Art and Poetry of Dayne Hammond
Poetry by Dayne


The eddy of the well swirls within.

The spider, tied to its web is haunting the threshold.

The alligator, a deep, scaly green catches his prey, spewing rubies into the air.

The Chinese merchant stows away change for his daughters allowance.

The pitiful drunk pisses on a stoop near a hotel lobby.

Oil sizzles and bubbles as frozen fries enter the cauldron.

A mystical sage, atop his hilltop cave bares his body to the moon at night.

A death row inmate sheds a tear as he approaches the electric chair.

A baby is born into the arms of a woman who barely loves herself.

A book is burned for telling a story too true.

My mother kisses my forehead in between sips of her wine.

Music plays in the glowing room of two teenage lovers.

The scent of engine smoke is smelled by diners on the canal.

A women’s red heel gets caught in a crack on a Grecian veranda.

A leaf grows heavy under the weight of thunderous rain drops.

A swan tucks her head into white feathers as she grows tired.

The Latin family gather around in a small room crowded with candles as their matriarch slips away.

God kisses the cheek of Jesus in their Heavenly home as night falls over North America.

Morning light dances upon the ridges of Tibet as the red-sheathed monks eat breakfast.

Life ends,

never for a second to the eyes of the great observers.

A Green River​

A green river is a place to rest your head beside and dream of endless skies covering the plains and plantations and dense, scattered trees of a nearby town who clings to life on the dirty fingers of men fastening things together and tearing things apart.

            A green river runs under the covered bridge where children play and throw pennies from, wishing that their neighbors son would fall deeply in love with them or dreaming of a baseball caught in Yankee stadium followed by their crowd’s tremendous roars. Children who one day look at their reflections and see a child, only stretched and broadened with the hurried static of someone who is wanted somewhere far beyond the town and have nearly forgotten of their penny-bridge dreams.

            A green river watches the people of this town and bends near it at times to be close the moments when humans hold each other, keep their promises, or tell the truth, even when it hurts. However, sometimes the river slinks away when the voices of these creatures are used against one another and cause their human eyes to shed river of their own.

            See, rivers have eyes too, when little toes are dipped in its waters for the first time or a penny full of wishes hits its surface, the river sees.

            A green river is a friend to people and never sleeps, only slows in parts.

            A green river touches us as we touch it, and carries our lives into the sea.


I have been painting all my life and have discovered that my work reflects my discerning, unique view of humankind in all of it's diversity and forms.   I believe  that my pieces reveal elements of cultural and social truths, including the irony of life.  I strive to create thought provoking work that invites the viewer to reflect and question how their conditioned, and perhaps counterproductive ideas sustain their biased views of reality.  I would describe my artistic style as a blend of surrealism and abstract expressionism.

The existential theme that pervades my art and poetry is that human beings are condemned to freedom and choice; and the anguish and anxiety that emerges from this realization. Thus, powerful, vivid emotions are evident in my work.  My poetic style is free verse, narrative and magical realism.  It speaks to the mind of a person who feels and perceives in my art images depicting anguished, facial expressions and confusion.  These images portray the suffering of individuals living with incurable, inescapable  symptoms of mental illness and addiction.  My work is inspired by the painter Jean Michel Basquiat and writer Gabriel Garcia Marquez.

I have been painting since the age of seven and began writing in elementary school.  A poem I wrote about 911 was published in a book when I was in fifth grade. I took three private painting lessons with a retired art teacher who taught me the basics of color theory.