Thursday, February 14, 2013

Through the Window Pane, From a Red Green Chair

(water color on paper)
There, the corner of the sky float little birds.
Behind gray grids
Tall oak fans wide
She grasps one brittle leaf
Below, its siblings
Swirl root to root.
Above, a crown of crows
Heads pulled inward, mute eyes scanning.
Fragments of car and truck
Pass the gaps ‘tween
Pale wooden slats,
Boundary for the outer world
All seen by one
Anchored to a red green chair.

Body limited by his brittle heart
Buoyed by pyrotechnic pills,
Lungs once a multiverse of bellows
Now air locked catacombs.
Pancreas enslaved to needles,
Joints injured, inflamed, in need
Of repair.
Dab the eyes
Wish the arms would grow
And grow
Stretch through the panes
Beyond the oak
Push back the gate
To breath, to walk to
Live easily
Away from the red green chair.

All in a moment
His mind blinks …
Melancholy pulls all back
To darkness.
In blackness color dashes
Scatters, settles in.
What use is hope?
Damn the damage done.
Accept the seat.
What’s left of time?
This stew that is his parts,
Once lid rattling,
Rests cold upon the counter
By the red green chair.

There, upon the knee
Two tiny eyes graced with passion
Coiled from nostril to bristled tail.
Up, blur of fur
Across the lap
White bridge with
Blue and purple shadows.
Hand under ear,
Gentle little rub
Away the outer world
With purrs
One smile bears a second.
Lungs expand,
Inner space expands, there
In the corner of his sky float little birds
Around old oak
Crowns of boasting crows
Call to those below
Adorned in the red green chair.

A painting that led to a poem, so far my pattern (one leads to the next).   Partially inspired while looking out the back window on a cold winter day and the many furry souls that help connect my daily dots.

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