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..."