A golden orb in the east revealed a cobalt
And charcoal gray sky through sighing pines
As blossoms still hang upon magnolia
And one lone crow flies close by
Pouring rain, that I beheld
As I was cooking French Toast
The lights blinked and went out
I said than you, Lord, it's not cold'
Mornings start in so many ways
How could I ever be bored
Thank you, God, for your love
Help me always sing Your praise
charcoal gray skies
not quite cold enough to snow....
power meter spins
Sitting in it.
The evening sunlight stretched across my lap
like a thin blanket just meant to keep my legs warm.
Birds chirp as they nestle in the trees.
Their mother's outstretched arms.
Fairies flicker in the golden light
singing the flowers to sleep.
Spirits of the sky and dirt bustle about
as the day slips into night.
Honey colored rays fade into pale blue steel.
Fade into charcoal gray.
Fade into black.
And, I am sitting in it.
The stillness of the dark comforting me,
same as the light.
I take a step back and look at my canvas with inches of acrylic paint piled on as a result of trial and error.
Something is off.
Are the tones mismatched?
Why is it unbalanced?
Do I no longer like the subject matter?
I bite at my nails, I bounce my leg, my eyes dart from corner to corner.
Did I do something wrong?
I inhale and fixate on my palette.
Charcoal Gray, Crimson Red, Canary Yellow.
Beautiful, but wrong to me.
My hands open and the colors drop to the floor.
I rummage through the additional shades and pull out the one that is identical to the canvas.
The canvas I haven’t seen in years. The canvas riddled with subjective mistakes. The canvas that endured a lifetime of experimentation.
I untwist the cap, dip the brush directly inside, and slather the canvas.
Though the acrylic grew thicker and the texture of my previous strokes remained,
I was starting new.
Storms, those storms, do appear
At times with thunderous roar
Sweeping through darkened skies
That shake the earth to its core
Dark clouds like mourner's cloaks
Gather, charcoal gray despair
Lightning flashes, dances across
A blackened atmosphere
They've unleashed their fury
Send down torrential rain
Dripped-dropped upon rooftops
Raising up angry Cain
Written: December 1st, 2023
_______________________________________
Colors waltz in a rainbow kaleidoscope
cynosure of sun sparks steel drum teams
Emerald elms embrace periwinkle sky
among fragrant spikes of purple lupines.
Monet and Van Gogh are arm-in-arm
spin a diaphanous color wheel off charts
starry night, yellow circumduct swirls
over white water lilies on mirror ponds.
Consider both humanity and nature
emollient color splits and multiplies
A flamenco actor will kick and clap
Hot crimson ethereal feeling whirling flies.
Gold and yellow dance to evocative music
downpour is brought on by charcoal gray
rain and brightness dance across earth
awaking felicity from fugacious winter sleep.
Akin to a roulette ball of a gossamer color
gambling my emotional imbrication away
winning when the ball stops in blue
dancing sea and sky arouse my day.
My heart is a charcoal gray
With silver specks in the sun
Tomorrow is New Year's Day
And this old year, my dear, is done
A bit of moss on the north knoll
The hills of my heart burrowed through
And I'm cramming hope in the holes
Just like the woodpeckers do.
Soft squish of boots,
gurgling footprints following
a plodding tread.
The riverbed speaks
as it enters the mud
writes also, a drainage of rivulets
cursively signs the rivers name
over and over again.
As my dark form appears
sleepy herons wing-beat air
What am I doing here,
here where twilight shades loom
so damp and charcoal gray?
Yesterday, rowing a boat
a liquid sunlight upon the water,
seeing this nook of land,
the way it was so like an aperture,
a place emerging and opening
a piece of hinterland
where a person could walk
on its melding surface.
At this darkening hour
walking to where a skiff was yesterday
looking out from this small inlet
only to spy another opening,
an elemental herons dreamscape
not noticed before.
Radiant dawn verily blessed by God
reflect His artistic wonders, beautifying mornings
assuring days --- triumphantly jubilant.
Through virtual exposure
I behold glorious twilight commencement
marked with crimson tints along scarlet red clouds…
Iridescence of tangerine blaze
subdues aquamarine firmament midst
saffron hues highlighting summer dawn brilliance…
Awed am with the elegance of coral pink
intensifying watermelon luster on charcoal gray sky
featuring the skyline of a free country…
For splendor of nautical dawn
gleaming gold reigns as lemon yellow peeks
blended with chartreuse rays…
Indeed, my heart praises the Creator while His majesty shines
accentuating afterglow of lilac midst prevailing maroon
and lingering gentleness of lavender.
*Psalm 130:6 My soul waiteth for the Lord more than they that watch for the morning: I say, more than they that watch for the morning.
April 18, 2021
9th place, "Changing Colors" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Emile Pinet; judged on 4/19/2021.
You look at a sky full of stars
akin to trillions of diamonds.
And watch a gold doubloon moon climb
high amidst a starlit background.
Not a sound, just you, and your thoughts;
as worldly distractions vanish.
And scrutinizing God's handiwork:
your soul finds its humanity.
A sizzling shooting star trails light,
unzipping a curtain of sparks.
And a bat starts scanning for moths,
flapping skin-soft wings at nightfall.
Shifting shadows slowly conjoin,
crushing charcoal gray into black.
And tattooing twilight phantoms:
Dusk, inks day, in colors of Night.
dawn explosion of color ~
angel’s and flower’s
spectacular yellows, pinks,
cerulean blue ~
still charcoal gray sky
if i look outside, my eyes
depressed by a sunless sketch.
1/30/2020
The strokes of angry waves painted,
Beneath a sky of charcoal gray.
Did you feel it even then,
The water's rise above your head?
Bobbing up and down,
Slowly losing ground,
As they tried to hold on
To the clothes which become
Your coffin.
Knowing this you went anyway,
To try and save
Someone you never knew.
It's hard to believe,
But where you weren't before,
I now see
In your painting
You
Drowning.
A cool still morning
Down where songbirds sing
Close to swift creek's flowing
And dove's notes ring
A sun slowly rises
Casting cobalt blue on clouds
Against sky's horizon
A gentle morning proud
Charcoal gray fluffy clouds
Dot the sky so blue
As a golden sun warms shroud
That above cobalt stew
A beautiful morning
Presents art so fine
The birds for food roaming
Upon bugs graciously dine
While the poet entertains
Day's chores and meals looming
Just a few minutes to gain
Spirit's fill and remove glooming
The branches start a swaying dance
Like plastic hula dancers.
The sky turns charcoal gray and
Pretty soon we’ll have our answers.
For questioning if it will rain
When Nature’s giving notice
Is like thinking there’ll be wisdom from
The tweeting of the POTUS.*
Anticipation’s half the fun
As briefly clouds will straddle
The sunshine and the darkened sky
Before the raindrops rattle.
*President of the United States
Black wool clouds carried by currents
float gently by, rain laden
Above the sky-blue sky reveals
jet streaks, clouds hold back morn's sun
Bumble bees hum in unison
Sun beams through charcoal gray
Beautiful canvas painted by
the master, in memory stay
White blossoms cover the pear trees
Holly's small blooms draw bees
Early morn draws the poet's heart
Like spring lures bird's glee
As the sun's illumination
rises higher through the trees
turning gray clouds gold and tan
The poet's heart begins to see
Then the sun is covered with black
Only slivers of gold
remain, thoughts vanish in the fog
Clouds drown the soul again
Is there a solid opening?
Will life continue disturbed?
Can there be a valley of peace
where a soul remains unperturbed?
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