Category Archives: poem

RIP – post of early 2007

Why do things disapear. You type, you type, you type. Close the window. Realize you didn’t hit command “S”. Gone. Where does that text actually go in WordPress? Why if you don’t save the post, it does not automatically save it, if you happen to navigate away, arriving back to said page as the closings of tabs consume your fingerly fury. Form does not equal function for an artist using wordpress. When I write by hand I do not need to think of saving such. When written upon pixels, memory is but a mistake away.


The lines are gone that once were written.

post of early 2007

you arrose out of tears for fears
that seem somehow forgotton now
a mere semblance of your former self.

Trust Each Moment as it is – a year coming into focus

This year I will thrive to trust each moment as it is. This image is one I play with often. Walking is in our nature. Our footprints are our past. The future is every step one takes. The present is in choice.

Trust Each Moment As It is - eastvanesica - 2007

Trust Each Moment as it is was originally rendered as an assignment to create a screen image for our computers. Feet fascinate me, in the way they choose what direction to go in. They represent our connection to the earth. We are all connected by the soles of our feet.

I continue to use images from my past to create with. I believe it may be the first time in my life I feel this urge to pick up where I left off on paintings, digital renderings, poems ideas. In past years I have attempted to do it all at once. I can’t do that. This is not so much a matter of needing to slow down as it a matter of priority to dig a little deeper into the crevices for the dirt that needs cleaning.

So can a piece of artwork ever be finished? This year, that, is my focus.

Into Today – paragraphed poem

Today I will be small. Today I am humble. Today I am thinking good thoughts. I am thinking sad thoughts of what came before today. I see these sad thoughts through a screen today. This screen is a mail sorter. This mail sorter is the sorter of memories. He can encircle a memory numerous ways using the screens. The screens are emotions associated with a single memory.

There is a special screen which allows her to see herself in the memory… as though she is looking at herself within the memory.

She evolves into third person.

Magna Mater

jessica_doyle_untitledSM.jpgIt is Sunday. I have just woken from a nap. Earlier in the morning Eric drove from the Eastside to Downtown Vancouver to pick my Mom and I up from the hotel. It was 5:30AM then. It was raining then. The first rain Vancouver has seen since the arrival of my mom. My mom is the air now over Canada making her way back to her home in New Brunswick. And I already miss her. We had some breakfast at the airport. It was good. My head was hurting and my mom’s throat was sore. My nose has not stopped running since Tuesday. And yesterday my mom’s nose began running. I was sick with flu or a cold last week. Today it is beginning to end. My mom’s flu or cold is just beginning and now travelling across the country. She caught my Vancouver cold. Between my mom and I we ingested almost a whole bottle of tylenol extra strength this week. The mornings and late evenings were the roughest. The mucous just did not stop. A cough has set in now, telling me it’s almost over. The hot fevers of cold sweat are gone. The joint stiffness is gone.

And my mom is gone. And I miss her.

The sun is shining now. The clouds are dispersed, white and fluffy. The tears we shed are dissapating.

In awe, I am, with the kindred maternal weather system…

Magna Mater

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Chapters of my life, and loving the bounce

Chapter 1

jessicadoyle_sunset.jpgI walked down the sidewalk and
fell into a deep hole.
I couldn’t get out and I couldn’t fugure out why.
It wasn’t my fault.
It took a long time to get out.

Chapter 2

I walked down the sidewalk and
fell into the same hole again.
I couldn’t understand.
It wasn’t my fault.
This time it was easier to get out.

Chapter 3

I walked down the sidewalk and fell into the same hole again.
This time I understood why and it was my fault.
This time it was easier to get out.
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In the side of a mountain, there exists, a place named paradise

pressed_tulipSM.jpgI begin to edit.
Editing I go.
Train of thought…
dismantles itself
hesitating to show.

When unknown
this editing does not exist
it is unatural

Moments pass
words, dialogue want to persist.
Evident, sixty feet down
I jump!,
down down

submerged in clear
glacial blue
melted pure
flowing shining, water
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Enjoy experience, laugh and leave it behind

“Fear drives an artist” She says to me.
I could not respond.

This lead me to thinking about what we had discussed on/from last Wednesday evening, to today. What do you think? Artists are not unlike any other creature. We are creatures of habit and observation. We place deeply feelings of others within ourselves regardless of it’s content. True also for memories, places, people and things. We tend not to forget yet when something is remembered it can take time for us to sort the pieces out to re-create it in our own understanding. An artist remembers, he sees and fortells through art creation. We are not soothsayers but posess some clairvoyance. We are not any weirder than you. We just express it 3-dimensionaly to see, hear, touch, interact or listen with.

And you know, yes, it could be, that, fear drives us to create.

We are the sensitive ones. The ones who love passionately and the ones who mourn with no shame. We know you. We see it. We do not inherently judge it. We are kind. We are crazy. Ok this is making me laugh. I feel like this has become a song and the question has arizen of whether to post or not post as I write this?

And one other thing!


Enjoy experience but leave it behind.
In the centre of that transition, turbulance combusts.
When the body and mind join
that is the true state of being.
All the fumes have evaporated
all the wounds healed
you talked to death
and faced yourself
you are a human being.

Don’t you realize the light at the end of the tunnel is yourself? Have you not fallen asleep and in the midst of that special time before you are asleep yet, not quite awake, you begin to see a tunnel. You are flying through a tube of many colors in a universe awash with stars. It twists and it turns as you spiral onwards beginning to look for the end. I reached it a few times. I saw this woman in disguise. She came to focus and said hello. We smiled and disapeared together.

Many times during my life has this similar remembered subconscious realization occurred, from early childhood onwards to now. All of us have distinct unusual brains. How wonderful.

and I hit [Publish]