Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

sometimes the morning sky
is so botticelli I want to weep....
other times I want to grin
as wide as the shores of the rio grande

I have tangible hope in the morning,
I forget the aging abused planet
is bursting at the seams of greed,
dwell only in the tasteful portraits

drawn in the clouds....faces so distinct
I wonder if they are ancient relatives
drawn for a few brief seconds in the nimbus
gallery only for my personal pleasure

the universe may be trying to speak to me
through the art of original daybreak, as
a well defined nostril drifts away, morphing
into abstraction as my mind floats along with it

we are simpatico, moments of history recorded
connected by weightless theory that cannot
be proved, nor disproved, alive, vibrant
in my eternal imagination....our relationship

is non verbal...there are no adequate words
for our affection, so we nod the nod of believers
we smile the smile of horizons once lost
now found, in the absorbancy of an old man

that has seen many sunsets, known many
hailstorms, pelted upside the head like a fool
that deserved it, now ready ...to forgive the folly
of youth with reverence and adoration

for the sky that was always there,

looking over me

Yes, it's always been there.

That's one more thing that I found in the open country-- the clouds. Or they found me. I watched them, at times for hours. I saw so many animals, faces, entire landscapes. Sometimes it was like watching millions of years of "sky geology" unfold in mere minutes or hours.

As for the battered earth, the worst may still be yet to come, but I'd like to think cooler heads will prevail/moderate as the pressure mounts. Worst-case scenario (and it won't be pleasant): the Rock will take care of itself. She will find ways to shed us. "Save the earth?" As if that were entirely up to us. Hardly.

Excellent writing. You're on a roll.

agree with mnaz about the roll, saw

& the rock, mnaz

Fuck Yeah, Mongolia !

I have finally had time to spend some time with this poem . This is for me so close to a prayer as to be one ,complete. To write with words what words can not say, yet when I read it I know this joy as in my own days.This is not poetry that is written to impress or amaze ,it is more than that, it is getting at the heart of true poetry , a deep sharing . The older I grow ,the younger I feel now, the sky grows closer the nights are deep , dreams of love still visit.

for the sky that was always there,
looking over me

love this bit most

I have tangible hope in the morning,

I can maybe say that sometimes at 9 am but at 6 am I´m always pesimistic & darkness related...! So good the sky is silent...!

great poem, saw!! bravo!!!!!!!!