across the wind like a storm,
Measured like dust on a breeze,
Tattered like the flag abandoned,
Lost like the rain in the sea.
Mine eyes have seen the poetry,
Of a moment that ne’er returned,
Wonder upon wonders in a swatch,
To be played out countless times,
In distant lands, stars and galaxies,
Witnessed and not by someone or thing,
Through many thoughts and dreams,
Trapped alone, in flesh and bone
My mind sets out to play,
Growing lost and insignificant,
In the calling of this day.