Twelve Sunflowers in a Vase
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Twelve of us he chose to paint,
sons of Jacob in earthen jar sturdy
plonked us without arrangement, intuited by primal instinct, a scrambled delicacy directed by eyes emitting fire-spark piercings fingers reading poverty, boats, ruin, sky
Are we his rebellion against Self or Nature’s Fate ?
resisting his own yellowed breath, our genius chose shades of Sun and Earth, eternal palette for future time in galleries glorious
Together we pose, witnessing life interpreted, where we urinate in twelve streams filling earthen walls cupped, observant, as Vincent dips brush silent standing studying
Do we project chaos or peace when artist chooses to recreate petaling piece by piece ?
we feel alert nerves undulatingly aiding Vincent’s individuation struggles
Twelve months in y e a r s of aloneness, as this painter endured outcast anguish, feverishly mirroring depths within fragments floating before visionary vistas
We hold truth for him to tell those labelling him insane as hell
An ear no necessity to hear music spherical, an entire colour range superfluous ~ Love permeates one stroke, one colour, one vulnerable Heart sipping God’s art in sombre concentration,
like his women we stand erect or bending captured, plucked yet free ; both fresh and fading ~ for him an imprisonment or escape to mesh
Last dips of yellowed frequencies from brush bristles bold
just so are we his favourite, mellow veined vagabonds valiant, wilting violin notes
each on solitary journey back into Earth from whence we sprung
joyfully having drunk from two toned signatured ampulla, a lacy ‘V’ announcing polarised parts
downward melting into undying point of exquisite tenderness touching his despairing mental depths
surrendering, embraced we live in 3D oil for infinity
through two incisive burning irises, clear as crystal dew
presenting ourselves to you, our audience, each singing a singular song, seraphic in unison, simultaneously skewed and balanced
sunray petals claw a clutch at his insight ~ illustrious artist Beloved !
we hold one another, son with father, mother and daughter
Saluted is Van Gogh’s exceptional rarity true, as we speak his passion, a few strangling leaves, signalling his enlightenment ecliptic
We, you, him, us … move from seed into matrix, to germinate, then to return as promised
his Bi-polar will be embraced as another perceptual advance in galleries where human spirits gaping stand, creating words like ekphrasis
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