Impressionist Paintings
When I take off my glasses
the world becomes
an impressionist painting.
Infused with light
the purple flowers
shimmer and vibrate.
Impressionist brush strokes
visible with juxtaposed colors
record the passage of time
give birth to fauve and cubist.
Real or unreal
Dali’s clock melts,
the canvas yields
a completed painting
as Gauguin sets sail for Tahiti.
Reel-to-reel tape yields the best sound.
Dance the Virginia Reel
as Picasso fractures physical planes.
Reel in a struggling fish
in a struggle for wholeness.
Appeared in the October 2020 issue of Quill and Parchment
Republished in the Weekly Avocet
The Songs of Rivers
They are stilled by dams though
bass notes still resound in depths,
lull catfish to sleep.
The tremolo of rapids is lost
to navigational safety.
Lament the silenced symphony.
The river waves to fishermen on shore.
“Heed the sign, keep away from the outflow,
unless you wish to kiss the muddy depths.”
Below the dam, the river accelerates,
sings of crickets and raindrops from its youth,
up there, at its mountain birthplace.
Published in The Weekly Avocet
When I take off my glasses
the world becomes
an impressionist painting.
Infused with light
the purple flowers
shimmer and vibrate.
Impressionist brush strokes
visible with juxtaposed colors
record the passage of time
give birth to fauve and cubist.
Real or unreal
Dali’s clock melts,
the canvas yields
a completed painting
as Gauguin sets sail for Tahiti.
Reel-to-reel tape yields the best sound.
Dance the Virginia Reel
as Picasso fractures physical planes.
Reel in a struggling fish
in a struggle for wholeness.
Appeared in the October 2020 issue of Quill and Parchment
Republished in the Weekly Avocet
The Songs of Rivers
They are stilled by dams though
bass notes still resound in depths,
lull catfish to sleep.
The tremolo of rapids is lost
to navigational safety.
Lament the silenced symphony.
The river waves to fishermen on shore.
“Heed the sign, keep away from the outflow,
unless you wish to kiss the muddy depths.”
Below the dam, the river accelerates,
sings of crickets and raindrops from its youth,
up there, at its mountain birthplace.
Published in The Weekly Avocet
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