Poems
Poems
Watercourse way ( a poem)
I pour the paint
Up and down the canvas
and let it run
Ultramarine and Phthalo blue
like a memory of ancient waters
holding the pale sunlight in
its liquid embrace
Picasso had his Guernica
Michelangelo his Sistine Chapel
I only have this canvas
and a vision of God's face
reflected in the depths
of the watercourse way
Angel's wing
No one knew
she would die
so soon
after her
dream.
Silent angel ,
messenger of light,
almost transparent in
the darkness,
holding out a starry hand:
“come with me”.
I was a child then.
I am an old man now.
The veils are becoming thinner
between this world
and the next.
In the darkness
while others sleep,
I stand alone,
pick up my brush,
and paint my mothers Angels.
Waiting here
for their silent
outstretched
hands.
5 am a poem 5am. not much sleep but with coffee in hand I come to the dimly lit room to ponder my current painting in progress It seems worthless. a wAste of time. trite predictable and something no one would choose to hang. in their living room alrighty then let's get on with it. let's even do two more make a tryptich just so I can dislike them all. but maybe just a ray of sun here a cloud obscuring things there a naked tattooed bagpiper standing on a wrecked car in the foreground perhaps is all it needs pick up the brush and get busy
New poem
I did not sleep last
night.
Lying awake
while
the earth
turns
and burns
and spins through the darkness
How can anyone sleep?
In the darkness
I wake my dog
I carry him down the stairs
that he has grown too old
to navigate
I feel my years
spinning through their
own darkness
I have grown too old
to navigate them as well
Pick up the brush
paint boldly
as if it might mean something.
anything.
to someone.
another glorious sunrise
gliding up
the morning sky
cadmium red
and
cobalt blue
I paint paintings for various reasons
just to see where it will go. And what will happen after that
I also paint to keep my logical mind at bay.
I tie it to a chair in the corner, and try to keep it quiet as possible
I will paint when I am inspired, and also when I’m not.
I paint when I am bored.
And when I am excited too. I paint because the clock is ticking
Hours and brushstrokes commingle, and someday come to an end
Just paint something,
anything.
it really doesn’t matter.
something real
something crazy
something happy
or sad
just pick up the brush and do it.
Don’t ask what
or who
or why,
be brave and load the brush
splash the paint on
and see what happens..."