Aftermath of the denim dilemma
Lead my mind on a path to remember
Brain repainted pain as amethyst art
Make lemonade of lemons despite broken red heart
Nerves wound up in my stomach like intestines
Full of words verbs hopeful suggestions
The unspooling as we drift away
Growing apart in our own way
No longer the apple of my eye
Broken love wings no longer fly
Blue and brown eyes no longer cry
But look ahead for love in a new life
Once sat friend's home who took a vacation
from repainting ~ rooms messy with white tint
tins, paintbrushes, canvas, half painted walls ~
spent week embroidering at garden pool…
On eighth morning awoke to enigma______
house repainted, rearranged, SOUNDLESSLY!
strange blue footprints on porch, on street pavement
weird phantom painting night, friend spieled sea STUNNED !
_________________________
There is no honor among thieves
They were in and out a crime spree
Despite the frost white winter breeze
Screams were lost by autumn’s leaves
There were valuables taken indeed
Likely sold the gold across the sea
And the art was a smart centerpiece
Repainted by dark bloody crime-scene
Was it a targeted or a random thing
Corpses keep secretes horrible dreams
Who did it why how did this come to be
Will the fingerprints tell us anything
Aged, wetherbeaten.
Repainted.
Aged, wetherbeaten.
Six fence panels
Next to a spotted grey post.
Right, right, wrong, right, wrong, wrong.
Split asunder,
Now siblings, they stand.
Nailed shoulder to shoulder
It will never be quiet again.
The kitchen.
Dripping water.
Tapping sounds. From outside, inside, outside, inside…
I might sleep someday.
On the floor,
The floor toils and trembles.
The walls were repainted since then.
Then there were crackling sounds from within.
I can sit still in a chair all day.
Until the chair tumbles away.
Drip. Drip. Drip. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Lying on the floor- not carpeted.
It had been three days.
I slept, but don’t remember.
The picture on the wall shifted and contorted.
In my dreams, my dreams…
It was never quiet again.
The future doesn’t do much.
Just like paint.
When it’s in a can, it’s nothingness.
When it’s on the wall, it’s covering everything up.
The kitchen walls were just repainted.
In the kitchen, I drop some sugar and everything dies.
I burn my finger on the stove.
I leave it on to burn all the food.
So the food can feel the hurt too.
It started with a blank canvas-
just another mid-spring day;
no sun nor rain, or gentle breeze-
an atmosphere so still and gray.
A day in May- a fresh-mowed lawn;
leaf-laden trees, soft velvet green.
Yet, at my window, looking out
no birds or squirrels on the scene.
Then came that rush! The canvas filled
with fear and horror- in one stroke!
Six trees were downed- the roots exposed;
outdoors, unreal- our hearts then broke.
A strong tornado- with wide brush,
painted a jungle at our home;
blocking our house and driveway too-
we felt so trapped, nowhere to roam.
The twisted limbs and branches lay
like pythons in the throes of war.
And splintered tree trunks stood in shock
as landscaped beauty was no more.
Stretched out, a canvas of distress;
strewn damaged trunks and tangled limbs.
How one tornado- wild and free,
repainted life at nature's whims.
It's being with you,
and thinking of no one else.
It's looking at each other in eyes,
and getting lost in each other's thoughts.
It's holding hands and strolling on the beach,
and not even noticing the beautiful waves.
Its indescribable love written on your beautiful face,
It's undiscovered joy in your sensuous smile,
It's uncontrollable lust in your close embrace,
It's endless desire in your deep beautiful eyes.
It's a painted mural in my heart,
Its inscriptions can't be erased with your loss,
if it ever gets repainted with a substitute love,
it's engravings always remain intact in my soul.
Out of my beachside window
I see the dawn, red each morn.
The seascape a blue-white scene draped,
Upon the green and yellow of the landscape,
Of vegetation and ocean adorned by belt of sand,
By hiss and fizz, roar and rumble, of waves relentless,
Surging into the shallows and spreading gently onto sandflats,
Like a bride's embroidered lace wedding veil impelled gently by the breeze.
For every day here, is a celebration, a marriage of earth, sea, wind and waves.
A scene repainted every morning by the sun that rises from the sea,
Blushing the attendant clouds with red, orange and yellow flush.
Casting bright sunbeams into the clouds above.
My window a canvas on easel, for the seascape,
Painted just for me, an escapee,
An obsessed devotee of sea.
I, like the Phoenix rising out of the ashes, here I am again
A rainbow hiding in the clouds after an early morning rain
A diamond buried underneth tons of useless rock
A new battery in an old rusted clock
An old house being repainted in a bright hue
Old,worn out furniture being replaced with new
A tree turning green and budding with flowers in the spring
A frisbee in a forgotten closet that you can still fling
A caterpillar in a cocoon waiting to change
Like different types of flowers I need to rearrange
I feel like I'm climbing a treacherous mountain, trying to get to the top
Sometimes I feel like a merry-go-round that just won't stop
Ah Life!-it awakens the senses and hardens the heart
And breaks you out of your cocoon gradually devouring each part
It changes you not into a moth you were many years gone by
But emerges you as a beautiful, free butterfly
The true color of red flags is rust,
where they utter love it lies beneath;
Faded, repainted, and insincere
still there hoping you fail to see it;
Left in disgust over lack of trust
false words atrophy with broken teeth;
Vet those you allow into your sphere
aim the first punch for the hardest hit;
Accept what you know when it is clear,
fool’s gold will always be counterfeit.
You are a painter
Your brush stroked my canvas in winter
Colors of blue and light grey blend as snow fell
You were Claude Monet painting me as the woman you saw in the garden
We moved into an art museum together
Spring was just around the corner
The colors of snow on my canvas were fading
Embellishing marigold and pink feelings to replace the winter moods
We filled the museum with still lifes that depicted your best memories
3 strokes, up and down a white material
We waltzed together as the shades of blossoming affection surrounded us
A dash of red, roses in the garden of love
Holding each other close as romantic melodies fill our ears
The museum was finished and we were content
There is no exact moment it went wrong
Did you notice that every season you repainted my canvas;
It tore apart the material around the edges
Did you notice that every time you held me as we waltzed;
You left bruises all over my hands and arms
Did you notice the entire museum is full of your best memories;
And not our memories together
What once was a candle with an eternal flame
Is now the fire that burned down our museum to ashes
After Their War
David J Walker
There was only desire and comfort/convenience
Laced with certain frames of entertainment
in between the crap games played with life
Everything OD green was repainted
except the screen with the
Signal filled cable
Nothing was on except a thousand reruns
From the dawn of television
And another thousand Audie Murphey movies
Mother may I borrow the View-master
Father will you be done soon with the Funk & Wagnall
The Earth will end in a thousand-year freeze
After a nuclear war Says my science teacher
who said to look it up
Marks grandfather was a WWI soldier who
Knew Captain Truman
He still Screams at night when
the bombs start falling
again
An Uncle got a fake leg after the Battle of the Bulge
He never said anything and I was afraid to ask
My Draft Number was high but
I volunteered to anyway
Did anyone contemplate life
after their war
If so
What did it look like to you
It’s time to write of unnecessary things,
to imagine alternative endings to journeys not taken.
It’s time to write of bits of string,
one small fake discolored Swiss Army knife,
a lucky pebble that has brought me nothing but its own
preordained boredom.
However, string, knife, and stone
have had nothing good to say about me for years.
I could write of more back-of-the-draw stuff,
or redraw the landscape of my youth
snipping and pasting-in a cast of characters
that never existed,
for it is still true that every tale
needs to be repainted from time to time.
For the time being, I am these hands
wrapped around a muggy mug of coffee,
these thoughts scrimshawed
upon its unwashed rim.
Summer sun minutes are counted
Nature clears space for autumn
Man recognizes the colors
From green to barn red and gold
- fresh impressions and experience
Everything will soon be repainted
I hear you shout my name ...
the eardrum is temporarily closed
- not quite ready for fall yet
17/08/2021
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
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