I Paint To Save A Sky — A Poem
A Seer’s Portrait Of An Unattainable Possession
I am naughty — a haughty dame
For daring the Universe on
By saving in paint,
A sky that should’ve been forgotten then;
Thereupon the shore
I stood mildly gormless
To the abode of the sky
Challenging, I saved, what fool!
I deem it wise, to pitch-a-painting
To turn the imperturbable
To a piece of knowledge; daresay
Expression, to be an art?
I return such memories
From a fall, that should’ve
Been let go, to the hugger-muggers of my bets
On the tugging of trolls, to dare the bridge;
A cheater, a fool, I am
For repeating the sky
Upon the canvas to frame,
To and there, I paint it fair
Yet utterly without
The sensation of standing there
Full and thorough, I watched
Now I return, painting thrice
The rotundity of passing men
Catches I, I had to be then;
Thereto I catch the wind,
Of light reflected but never then
Through the atoms and darting
Quarks — I froze myself
To hedge me apart; forthwith
I remained to sea, at least, at least
I hedge the galing sea!
Through the molecules
The wind does a tasty dance
Little will they understand
This fragrance enhanced
The dykes nearby
Remains formless to
The sheathing of the sea
To the tardiness of the beast
The storms and sun
Aren’t there for human
Contritions to solely enjoy
Or adhere; time does not exist
Expect the roll and recall of those who do;
They are within themselves
Eastern birds, beheaded seals
No care, no zeal
But all that must and mustn't be
Han’t and shan’t,
All remains as it is, without the fool’s
Bade of meaning
Expect all that will be, without it
Nothing is moving on, frivolity is arriving
All is here, and will ever be here
Tomorrow exists not
As it arrives then and thence
Not with a notion
Of grand expectations there
If that be the eyes smarting trick
So be it, and I to abide by it, troublesome illusions!
Nature cares not that you live
It doesn’t care that you die — you are
And will ever be, once and now;
Thence anon and aye; such vulgar marks
Retire the humane hope into fantasy
So be their isles — I’m so supposing
Behooved on what outstretched mark
Expect the human ignorance of
Consciousness, when the Earth is a
Mere pebble in the Universe’s throes
I know it not, with all the loud sprouts
Coming to and all about
There was no game played there
Only the dashing vanity
Of man’s self-importance
In a universe that must ever depart;
And I so wise, to follow that recall!
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©Joanie Adams — Joanie Adams; Gift A Tea: https://ko-fi.com/joanieadamms
DO SHARE ADORATION FOR THE GLORIOUS THOUGHT-THINKERS:
ODE TO EWE — JOURNEYMAN’S SKETCHES — A POEM TO SPRING FORTHCOMING:
The CURATION — THE FINE RABBLE’S PUBLICATION:
I HEAR NAMES; I LOSE THE NAMES — A POEM TO TIME BEQUEATHED:
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