They'll splash at a ten league canvas/With brushes of comet's hair.
- When Earth's Last Picture Is Painted, Rudyard Kipling
I look at the autumnal leaves, the seasonal redress
How vermillion, fiery orange and yellow replaces the vibrant green
Orange, yellow, green
What endows the leave its hues?
Lies orange within its fibres?
Lies yellow within its structure?
Lies green, though fading, within its essence?
Colouring its essence?
Iridescently the mind casts its palette
Vision painting cosmically
Polychromatic uncoloured light
Thus I paint with light, though I know not how
With my colours, the world a myriad mind-shades
After all
- Is thy green, my green?
- - Aye, the leaves are fiery of colour
- - - Yet each of us paints with our own imperceivable palette
- - - Unknown, incognizable, the private arcana
- - - Their private painted cosmos
- - - - Yet
- - - - All of it painted
- - - - - - - - In colours inexpressible
- - - - - - - - - - - - Raw impressionism
- - - - - - - - - - - - Beauty purest
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Songs of the Reed
PoetryA repository of various poems that I have written over the years gathered into this publication. Influences range from Whitman, Ginsberg to Shakespeare and Milton and confluence into what is hopefully a larger collection. It'll be updated daily with...
