Ode to Poseidon

Behold, immortal Poseidon on bellowing steeds
Rushing, foaming in front my tent,
Waving high his mighty trident,
Stirring heaven and making her cry.

'Where are you going?'
'To the seas, to the seas," Poseidon replies.
'Why the rush? Tarry a moment with me.'
'No, no,' he explains, 'There's a troubled sailor at sea.'

Off he jumps over a fallen bough he goes,
With his white, yellow chariots in tow.

I want to paint a picture with words
So you can see what I see.
Let you see all of the art work
That hides here inside me.
The darks and the lights that glisten
I want to share colors and shapes
And the music, so you can listen.
They make up my internal landscape.

My canvas is time, sight and sound
And the aromas of my world.
I want you to see the way the smoke
And all the clouds get curled.
The hills and the valleys have views
That make you want to be there.
The trees and the flowers delight;
All inside my memories somewhere.

The stories would keep you transfixed,
And the people, creatures of fascination
Would make you laugh or maybe cry
If you could only see my imagination.
I am using rhyme and meter to depict
As the artist in me articulates dismay
That these simple words must transmit
As I can only tell you about it this way.