How do you add light to an after dark scene?
Posted: July 19th, 2008, 11:20 am
And so it's another night made.
Abatements in the tightness of chest.
Blessed by an intuitive gesture.
There is no cure for assuredness –
no festival games with shells to choose from
can come close, one being the one with
the prize underneath, the best to pick,
the others being the ones without,
the gross tricks, the crooks.
Nothing visible could cause us to select
this one or that. None enjoy being rooked.
I tend to steal the moment away by day,
hide from it in the interim of nightfall,
call on reasoning to adjust the light,
tighten up my qualifications, rewrite
my various indescript elations, come
to a point of peace with the nth degrees
of it all, fall short of a full stall, summer being
my most vibrant sun, as without it I would die.
I would surely die in winter.
But I would never judge, no, no judgement
from a porch swing or wingspread
dilettante, no nonchalant particular meaning
to a question of what if, no difference in a
mind's sumptuous delight with the sight
of a flawless nuance or a particular view,
stark, seeing through intentions, through
paint layers, through hues and tints.
Inventions of solitude can only
become one with abstracts,
somehow newly undone with
a realist eye, with glints of maybes,
with sunrise occasions.
I hold an unmastered brush.
Such is the tough touch of paint
not yet spread, the abrasion
of a surface texture.
I defer to you, dear honest artist,
dear dreamer of visions, friend of
shades and blends. I defer to you instead,
and then, defer to you again.
How do you add light to an after dark scene?
Do you dabble it on?
Blend it with a bit of yellow?
A bit of white?
And how have you made it
through this night?
dp.7.17.08
Abatements in the tightness of chest.
Blessed by an intuitive gesture.
There is no cure for assuredness –
no festival games with shells to choose from
can come close, one being the one with
the prize underneath, the best to pick,
the others being the ones without,
the gross tricks, the crooks.
Nothing visible could cause us to select
this one or that. None enjoy being rooked.
I tend to steal the moment away by day,
hide from it in the interim of nightfall,
call on reasoning to adjust the light,
tighten up my qualifications, rewrite
my various indescript elations, come
to a point of peace with the nth degrees
of it all, fall short of a full stall, summer being
my most vibrant sun, as without it I would die.
I would surely die in winter.
But I would never judge, no, no judgement
from a porch swing or wingspread
dilettante, no nonchalant particular meaning
to a question of what if, no difference in a
mind's sumptuous delight with the sight
of a flawless nuance or a particular view,
stark, seeing through intentions, through
paint layers, through hues and tints.
Inventions of solitude can only
become one with abstracts,
somehow newly undone with
a realist eye, with glints of maybes,
with sunrise occasions.
I hold an unmastered brush.
Such is the tough touch of paint
not yet spread, the abrasion
of a surface texture.
I defer to you, dear honest artist,
dear dreamer of visions, friend of
shades and blends. I defer to you instead,
and then, defer to you again.
How do you add light to an after dark scene?
Do you dabble it on?
Blend it with a bit of yellow?
A bit of white?
And how have you made it
through this night?
dp.7.17.08
