BrushstrokesA Poem by JLots of happenings, all combined? I guess, yes.Too much in all of this a sense of calm, dilution, between the whorls of fingerprints left on windowpanes, outside where the world turns and flows much like the time we travelled the length of the Kaikoura coast, anxiously waiting for the spume of whales to breach air and daylight. You told me I should never break Unless I mean it in all dimensions: the physical, the emotional, the immaterial, all in sullen blue, with streaks of marigold, ground shellac and varnish our landscape and easel, one I would paint your body with until nothing else glows and nothing else is the same because This destination always becomes a well-worn pair of jeans, a faded buckle, the taste of cinnamon and cloves scraping the air. You, scattered yet motherly, moon and ova, the penumbra and corona where soil and water meet, where traces of sky and fire is our only escape, where hemispheres clash And destroy what is left of winter leaving this canvas.
© 2015 JFeatured Review
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Added on January 8, 2010Last Updated on February 20, 2015 |