Monet's Field of Poppies

woman and child forever wade

through Monet’s green/gray brushstrokes

merging with the artist eye

in all of us

the boy holding poppies picked

pale red profusion

angling

down

hilly

canvas

ribbon on hat the same red

the boy a poppy

one        with       nature

mother with umbrella casually

stylishly perched on shoulder

more blue than the sky

delicately gliding through

this place of passion

keeping her cool

another woman and child

on the top of hill

blending trees’ darkness

and grey white clouds

drift                       from

edge                      to                            edge

of this particular view

and we wonder

who are these summer folk

so full of poppy breath?

becoming ocean (cf. John Luther Adams)

pentatonic potency  

Pacific

Atlantic

Arctic

Indian

Southern

a note for every sea

swelling                ebbing

piano harp marimba arpeggios

strings

shimmering        on           surface

then blow old triton

your horn harmony rising

riding the tides of the five note scale

and then

down again

to the

stillest

of still

peace    on           surface

to billow up again and again

mesmerized

I close eyes and

I am again in Crete

float on back

warm blue water lapping skin

head back           barely                   breathing

becoming

African violet

pale pink petals glow

in morning winter window light

warm melody stills

Oma Niebuhr (a dream)

at the falls

or a reservoir

cliffs

                railings

                                water

Oma Niebuhr in her old age splendour

decides on one final flagrant feat

disappearing and returning in

that black one-piece

bathing cap

pushes through jostling

bossy voice clearing way

steps through railing and stands

on

edge

infinite moment of resolve

we watch eyes wide

as she pushes off

diving

perfect somersault

into churning pool at the bottom

and we wait for the cap to re-appear

well        we say

she always did like the water

je suis Charlie?

unending

anger violence blood terror

killing of innocents

killing of innocence

BokaHaranAlQaedaISISTaliban

keep killing keep growing

keep waging holy war

what is the answer?

killing people will not kill the anger

the idea will keep

blossoming

in the bloody soil

and so we stand               by

and let short-term politics pour

more blood

on the hot land

and holding up our

je suis Charlie signs

does not question the answer

Shostakovich

driveway not totally

cleared

from the last storm

and he marches resolute

towards me

boots crunching                on January cold

rings doorbell once

I pull open ice-encrusted door

and endure blast of cold as he enters

round specs clouding in warm humidity

he sheds coat and we drink strong black coffee

sitting stiff and serious

black suit

I ask about journey

and he says in that strong tone

that it is all journey

no departure

no arrival

just enigmatic meander through

cold and snow

sun creating shadows and piercing sparkles

always ears ready for that distinctive

mad endless march in the snow

on putting my back out four days after Christmas

body a jumble

ropes and wires interwoven

perfectly              until…