The cliff juts high, it towers over water
Its head is dyed with silver-green and orange grass
I got the camera eye of watching walker
To reach the future that next second turns to past
I like to see the strangers who can’t see me
I sniff the scent of lavender and clover
I’m envying the trees and bumblebees
That buzz around, and when the walk is over
I switch to you, to see your smile again
To hear your words, if you may share some news
But fortunately, everything’s the same
As yesterday, and all those days we used..
The lake is surrounded
by burnt-orange grass that bends.
The sparse light rain drops
make perfect circles
on the glassy dark water.
They widen until
they sleekly, slyly
disappear. The lake mirrors
the late afternoon:
dried-apricot clouds
from which peek a chilled soft blue,
a worn trodden campsite;
evergreen pine
needles soft as worn spandex
next to a shiny house.
And the sun-light shifts
the early Autumn sky, steeped
in the still-reaching
fingers of Summer.
This civil landscape is a captive
of a watercolor,
from a nomadic
palette. The varnished brown house..
a lumberjack..his ax,
a bronze age tool
for civilization. A stormy,
ancient wilderness.
The lake is surrounded by burnt orange grass that bends.The sparse light rain drops
make perfect circles on the glassy dark water
that widen until they sleekly disappear.
The lake mirrors the late Fall afternoon:
dried-apricot clouds from which peek
a chilled though soft blue.
A worn trodden campsite
is next to a shiny varnished house
with windows that portray
the wet sand colors of the docks,
and the sun-light shifting the sky,
as an oil painting of an aging day.
A drawbridge,a yellow carriage ground a glaring orange,grass so very green,sky and water blue in a frame of gold.Peach,plum and apricot the orchard passion cannot last.As if in a dream the a starry night,the cypresses over a field of corn,great sunflowers in a symphony of yellow,blue fields as far as the eye can see in exaggerated proportions to the eyes whether to advantage ,or not, and those intangible thrills to the core in this search for conception.
AS IN A DREAM
A drawbridge,a yellow carriage
ground a glaring orange,grass
so very green,sky and water blue
in a frame of gold.Peach,plum and apricot
my orchard passion cannot last.As if
in a dream I must paint The a
starry night,the cypresses over
a field of corn.Great sunflowers in a
symphony of yellow,blue fields as far
as the eye can see.As if in a dream
Van G’s Letters to his brother
SAILING ALONE
We painters sail alone in
our wretched little craft on the
great billows of our age.An age
of development or decay?
We cannot judge!
Contemporary events assume
exaggerated proportions
to our eyes whether to our
advantage ,or not, and yet
that intangible thrills us to the core
in our search for conception.
Van G’s Letters to his brother
*A Phrasis is a structured verse where the poet uses selected prose phrases of another writer’s(not a poet) to compile unique poetry therefrom as a tribute thereto,the word phrasis is Greek for phrase.
Listen to me read these phrasis of mine on youtube under the name ichthyschiro
Purple streaks of lightning
Across a yellow sky
Orange grass and Blue trees
A clown that has no eyes.
The ground beneath my feet
Like a river, it does flow.
Look over at that stop sign
I really think it glows.
The trees, I hear them talking
They're calling out my name.
The birds are in tuxedos
They're all dancing in the rain.
I take my trips on acid
It's the only way to go.
It's cheaper than an airplane
Where you'll go, nobody knows.
The sun is psychedelic
Every color of the rainbow.
The clouds are racing by me
It's really quite a show.
The water in the fountain
Is shades of red and green.
Leaping and jumping skyward
Taller than the trees.
I take my trips on acid
It's so much fun, I know
It's easier than a road trip
Where you'll go, nobody knows.
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