Art and the philosophy of life

Archive for the ‘Angel’ Category

The party is over for the younger chicklets, so the closing song is just being sung by the Chickmas Angel. Please sing along to the tune of: CHRISTMAS TIME IS HERE. THANK YOU FROM THE ANGEL.

Chickmas time is here
memories appear
of those we love
and those we’ve lost
we hold them all so dear

hoofs and paws are light
feathers dance at night
talons strong
tap out this song
birds peep with all their might

lambs and cows and goats
all dressed up in coats
bunny ears
and lots of cheers
will echo through the years

Ravens dive and twirl
mice all roll and curl
roosters crow
and hens chirp low
all welcoming the Light

we all wish for peace
violence to cease
cages gone
we don’t belong
on plates don’t eat our feet

that’s my Chickmas song
time to run along
you are loved
my song’s your hug
stars glitter bright above



That was transltead from the Angel’s CHICKMAS SONG (she wrote it herself)

Peep peep peep chirp
chirp peep
peep peep peep peep
peep chirp, tweet, peep
chirp chirp peep peep

tweet, warble, chirp chirp
peep, peep chirp peep
chirp chirp
peep peep chirp peep
chirp chirp chirp peep peep


The Chickmas Angel wrote a poem, so she is opening the gala event, a well as closing it later,with a song.

said the angel
peep songs of joy
and peace
of kindness
and sharing
of gentleness
and love
not only at
but all year through
chicklets are
pure of heart
as are the warming bunnies
the horses, lambs
piggies and ducks
all living beings
should be treated
with respect
because the
Chickmas Angel
said so
and she knows it’s true
because she wrote this poem herself
the hens watch over us
and the roosters
wake up the sun everyday
we rescue those
who need help
heal those we can
and we keep our feathers
so on this Chickmas Eve
know that
you are all beautiful
and loved so very much

The Chickmas Angel…

Sweet Pea is the Chickmas Angel this year.  She’s very happy about that and the Stage Crew made sure the straps that will be holding her up, during the show, won’t hurt her wings at all.  She’s going to chirp a Chickmas song at the end of the gala event and everyone is looking forward to that.

A short story about angels…

no angel neon signage

“I’d like a room, please.”

The guy behind the desk looked at the short, balding man in front of him. “Sorry, you can’t stay here.”

“I just need a room for tonight.”

“No vacancy.”

“You just flipped the sign,” said the man, tiredly.

“No shirt, no shoes, no room,” said the guy.

“That’s crazy,” snapped the man.  “I’m wearing a shirt and shoes.”

“It means, we reserve the right to say you can’t stay here.”

“It’s because I’m an angel, isn’t it,” sighed the man.

“That’s what the sign says,” said the guy.  “no angel.”

“What do you have against angels?” asked the man, holding his wings tightly folded against his back.

“Angels leave feathers everywhere and some of you are pious and evil.”

The angel unfurled his wings and turned a kind of dark blue with red highlights.  His voice seemed to come from somewhere else, when he said, “I could destroy this building before you could blink and…”

“That’s another thing,” said the guy.  “You’re always putting on a show. Always yelling at someone, turning colors, or threatening non angels. It pisses all of us off.  So go find an angelic hotel to put you up for the night.”

“Wait, what?” asked the man.  “We do those things?”

“You just DID one of those things.”

“I thought your kind worshiped us,” said the man, refolding his wings.

“Dude, the only thing people worship nowadays is money, power and stuff.  You aren’t  even on the list.”

“It never used to be that way.”

“Yeah.  You could say that about a lot of things.”

“So, I can’t stay here?  Even if I promise to be good?”

“Truth is hard to come, so no.  You absolutely cannot stay here.”

“Fine, then I’ll sit on your roof and spit on those who come to your door.”

“You’re thinking of gargoyles.”

“Oh,” said the man.  “You’re right.”

“Why are you on earth anyway?”

“It’s where we come to let our wings down.  Being an angel is so boring and I seriously hate the music and all that gold.   You people have lots of violence and horrible things happen to you all the time.  That’s why we made you the way we did, so you could entertain us.  Your suffering, hatred, terror and deaths are entertaining, kind of like your television programs, except you’re real,” he laughed.

Five minutes later the guy was nailing the angel’s wings to the wing wall.

“Hey,” said Jake, from behind the bar.  “Another one?”

“Yes, he was into suffering, so I thought I’d show him what it felt like.”

“It’s the only way they learn,” said Jake, shaking his head. “The only way.”

Sign…a poem

no angel neon signageif angels exist
I think they’re grumpy
guys with swords
who go around killing
other angels
in gang wars

they probably have a
secret handshakes
and drink a lot
of Fairy Wine
at clandestine
where they laugh
and pound on tables
with their fists
about lack of vacation time
poor internet reception
and those
bloody awful

I wonder
if they have
cool snacks
or do they fly around
in white robes
with a rope
around their waists
looking for pizza

do they speak
other than yelling
when attacking each other
or do they communicate

do they flit through the
looking at all life forms
or do they only exist
where they are made up

do they have genders
take showers
or do they just splash around
in the rain
do they brush their teeth

has anyone noticed
that we have made angels
in our OWN image
our imaginations
only go so far
after all

the thing is
we can believe
anything we like
about angels
we make them up
just like everything else
well MEN made them up
that’s why angels are male
and because males make things up
the power always
exists in the males they invent

think about the horrible things
they make up about
and how all women
suffer because of it


Photo:  Light Backgrounds

Angels…a short story

white feather in close up photography

“Did you hear about all the angels falling out of the sky?” she asked, making sucking noises with her straw, twirling it across the bottom of her glass.

“I thought that was hype,” he said, adding more sugar to his coffee.

“No.  It’s really happening.  They just fall and splat on the sidewalk.  Supposedly, there are feathers everywhere.”

“Do they all die?”

She shrugged.  “Not sure.  Some do, I guess.”

“Where are they falling from?”

“Not a clue.  I don’t believe in heaven, so maybe from another planet.”

“There is no other planet close enough for them to fall from.”

“I know that,” she said.  “I don’t know where they’re falling from, but apparently it’s dangerous, since one of them fell on a dog and almost crushed the poor thing.”

“I never though about that,” he said, nodding.  “I can see where that would be a problem.  What are they doing with the bodies?”  He looked up from his phone for a second.

“Morgue, for the dead ones and I think the live ones, just get up and walk away.  Not sure.”

“Hmmm,” he mumbled, his thumbs moving across the tiny keyboard.

“Don’t you think we should be more…I don’t know…surprised, or amazed, that angels are falling from the sky?”

“Probably, but this is what a jaded society is like.”

“I guess,” she said.  “Still, they’re probably just aliens, since angels don’t exist.”

“Probably,” he said, never looking up.  “Are you going to eat the rest of the sweet roll?”

“No.  You can have it,” she said, sliding the dish toward him.  “I just think we should be excited about this, or want to go and see what’s happening.”

“Look on your phone, I’m sure there are a million pictures on line.”

“That’s just it.  We live secondhand lives.  Everything is seen through a screen or over a device of some kind.  Pictures from others.  First hand experiences are disappearing and lives are being lived through screens.”

“So?” he said.

“I want more out of life than that.”

“Why?  Who cares how you see something, as long as you see it?”

“I do.”

“I don’t understand,” he said, staring at her.

“I know,” she said, touching his hand.  “Goodbye Dean.  It’s been fun.”

“You’re leaving me?”

“You won’t even notice.  You have a lot of pictures of me in your phone.  Just look at those,” she said walking away.



From Candy…


Spot and Elizabeth are responsible for decorating a tree for one of the guest houses…


The angel in my workshop…

You just never know about angels…short story

“It’s true then,” she whispered, looking down at herself.  “The blood on a shirt does actually look like a Rorschach blot.”

She crumpled gracefully to the ground and lay still.  The sky looked pretty and she could hear birds singing. Those things were nice, weren’t they?  She couldn’t remember, not exactly.  The splotch on her shirt was growing larger.  Wetter.  She was bleeding out.  She tried to smile, but couldn’t.  Too much effort.  She felt heavy and slow.  A song was bouncing around inside her mind.  She wanted to hum, or sing some of the words, but just the idea of moving her lips, made her close her eyes.  So, this is what dying feels like, she thought.  It’s kind of like going to sleep, after a really hard night.  She coughed.

“Hey.  You okay?” he asked, squatting down next to her.  “Looks like you’ve been shot,” he said, dialing 911.   “Help will be here in a few.  Just hold on.  I gotta go.  Don’t remember who helped you,” he added.

Did he say, hold on?  Hold on to what? she asked herself.

The sirens blotted out the bird song.  Something was on her face, people were shouting, and then, there was nothing at all.


“It’s too soon for you to be back,” said THE voice.

“Well, I didn’t shoot myself,” she snapped.

“Watch your tone.”

“Why?  What’s it going to do?  And, for your information, you can’t SEE a tone, so it’s not possible to WATCH it,” she said, gesturing with both hands.   “If you think it’s so easy, why don’t you put on a human suit and go down there yourself.  Or do you just like telling everyone else what to do?”

“You seem to have forgotten your place.”

You seem to forgotten that there is no place, except in your own mind.  Things have changed, the old days are gone.”

“I could have your wings for that.  Insubordination will not be tolerated,” he said, his voice low, loud and hard.

“Try it,” she said, opening her wings, balling her hands into fists.  “Go ahead, Michael,   give it your best shot.”

A flaming sword appeared in his hand.

“Really?  That’s the best ya got?” she laughed.  “I’ve been on EARTH.  What you think of as fighting is child’s play, so put up or shut up, Michael.  You think your flaming sword can scare me?” she asked.  “Death, LIVES on earth, so get over yourself.  I’m going back.  I have things to do.  Things none of you pristine, untouched, angels, know anything about.  Now, GET OUT OF MY WAY, OR I SWEAR, I’LL TAKE YOU OUT, right here, right now!”

“What has happened to you?” he asked, softly.

“EARTH happened to me.  Here’s the thing.  People are no longer afraid of you.  Humans are used to war and death.  They don’t feel awe, or respect, or amazement, at the thought of gods, or angels.  If you went to earth and showed them who you were, they would capture you, dissect you, put you in a cage, or museum, or just kill you outright.  They DON’T CARE.  Those days of ignorance, of worship, are OVER, Michael.  You might be news for fifteen minutes.  The military would take charge of your sword, so they could make a million of them, to kill more people, faster, and more easily.  But that’s all you’d be good for.  You need to get with the program.  You are no longer relevant. Humans have turned a corner. They have lost their sense of fear, terror and blind faith.  It took them long enough, but they finally did it.  The more they learned, the less you began to make sense and the more unreal you because.  As I said, times have changed.  You know what happens when beings are forgotten, Michael?  The disappear forever.”

She jerked awake in the ER, pulled the leads off of her chest, and legs, and the needles out of her arms.   She got up, thanked everyone, and left.  She pointed at a Harley sitting in the parking lot.  The engine started and she tied her gang colors around her neck.  She knew the guy who tried to help her was supposed to be her enemy, from a rival gang.  He should have been glad to see her die but he tried to save her.  She revved the engine, music to her ears, and wondered what humans would think, if they knew what the angels among them actually looked like.  She nodded at an angel, an unwashed, homeless man, leaning against the EMERGENCY sign.  He smiled, and held out his bottle, toward her.  She pulled into traffic and went back to her life.  A researcher with wings, who was going to hunt down and kill the one who shot her.







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