Painting a picture,
Without any scripture,
Soon to be a permanent fixture.
A mixture of all types of things,
I'm excited to see what it brings.
Feel the colors sing,
Timelines condensing,
Closing,
Superimposing,
Shadows showing,
Dimensions are growing,
Bestowing stroke after stroke.
Adding in a little joke,
You're never broke,
Take a little toke,
Poke the bear,
Stay aware,
Prepare for a new medium.
As life hands you them,
Premium products of perfection,
Placing them for your selection,
As you choose each direction,
Painting a reflection of life's projection.
They examined me with tape measures in their eyes as I entered
superimposing famous female faces over my own in their minds
like pictures printed on clear plastic sheets
placing one atop another onto an overhead projector
my teachers used years ago in the classroom
contemplating the magic of makeup
the limits of lighting
I could see in their stares what I’d learned to recognize
though the expression on their faces
remained stoic as if carved from cool, smooth marble
True talent was to them a secondary consideration
It wouldn’t matter in the least how well I delivered the lines
interpreted the character or set the scene
Audiences are apathetic to a poor performance
if the actress is sweet enough eye candy
I was more on the savory side like sage
used to spice up the flavor of roast turkey and dressing
I gave it my all anyway as I always did
though I already knew the outcome would be the same
They’d forget my name and number the moment
I passed through the door behind me back out on the street
my phone playing the part of a medieval monk in a monastery
who had hidden himself away from the world
taking a vow of silence
Like no one before, nor since
you painted that starry night in oils
superimposing your life story.
I feel I know this idyllic village
blanketed by tranquil rolling hills
embraced by calming olive trees
their very branches a symbol of peace
the steadfast church steeple
a sacred echo of the stalwart cypress.
But never have I witnessed
hills so inflamed - burning to tell the world their history
a moon so agitated - suffering from an incurable insanity
the night sky so frenzied - seeking answers to life's suffering
such undulating indigo eddies of despondency and confusion
or stars radiating with such feverish beauty - concentric circles of passion.
That starry night
you painted stars that, like you, are light years away from anyone else
looking on the serene village scene from an insurmountable distance
for you saw things, Vincent,
like no one before, nor since.
[free verse ekphrasis of the painting "The Starry Night" by Vincent Van Gogh]
Written 5 Jul 2020
Since time immemorial, strangely the humanity
Has muddled the issue, that is alive even today
Superimposing material affluence on lasting joy
And run after things which but offer fleeting joy.
Wealth has become a sine qua non for happiness
Hence everyone is busy building-up possessions
The more one assembles material conveniences
Which are but great hindrances to enduring bliss.
It is the estimation of happiness in others’ eyes
That drives man to hurry accumulating luxuries
And even when he amasses affluence substantial
One finds him miserable, which is inexplicable.
Thus humans ensnared by chimeras of capital
Certainly do not value abiding joy wonderful
This great confusion is a product of ignorance
That jams judgment between the fake and real.
Going through its ambiance, (on) with open thoughts,
Past scenes so serene, and picturesque (in situ passed).
A house, its windows just ajar to the tactile winsome breeze
That taste of zest & adventure infused; with distilled memory’s,
And (sensed) delights unmet “as yet”.the wend of life so rich,
surrounds my mind & senses like the abundant shining light.
That upon the varied tableaux glow, before falls the lilac scented night.
Through all the turvy ways, and livelong day,
I’ll count the picket fences, as I travel or Stop to gaze.
I look out onto the pastureland that runs between the towns,
Observing rolling verdant turf, and cattle with thoughtful frowns.
The Holstein herds and Jersey cows, with Friesians ’mooing low’,
Character houses stand on hillocks; a horse & buggy moving slow.
There are tended lawns with a velvet like pile,
that have entered my awareness, these pleasant miles,
And on the horizon moving; (waits) that shimmering rippling run.
Of a blue & ribboning shoreline where pleasure necessitates fun.
There wind can like a lion roar, or call like turtle doves
With New Jersey soul superimposing the whole in the USA that I love!...
©Joe Maverick 1-6-2011Copyright)