KENDALL KESSLER'S OIL PAINTING DIARY

Friday, April 25, 2014

Roanoke Ghost Story near The Blue Ridge Parkway and Clyde Kessler poem in Red Rose...


My Artwork


brautumncopyrightBlue Ridge Autumn  Original Painting has been Sold

Prints on Paper or Canvas Available at   KENDALL KESSLER ART



lakesunsetcopyright copyLake Sunset  Original 5"x7" Oil Painting   $75.00

Prints on Paper or Canvas Available at   KENDALL KESSLER ART







pinklightcopyrightPink Light   Original 30"x40" Oil Painting    $2425.00

Prints on Paper or Canvas Available at   KENDALL KESSLER ART


Roanoke Theater Ghost Story

The Grandin Theater in Roanoke was built in 1932 and is one of the first theaters with sound.  It was closed for a while in the '50s and a homeless family lived there. Two of the children died there and some say that late at night you can hear a baby crying in the stairwell.

Former projectionists have stories about strange occurrences late at night.  One time a small boy was sighted at the top of a staircase and the projectionist followed him because he thought the child hadn't left the theater after the movie.

He saw the child walk straight through the doors of the nearest screening room.

I found this story on the online version of Collegiate Times.  The article is called  Ghostly Stories, Haunted Sites, and Sinister Sisters Who Scare.

Life with The Word and Bird Man - Clyde Kessler


Yesterday I printed one of the two poems that Clyde just published in the online magazine, Red Rose.  He is publishing his work all the time now and is included in an anthology.  Here is the other poem that was published.

I hope you like it!  I think his work is great!  It is not easy reading so take your time and think about each word!
Elegy for a Time Freak
Clyde Kessler
I burn sundials on the moon.
Other time freaks are crating the ashes,
naming them all for all their frozen days.
At night, I know my true wish list
is a crater full of rum, a dark
breed of whiskey flowering like stars.
At work, you can trust my lighters
and rolling flints. The noon shadow
on my next bonfire is favoring silver
like a thunder-cloud to brood the Dead Sea.
There are no ratty scrolls here, nor heaven.

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