It has been a while since I posted anything but I have been working hard, most of the work is unrelated to art and poetry. I have struggled with this poem for a long time, it once was twice as long and bounced all over as an epic of my life and then when I noticed the arrogance in it all I decided to cull it down to just a few stanzas. The painting was my third version of a theme I really liked but it was waiting for the poem to behave itself. Enjoy!
15 x 22 watercolor on 300lb paper. “Golden Field”
Standing next to my tired
That’s covered in duct tape and years of splatter
I look up,
across a golden sunlit field,
To a white clapboard house
That cries out to me like a long lost lover.
Shimmering like a pearl necklace
On a pad of rich amber velvet
Under a lazy blue-violet sky
And tucked into a copse green umber trees
The light on the house creating shadows
Like a modern version of a Franz Kline painting
The house reflecting the summer light
Lies slightly buried in a field of tall swaying weeds,
Seeds pods pregnant ready to give birth.
the delicate fragrance of wild flowers
rises with the heat.
Ready with my paint, paper and brushes
I pull down my hat to screen the glare
I’m alive, awake, in the moment.
Sometimes when trying to mix the perfect grey,
Or softening the edges of a cloud
I can feel one with the movement of the grass
as it whispers to me, its’ primal rhythms
and waves to the bees and birds.
I can hear the low rumbling voice of ancient rocks
weathered by nature over millions of years
as they grind from mountain boulder to grains of sand.
and I can talk to the birds as they keep a wary eye on me
but they do appreciate my adult conversations.
In these moments I am nature
Not above, not removed, not in control
Just one, at peace, aware
Aware that today
I only need shape, color and proper proportion.