Art Link Obstacles Friends Along the Way I started out on this  road all alone    Fear and Pain       my only companions          I wondered if            I would lose myself              The road seemed dark                and fraught with peril                  ’til I found I had                    Friends along the way                        As the road wound                          through hard terrain                            I sometimes doubted                              my ability to go on                                But I fought back                                  the Fear                                    and worked through                                      the Pain                                        with the help of my                                          Friends along the way                                            As time passed by                                          the road ascended                                      Obstacles less frequent                                   but harder to pass                                And at times                              I needed the                            places of refuge                          respite and care                        offered to me by                      Friends along the way                  I’ve come to the crest                of the mountain              I’ve climbed            As I look down below          I see all of the        barriers crossed      the challenges I met    and the lessons I learned  I will never forget those Friends along the way  What lies over    the top of the road      There is no        way of knowing          But deep in my heart            From the depths              of my soul                I know that I’ll have                  The company of my                    Friends from along the way –Robyn Elaine Serven –July, 1994

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Art Link The Dark Side of Redworld An Ocean of Blood A drip of blood from one perspective unless its yours or mine It falls on the ground in the highest places in the villages of Nepal where blood runs cold it trickles down the mountainside through far Kashmir into Afghanistan staining the banks of the streams that carve the hidden valleys and splash into the rivers staining them too with the blood of guilty and the innocent alike ever downward through the desert of Iraq There are other mountains in Bosnia and Kosovo where the blood also spilled running eastward perhaps through the valleys of Chechnya and further on to color red the desert of Uzbekistan Blood also spilled in the jungles of the Congo and Rwanda and the oil plains of Nigeria flowing into the rivers ever onward ’til the rivers ran red Here too the blood eventually sank into the deserts of Eritrea and Darfur and the bazaars of the Sudan and Somalia The desert is stained with blood The bloody fist of oppression squeezes the life out of the jungle of Myanmar and the farms of Zimbabwe The mountains of Peru and Columbia add more than their share The Big Muddy is stained as it passes by what used to be the Big Easy but it’s sure not easy anymore and the rivers run red with blood carrying it to the ocean an ocean of blood bathing our world Our home is built on the blood of others yet still we add more or stand by watching it run Our home is sinking as the blood-tainted ocean rises The blood will consume us all in the end –Robyn Elaine Serven –December 26, 2005

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Since I came out, I have been especially active in trying to promote National Coming Out Day in the fall, World AIDS Day on December 1, and Out and Proud festivities at colleges and universities wherever I could reach them.  The latter are usually in the Spring, since Gay Pride events usually are scheduled in the summer when activity on campus is light.

What if they gave an Out and Proud Week and nobody was?  Or maybe it’s just that nobody cared.

We arranged some programs and selected some going on around us and tried to encourage members of our campus community to attend.  There was little interest exhibited.  Not from straight folks.  Not from GLBT folks.  Actually, more straight folks showed up than gay folks…and some of the straight folks clearly hadn’t reached a positive place with regard to the issues.

And some do not understand that issues is plural.

I have traveled light through this world.  I intend to depart it lightly as well.

I have few things.

What stuff would that be?  And who of my family do people imagine are going to fight over what I have?  Other than my books, my clothes and my record collection…which fits in an orange crate…all my “stuff” fits in the shelves and drawers of one desk (or, as has been done before, the back seat of the car I used to have, including the records).

And most of the stuff I have has no intrinsic value.  Bits of blown glass, a few shells, a couple of rocks, some carved wood, a couple of kaleidoscopes…

I’ve gone through my life with few things.  What more do I need than what I need to get me through the day?  This day.  Maybe tomorrow.  Next month seems a world away.  

Art Link Bleeding Bleeding the Colors I have bled blood red Three decades later than I would have liked, aided by a surgeon’s knife, but I have bled blood red. I’ve bled before, just not that color. It’s the shade I was missing in my world. I’ve bled the sickly yellow of fear and the desolate blue of sadness, the empty grey of loneliness and the worn out brown of long years of waiting. I’ve bled the bluish purple of pain and the emerald green of envy, the dark scarlet of anger and the all-consuming black of depression. I’ve bled the purplegreengold sparkles in my vision as I fell asleep to dream of a life that I couldn’t live. I’ve bled the tarnished silverpink of a love that I thought was real but was an illusion/delusion and abusive and wrong. I’ve bled the dusky rainbows of confusion and turmoil and the toxic hues of insanity and dis-ease and death. I’ve bled the colors until they ceased existing and I would have joined them, but I finally bled the blood red of life. I’ve bled red twice now and the colors are back, sharp and crisp and bright and airy and joyful. I’ve bled red twice now and the colors are real, and they don’t need me to bleed them, for I have bled blood red. –Robyn Elaine Serven –March, 1995

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Art Link Eggstraction On the Borderlands The land on the border is fertile The people are kind gentle content for the most part until of course the patrol comes by to force everyone to move to one side or the other That causes great turmoil on the borderlands so sometimes we move the border when they aren’t looking –Robyn Elaine Serven –March 3, 2006

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Muse in the Morning

The muses are ancient.  The inspirations for our stories were said to be born from them.  Muses of song and dance, or poetry and prose, of comedy and tragedy, of the inward and the outward.  In one version they are Calliope, Euterpe and Terpsichore, Erato and Clio, Thalia and Melpomene, Polyhymnia and Urania.

It has also been traditional to name a tenth muse.  Plato declared Sappho to be the tenth muse, the muse of women poets.  Others have been suggested throughout the centuries.  I don’t have a name for one, but I do think there should be a muse for the graphical arts.  And maybe there should be many more.

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Art Link Solitary We are Normal: a duet Would you please Lend me food? I am hungry. We do not know you. You are alien. You are not welcome. We are normal. Can I please Share your water? I am thirsty. We own the water. You are strange. You cannot have any. We are normal. Will you then Share your fire? I am cold. We need all the warmth. You are other. You must go away. We are normal. Is it too much to ask, To be able to live, To be able to be? We don’t like your kind. You are different. You make us think too much. We are normal. But all I want is To live in peace, To be happy. You have no right to be happy. You offend us. You hurt us by existing. We are normal. I know how to love, How to care, How to hurt. You are not one of us. You don’t belong. We want you to die. We are normal. –Robyn Elaine Serven —June, 1994

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Art Link Landscape of the Mind The Candy-colored Clown In my dreams the eagle transforms into the dove of peace every soul is sparked by precious pieces of Martin and Coretta their essence permeates the landscape of my mind fairness prevails people are kind nice caring helpful human warmth flows toward everyone through everything replenishing the fabric of this mortal coil There’s always fair weather where justice reigns the justice that Martin saw from the mountain top Then I awake let out a gasp and cry out in despair –Robyn Elaine Serven –February 17, 2006

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