About Me – Poet & Artist

“Artists—painters, sculptors, musicians—have long known that being attuned to the light, the ability to see deeply, connects us with the holy in a fresh and new way.” 

~ J. Brent Bill, Mind the Light: Learning to See with Spiritual Eyes, pp. 10-11

As a self-taught artist/photojournalist/portrait photographer/landscape photographer, I knew these were some of my goals from an early age and that to commit myself to this challenging, yet rewarding venue was definitively worthy. My artistic positioning may very well have begun with sculptor Gian Lorenzo Bernini lending his sojourning to the sacred and divine path during the Baroque Period, the white marble sculpture of Ecstasy of Teresa around 1652. I believe I had the same vision of intent  perhaps as Bernini’s sense of wonder in a spiritual and erotic pinnacle that highlights this captured moment in time; either caught in a white marble stone, or within the medium of a black & white matted photographic print, the moment lasting eternity a blessing the artist and viewer alike may come to be in deep gratitude for. It is thus with my image Pondering Judith.

I would describe my personal related experience of Teresa’s mystical and spiritual orgiastic ecstasy through a multi-time encounter with the Divine while in a silent state of awe upon interior prayer, and the holy gaze through love with a transparency of reciprocal love, where this ecstatic love led me navigating the divine path through a mystical relationship with the Divine. I would also describe another of personal related experiences hearing with the ears of my soul a woman’s voice as a teen, thus calling me by name within two successive moments.  It was during this era I began my journey for an artistic and mystical approach to my photographic Art. I sense all creatives share the mystical in some Universal and Omnipresent manner.

 As an artist one learns to be creative in so many ways. Consequently, I have discovered as an accomplished artist one may unearth the hidden treasures through a fervent dedication to the ecstatic moment, and how to weave the mystical into fine art and discover a whole new world of everlasting fire witnessed with every living breath. But before this may occur the novice must isolate him/herself to a point of cooperating with this spiritual amalgamation of the subject matter and coalesce this element with the emotional passion we become engaged by the parameters of the soul. We induce features the soul witnesses for us. Be a revolutionary mystic with art and shoot for that which we cannot see. Living in a land of gratitude may be required, as we search out a location to commune with. Art is the process of creativity, and I have once heard that to be creative is to be close to God. Let that time be near and stay creative!

Old Photography vs. New Photography

So – I have been toying around with photography since 1972, perhaps earlier. I know I was a teen. I have learned the difference from other photographers what is good photography and what is not. My photography, well…I keep pushing the envelope. So much to consider. But, it has become a new and perpetual love. Following are images I consider over-edited. I began with RAW files and diminished them to nothing with software. I shall not do this any longer since I have learned less is more. So images posted in this set are good compositions. But, I’ve got to learn to leave them alone. You see for yourself.

My Two Best Friends Serving in the USMC.
A Ship I photographed Sailing into Port Corpus Christi, Texas
The Gulf of Mexico
Along the San Antonio Mission Trail.
Beautiful. 2009
Lucky Peak Reservoir
Near Boise, Idaho, 2009
Won the Exposure Award 2015 Animal Collection
Digital Library in the Louvre, Paris, France
San Antonio Riverwalk Church
Old Post Office Building
San Antonio, Texas
Morning Sunrise Over Stadium
San Antonio, Texas
Veterans Park
Boise, Idaho
Our Beloved Deceased Best Friend
Lucky – 2

A Change of Thought – [heart]…

Often time, I conclude that my mind always is anxious and worried with my past and/or the thoughts therein. I continue to think and discover what I am seeing are my thoughts always protruding into the vastness of my own human frailty.  Once I have the time to re-think my current lifestyle situation I can (upon true prayer where I pray for only God’s will to be), seeking only His Kingdom first, and then letting it be, can come to a realization my mind’s fixation with worry and the past is the cause of the delusion about an era from which my mind and the subsequent thought system shall suffer. The past is gone. The future is not here. Only the present moment can be among us. Truth may be obstructed in this terrible way of thinking.

Past thinking (and thoughts), is not an easy thing to rid of. I wrote a meditation in The Upper Room (2003), regarding to Let Go and Let God. In fact, this was my title. Even though I wrote this very brief devotional I have always had the trouble of re-thinking my past. I wrote with the notion revealed to me at the time to simply let go of the worry (and during these days I worried excessively), and to trust God. This requires practice and requires time of which we should have no avail of. Time is not our worry. We leave time in God’s hands and simply allow Him (through a personal trust), to engage in our lives as He will. Acceptance of God’s mercy, love, and strength within our own thought system generates positivity with the practice of the former beatitudes. This is and has become my way of thought. If we change our thoughts and try to understand God’s Holy Spirit manifests love, and if God is for us, then, who can be against us.

My own personal struggles have “in the end” set me free to give God who I am in prayer because prayer is all we have. God is all we have. We were created in “earth” and to “earth” we shall return, but our bodies only. Our minds will go with that and we shall continue in spirit and love only if we allow it. We have to render God control over our lives before we know and experience His beautiful peace.


The peace of the Lord comes by way of a non-contentious heart through judging not his own brother, for I shall not judge you based upon a simple word(s) for they remain illusory. Illusion leads to judgement and judgement leads to hell (upon earth).

This world shall not end in total destruction but only through the spoken or embedded words within a man’s heart through the judgement of the least of these.

Peace, will she ever be found in the hearts of a biased crowd, or from men who scream and shout out loud?!

I do not believe so.

Perhaps within an illusory plain, a dimension of humanity’s perceptions, or dreams.

But I doubt that as well.

And, I know you know me not, for we have traveled a different spherical dimension, of the core of the heart, the other based upon principle…your perspective, and my transparency.

Thank God the Immortal One, Holy even within the depths of our humanity, we sin, and we suffer, and we judge, therefore by which we judge of the least of these, we think we are in our own alleged legal rights, judged by our own thoughts, and so on, and so on.

The Mystical Mirage of Looking Inside

Traveling inward I discover the tempest for a night of one-thousand nights strewn in a darkness so deep I no longer see, for I have become blind by the madness of the humanity factor. Can it be so a light shines within the shadows of a demononic plague? Or, is it just within this landscape of the bones left behind from my traumatized soul?

To whom may I pray for a tranquil reprieve exonerating me from this sudden death? I turn then by the will of Heaven to the Mother of exculpation, “O Clement! O Loving! O Sweet Mother thus crowned in Heaven, pray thus, now to save me!

Your earthly visit has begun a new incarnational transformation within this mystery for a golden glow that surrounds you as aura. You have instructed me as I die a thousand deaths upon this landscape for the inkwells of the poetics that has begun to do its work to listen. Forty-three centuries of a wise-woman way may bear witness to this mystical mirage of looking inside. I do, and have come upon treasures of not bone and ash, but of the flesh within my once stoney heart. I have been reprieved as I mature in a spirit-filled journey save yet, yes, from a woman’s soul, transparent rainwaters over which so much wasteland punishment lay.

I lay adjourned, seeking only the reward you have bequeathed me. Now, justice fulfilled within a transformed heart, I see the ancient cliched light for my redemption that walks now through a field of revitalized grain of graces, the truest measure of a man who once walked the tarry pits of a hell so deep, the only angel to save me was in fact, the Mother of all Angels.

O Clement. O Loving. O Sweet Mother of God.

A Black Man Once Told Me

John Gregory Evans © 2019

It remains not mine to say whether I would pity a colorful word of verb and noun, or, from where it may come, or the color of its skin, for I have seen the Lord, and, know him to be of spirit not acquainted with such superficialities. I believe in you O soul of the deepest of transparent hearts, only to reach out in love for our lovers with skin as dark as the night. The ocean is deep, and so may a man’s heart burn in love for his neighbor of color and his words that reflect a right to truths the earth refuses to hear.

I become saddened in knowing the earth was in despair, and know from whence it came, where colonial powers for a haughty jurisdiction influenced only by fear lingers, why, I hear my brother’s cry, not at a distance but very close by. For man or woman to write with an open heart, infused only by the transparent Spirit of God, may we come to know the justice that suffuses us all.

Time, and time again, truth has been revealed to me by men and women who offer up a rose, whether brown, or black, or red, or white, the rose remains the same soft luminance of light – undefined by a single atom of gratuitous action, I must concede to the truth of Absolutes, where, right is right, and wrong is wrong, but, yet I say, the truth shall always be the truth.

Write on, dear brothers and sisters of faith…your truth has already been heard within the beauty of the writer’s word. A poet’s truth shall always know. Our experience is of an invincible and indestructible value. Our truths from an oppressive state must be made known to this regimental world into the hearts of the eremite, hermit, loner from fright.

Oh, Dear Angel – Come Back to Me!

John Gregory Evans © 2019

Arriving home late one night, appeared a gentleman from out of the darkness, from out of night,

His skin was dark, his face was bright, for he carried a smile of intended delight,

A thing was noticed within the course of this night, was that the gentleman was – politely polite.

I feared this man, in a sense or two –

But discovered his truth was a truth anew.

I doubted as Thomas, for fear rest in my heart,

I had a family to serve and the young man I served not.

I feared this man, in a sense or two –

But discovered his truth was a truth anew.

Though my heart and soul queried his appeal, an after thought remained as I closed the door –

And in a flash of an instant I realized I was wrong,

Went after the man, and discovered he was gone!

I feared this man, in a sense or two –

But discovered his truth was a truth anew.

And I stared and I thought, deep into the night –

Was he my angel to travel with in a year of countless lights?

Oh, Dear Angel – Come Back to Me Now where there remains no more fright.

I feared this man, in a sense or two –

But discovered his truth was a truth anew.

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© John G Evans and mylastmuse.com 1998 – 2019.Unauthorized use of this material without an expressive and written permission from this site’s author/poet, John G Evans is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that a full and clear credit is rendered to John G Evans and mylastmuse.com with an imperative to routing back to the original content. Thank you in advance for following these imperatives.

Silver Love Under a Crescent Moon

O love! This contented night of a crescent moon lie sweetly b’ neath a drunken sky, and your hips of round succumb to the dark, the burn of love persuades me to dance naked with imparted lips, the slaughter of my soul…and finger-tips. The tilt of your head as the burn rushes through, the salted flesh as you kiss my wounds. Your back, your breasts, your virgin thighs, entices my time with your dark glazed eyes. We build this altar from love comes two, as this cycle of seasons drinks a kiss from you, then freely I say! So alluringly imbued.

Divinity sleeps within us but rises to the flame, the candle in the darkness assails each vice a blame. Though beauty sleeps like an infant child, a stable’s length away, where beads of round curled ’rounding the urn, prayers lifted again, once more today, as the virgin loin’s blend where two will play out each other’s fleshly request. Beauty’s plea, her cry, of a Siren’s new birth, the earth, the sky, the moon at our feet, petitions which pulsate the flame and the burn, the I in our we will never possess you, no matter your love which sweetens new heights, I ask of your favor to lend me your hand, embody me, personify me, I, a slave in your land. Silhouettes from the night as we burst out as flame, release from inside your hijab as myself do surrender – this lion to tame.

Though losing our essence, where within the depths of this blackness we lie drunken in love, we – are nowhere to be found, but within there is God, who performs only and through this stillness of grace, and of the diffusions of discernment, so deeply imbued – as his Voice remains silent, I think, Yes! This is his Face.