~ inspired by a poem written by my friend, the late painter/poet Chris Nancarrow Dusty rose powdered like city girls she wrote of the wild rose that grows along the gravel road winding up her windows and following the Esso truck A painter would know the wild rose colour by heart I suppose to mix in her palette the rose covered cottage, the pink budding blooming perpetually, reflected in rose coloured glasses, the same hue as the quince jelly lining the pantry shelf come September, and the prize ribbon winning raspberry jam too. That colour of morning, soft rose on the horizon Summer shimmering, rosy dawn slowly rising. write a poem that repeats or focuses on a single color.
Birds are puddle bathing, Got me laughing. Golden crowned sparrows; Tiny rainy day Pharaohs. Arrived on a spring day. I wonder if they’ll stay. Attracted by my trees, And of course the seeds I sprinkle on the ground When they come around. We didn’t plan for rain But they don’t complain. Splashing exuberantly Out in the driveway.
Captivated blindly, distressed by lethargy, no grand epiphany No memory of pages book-marked sleepily Here, in a far country, snow viewed from a train window There, a couple arguing in a row boat Lost at sea Blood thirst and anarchy Nameless, gone, through passages like flat-footed Hobbits shuffling off to sleep The hero smokes a cigarette, his one regret a woman in an apron (Martha?) tired of washing dirty feet. A prisoner dreams of freedom from his bug infested sheet. There is no plot Such a sad lot! 100 years of solitude no logical conclusion always more confusion Crawling in the heat, with no shoes on her feet the heroine hears their laughter through the barbed wire fence and they hear her shriek a phantom in their sleep. A man goes to Paris on a whim to fly his artistic wings meets up with Anais Nin stalking in her stockinged feet laddered, torn and tattered, no reprieve A young boy dreams of battles glorious infamy while his mother...
Comments
Post a Comment