All The Best

“Bon Anniversaire, Ma Mère”

An ability to see beyond the pale,
Recognizing hope in the shadows,
Trusting first and foremost in love;
Questioning allows for discovery –
An independent view of the world,
Finding wonder in unlikely nooks,
Taking refuge in discovered beauty;
Aesthetic purpose is proven worthy.

Not simply to be sought but created,
Via means personal and miraculous,
Through more than possible alone;
More than creation from only within –
Not just given but allowed in as well,
Born both of intention and request,
Granted as journey and destination;
Nothing but children can encompass.

The innate art in all that is organic,
Exists as fact as well as fulfillment,
Internal naïveté becomes a choice;
With childlike wonder thus achieved –
The need to be and have a child met,
So an inherent wisdom is imparted,
For beauty infuses all said and seen;
Thus self-doubt may stand idly by.

All hesitance is ever more in check,
Seeking truth rather than reasons,
Knowing order exists despite chaos;
Choosing inspiration over defeat –
All is perceived with a loving heart,
Becoming more complete every day,
Fostering creations formed and found;
Artistry that goes beyond the page.


© Dorian Dorey Rhodes 24 January 2008

an artist's birthday cake
All the best. by Ari Baker

She’s described me as her alter-ego and she’s my inner compass; we’ve never had it easy but we’ve always had each other. Her love is not only unconditional but unwavering, and her acceptance is as complete as it is encouraging. With bravery summoned in shared nooks, and hope conjured from their many books, it was the two of us “against the world” and we’re still at it – finding our truest selves together. Persistent artist; consistent friend; insistent creative; her inherent appreciation of artistry in all its forms keeps me inspired* and forever young:
“It takes time to grow young.”
— Pablo Picasso
She finds happiness in whatever happiness I meet, she understands what I understand and why I understand it, she prays for me even when I pray for no one but myself, she sees all the beauty I tell her I see and delights in it through my eyes. That is my mother. She would give me the whole world if she could gather it in her arms. That is why she will never have the whole world in her arms; that is why she will always have the whole of my love.”
— Philippos Aristotelous

*This poem even inspired its own offspring, giving birth to a Mother’s Day poem.
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