Oh Vincent
whatever did you do
ripening fields of summer corn
and sunflowers of a brilliant hue
a shade no other eyes could see
except for God and you

What is it that signifies that paradise yonder
In view but always out of reach?

I've grown so spoilt from love, I fall into being a child, I need to change
I've known it for years but never had to
Until I finally saw your face
I love you like you will never know

I was so lost without you, and I can
Strife and struggle for a reason now
Because I can't wait to be your man
Walking down the aisle and waiting
However long it takes for you for I know I'll wait assured,
Knowing if I'm ever gone too long you'll make it your life mission to find me
And when I see you again it doesn't matter who falls into who's arms first
I'm never letting you go
And every day onwards
I'm going to be your man.
And you'll never have to fret

I'm going to be your man.
And you'll never have to cry

I'm going to be your man.
And you'll never have to fear

I'm going to be your man.
And you'll never have to fight

I'm going to be your man.
And I'll never be weak again

I'm going to stay your man.

'Green blue of the sky
heated white-hot'
Vincent saw, what we could not
captured through an artists eye
he put aside his pain
to give us fields of lavender
and glorious scented rain

my lips feel ****
I a bit vile
I feel decisive
tonight
I'm burning down
the my oh my
Van Gogh's turquoise
inside
self portrait in the wild:
a woman loves to
toast to cloudburst

I think I might
recycle the devil
for poetry's sake,
tonight it smells
of cinnamon,
of flemish paintings

Oh Vincent
if only you had known
the world would one day marvel
at your sunflowers
and those waving fields of grain
you left us
but they will remain
a part of you
the beating heart of you
the art of you
for your success was unforeseen
you left us
with what might have been

oscillating back and forth
head tilting from leeward and windward
an abstract puzzling my imperial gaze
a Van Gogh in waiting

      perchance a reflection illuminated
      in broad mesmerizing strokes
      some tantalizing insightfulness
      else a superficial escapade

do the color menageries
stray my mindfulness or hold attention
each vivid hue enlightenment
to soothe & provide enrichment

    is my inspiration desperation
    to find meaning in the simpleton
    gravitating and debating
    between beauty and gargoyles

does incredulous creativity scare me
or woo me into submissiveness
the artist plying servitude
into mine cavernous cavities

     Alan Scales’ exhibit of
     Turquoise Abstract Landscape II
     provides fodder for my mind
     to exponentially explode

Andreas Simic©

Science holds keys, doors,
Black holes and symmetry.
Science is the gatekeeper
When it comes to facts and logic.
There is no place for science in the
Universe of imagination, science
Don’t own a paintbrush and could
Never be a Picasso or Van Gogh
No matter how many starry nights they glaze at.

The first thing I see
when I pull out the top drawer
was the diagnosis. Meds, there you go

it pretty much said that.
I wondered about all the
creative people doing
some remarkable things,
creating and being alive.

Except they all one day
killed themselves.
Van Gogh stood in
the overgrown field before
he shot himself.
Sylvia Plath knelt down
and stuck her head in the oven.
Virginia Woolf grazed the smooth
peebles, thinking about what
she would write about those peebles,
Only to shove them in
her pockets and drown in the Ouse river.

Nearly everyday, I tell myself
I want to be a writer, or an artist-
Both, actually. That’s all I ever
wanted to be, but the fear of
spiraling, and becoming them
Is deeply disturbing.

Yet, I craved for this life,
To paint, and create stories
with a dash of madness
They all did likewise.

Let’s greet at the Church at Auvers,
And allow gates to uncover
Dewy daisies and dug up skulls
And crystalline spheres full of love.

Let’s meet at the Church at Auvers,
And behold our hearts as lovers
Where the moon glints its purple light
And our youth and fire shine so bright.

Let’s kiss at the Church at Auvers,
And let ourselves rediscover
Golden bulbs of precious life
Of luck and laugh of love so rife.

Let’s wed at the Church at Auvers.
At midnight, unknown, undercover;
Soft moon-kissed skin touching skin,
Lives entwined, lovers with a grin.

Let us leave the Church at Auvers,
And let’s dance across this river,
Towards an ardent red sunrise
Of perpetual paradise.