"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.



"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

"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.

"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

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.

i 

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.



"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

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.

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 ....

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.

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.....

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......

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.

.....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.

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.

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.

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!

 "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 ......

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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

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.

"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

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