Acrylic Innocence

first painting ever

I met my kinswomen last night.
Or… was it a dream?

Twas all mirth and warmth –
Life, for an instant, as I wished.

My hands shook at every stroke,
In typical acrylic innocence.

“Think nothing of it,” they said,
“You judge yourself too harshly.”

But, yesterday’s gone, and I, in wonder,
Say “maybe it was all fantasy.”

It’s grey today and perhaps,
Not a chance for tomorrow.

But I think not!
For I walked away with the promise

Of a rendezvous at the potter’s house –
The potter of Grand Barachois.

The Juice


the juice stopped flowing
and the rose, smothered by thorns

was it the heat
of prolonged summers –
an unending drought
that wasted our springs?

famished dreams die
left unnursed by Reality

the juice stopped flowing
many yesterdays ago
and even while we played
the future remained an unreadable face