Summertime 1948 by Jackson Pollack
The perception is mine,
though you may get sucked in
here is where I begin
a new expression
dropping sticks
they drip paint onto the canvas
in my own private Idaho
droplets on massive scales
tossed into the abyss
thinner smells its space
Or in a self-contained gateway
when in a walled in feeling, hesitant,
driven by tortuous tones
dispatched onto fabric
soaked into frantic fibers
contrasted construct
From need there are new ways,
when sober, quiet, less erratic
stable in a globular convex
arbitrary? Not at all,
drawn to the natural world
nature’s handyworks
there is order
an emotional splashing
where the eyes do not settle
rhythm spackles not of chaos
but evoking nature scapes
an orchestral overture
no finales,
where the eyes do not settle
I’ve captured summertime
Fall aside,
come one come all,
dance
alongside
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