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.

Maple Leaf

I have seen the maple leaf!
No, I did not just see it; I touched it.
The dream of a 4-year old come true,
I did not need the awakening pinch!

I met the dandelion, the primrose,
The sunflower, the daisy,
And the buttercup, of whose praise
I’d only heard Dolly sing.

How about the carnation, the lavender?
The daffodil, iris, and jasmine?
Of all these and more I wondered –
When will I meet my new compatriots?

The birch tree stood right before me;
We had met, but only in the books,
I wandered farther afield, my heart sang:
Welcome home, you belong to this clime.

I see beautiful deception – the misleading sun
Hello Frost, hello Sub-Zero.
Conquer my fear, give me some cheer,
Save the ice and treat me twice as nice.

When the day says, “I’m done,”
And cannot hold for much longer,
Resplendent chandeliers bare their light.
The darkness sings the “hallelujah.”

It leads me home, it leads me home.
The tired laborer has paid his day’s due.
Who am I? I think, who am I?
I’m that proselyte, who’s pitched my tent with you.

February

In the month of the pearl, we became
With pride and tears, it was no shame
The melting snow birthed new frozen droplets
Our rites of passage we marked, in our pockets

There was innocence and the loss of it
And yes, another to show for it
Some said it was just one more dawn
You swore this was no ordinary fawn

Sometimes they say we’re incomplete
I say, “spare me the conceit”
They say our days don’t meet the measure
You say, “life is too much, not to treasure”

The blind man is truly king
He flies to climes of which some only sing
They focus on nothing – their distractions
He climbs to his summit, in little fractions

This is my February, my becoming
It’s nothing, perhaps, just my morning
I see with new eyes – it’s an awakening
I’m born de novo – afresh enlivening

Face

tonight
a much-desired homelessness
pulls at my heart strings – some nostalgia –
as the moon violates our privacy

see those conniving windows
yield to breezy coercion
leaving me more desirous
of this strange vulnerability

your face – it is heavenly –
a glassy reflection so divine
i can only imagine the glory
when Moses descended Sinai

tonight, May ends
yesterday the rains found strength
those strange hot winds could not but uphold
the beauty of your countenance

The Juice

image

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

20/20 Treasure

rain, rain go…… and wait
come again another May –
a rainbow-bespectacled bride once  cried
how could she know…?

the rain was but a harbinger
storms stirred in impatient cauldrons
dwarfing the weeping clouds
she paid great heed

to her seed she smiles now –
the very mirror of her juvenile naivety –
visibly let down at the clouds gathering
she asks “why today Nana, why?”

“treasure this moment, Solange
as you’d treasure none else
hindsight is 20/20
woulda danced in that rain years ago”