Ralph F. Dunne — Computer Art & Poetry
The poems and art on this page were done by Ralph F. Dunne. Ralph is a recovering stroke victim, and the poems have been a step towards his recovery. The computer images were done prior to the stroke. He was paralyzed on the left side — and he is left handed. This has hindered, but not stopped, his painting and drawing. Some of his recent work is included, and will be updated at regular intervals.
Recovery poems
Why won't my body cooperate?
I want to climb mountains
Again.
Cross meadows!
Not just meadows.
But MEADOWS!
Meadows with soft spring grass,
Flowers jostling for attention beyond granite stones;
Oak trees leaning over dreaming cows,
As if they knew what a mother hen felt about her chicks;
Small, slow moving streams carrying bits of
unidentifiable, decaying flotsam
In fascinating starts and stops,
Inviting a wayfarer to follow their course with eye, if not with feet.
I wonder if I'll ever have the chance to roam again.
Melting snow,
Row of drops lining up and jostling for position
to leap into space and obliterate themselves
into mud, grass, dog or person passing by.
Today, I caught hold of time.
I held it in my hands.
An impossibility of reasoning,
Sitting in stark contradiction.
Now, I know it can be held, be examined,
But I can't prove, nor do I want to.
For then I will prove to myself it never, nor could happen.
All, one time or another in their lives, have,
or will, hold time in their hands: they must,
for it is a part of their life-giving, life-sustaining, life-getting force.
And, when you can't hold it, won't hold it,
then you have sought death.
That you will hold, for the compulsion is beyond you to forego.
You can't stop yourself, for you do not control your life force.
Who will hold time in his hand for but a moment in all this universe.
Come to my hill.
Let the wind blow across your body.
Sit on the grass
and let the earth absorb tensions, the worries, the fears.
Hear the insects hum.
Hear the belled cow.
Hear the cry of the hawk.
Feel the warm sunshine as each muscle relaxes.
Smell the sweetness.
Come to my hill and find deep within your mind
places opening you had forgotten were there.
Warmth rushing behind your thought;
strength surging through your veins as man again becomes
one with creation, walking at peace once more in the garden
that is my hill.
Today, the sun was slicing through the fog in ribboned streaks,
tearing edges, and dropping wisps slowly to the ground
to be absorbed by green bushes or entrapped in bare, twigged trees.
Computer images 1990–1994
Computer images were done in Lumena and Crystal 3D software.
