Crucial Moves of Fantasy
By Turlough
- 808 reads
Sit back and watch the sea above
Where images of waves and whales and fish and ships
Collide and slide and get mixed up
Until it is a sea no more
But white contortions of the mind
As trains and planes and horses' manes
Twist and spout and curl and sprout.
A vision no one sees but me.
Grey and black and darker grey,
As far as my eye and I can see
A dismal roof hangs over me, protecting me, dejecting me.
The sky is crying, weeping floods of
Raindrops, teardrops, cats and dogs.
Roaring, pouring down to drown my spirit,
Make me shiver, make me frown,
Make me watch as nature blooms.
Some days there are no clouds at all.
A canvas robbed of lines and shade.
No view, no hue except for blue.
A redundant pallet craves to fill
The space between the Earth and space.
Where artist's brush can only add
A sun or moon, a bird or plane
To the vast display of nothing there.
I keep some clouds inside my head
To play with on some empty day,
Or hide in when my mind’s a storm
Of cyclones twisting through my brain.
I dance with clouds though no one knows
These partners grasping hold of me.
Their changing patterns changing moods.
Crucial moves of fantasy.
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Comments
Hi Turlough,
Hi Turlough,
I often look at the sky and think of clouds as islands, I love your description, especially waves. It's desolate for the artist when there are no clouds at all...like you say, a redundant pallet craves to fill the space.
So much to think about in this poem, which I very much enjoyed reading.
Jenny.
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Wonderderful rhythm.
Wonderderful rhythm.
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