I an Fair Weather

I'd go crazy if I didn't paint. Ian Fairweather

Strokes boiling as brutal as black,
And as soft as white, side by side

Brushes flowing as free as breezes,
And as wild as wind sweeps and sea tides

Colors ailing as pale as Gray Trees
And as weak as shade in the evening light

Figures of men, timbred with familiar ease
And bodies, tempered, crisp and upright

Scraps of skies, dingy, dusky and grey
And seasons of Fall, snarled and foul

Bricks of red, rotting and bloodied in decay
And strips of bled, sliced from the bowel
 
Glows from a lantern, subdued in gleam
And trails of twinkle, gloomed in night

Curves of green, stale ponds, downstream
And pillows of blurs, hidden but bright

Brawls of black, sharp, spread as a scream
And frays of grim, shivering in blight