Apr 2012
His hair was ruffled as the wind picked up
"next time, I'll wear a hat"
He kept on painting, not deterred
And to him..well, that was that.
As the weather worsened and rain moved in
He packed up and moved on
By the time the storm had taken hold
And the rains came, he'd be gone
He headed home on up the road
Past the little village shoppes
He counted, silent, to himself
Of every time he'd stopped
He knew each curb and crossing
From the river on his route
It was 5 blocks, 1/2 mile
Just time for one cheroot.
He'd smoked them now for 60 years
But now, he just smoked one
It relaxed him as he walked on home
He knew his day was done
He painted by the river
On an easel, nice and light
He would go there in the morning
And would stay there until night
He painted what he saw each time
The pictures he created
Were images from in his head
Some were finished, some belated
He didn't always get them done
So, he'd put them to the side
And he'd finish them another time
For now, these he would hide
As others looked upon his works
As they passed by him by the shore
A few would ask him what they were
And they didn't say much more
The paintings that John Joseph
Were for him, and him alone
He didn't care if others
Stood and stared, and sometimes groaned
He lost his sight a lifetime back
He'd splashed some acid in his face
He may have lost his eyesight
But his blindness taught him grace
For people looked upon his art
Seeing only paint and lines
Until he told them of the images
He was painting from his mind
He'd been around the world a bit
And the things that he had seen
Were all captured in his memories
And he would now paint every scene
One day he'd paint the Taj Mahal
As only he did know
But to someone passing by that day
It may look as only snow
The Eiffel Tower, black and tall
With the blue sky there behind
Made people wonder endlessly
What went on in John J's mind
His canvases were covered in
His palettes tints and hues
But, the shapes folks saw upon the board
Were not crisp, they were askew
But John Joseph saw his artwork
As a postcard of his life
He'd mix paint with his brushes
And sometimes use his knife
He'd change his strokes to fit his mood
Some short and sometimes long
But, because he couldn't see them
Nothing ever would be wrong
His grass was blue and sometimes black
The water might be red
But John Joseph never cared at all
His art was in his head
No one ever saw the thngs
that Old John Joseph did
They would always look, politely
And then farewell to him they'd bid
But one day while describing things
In a painting that he'd done
To a family here from out of town
Two parents and their son
The father said, "I'd like to see"
"More places from your mind"
"Can you bring some down tomorrow"
"If you would please, be so kind"
John Joseph said, he'd bring some down
But he laughed, and said "You'll see"
"that the pictures aren't what you'd expect"
"I just painted them for me"
The next day when they met again
They had brought their son called Paul
He just stood off in the background
While John Joseph told them all
Of what was on each canvas
Of the paintings in his mind
He said "no one else sees them"
"To me, most folks are blind"
But the father told John Jospeh
You have opened up the world
For as you describe each picture
Your images unfurled
A world of unkown wonder
That can't be measured by a mile
But, Paul you see can see them
We can see it in his smile
Paul is blind as well you see
Lost his sight a few years back
But, your descriptions of your painting
In his mind, you've brought it back
Paul then asked John Joseph
To paint more pictures, from the start
And this young lad and his parents
Had touched John Joseph's heart
John Joseph gave his painting
To the people and their son
And he said when they returned again
He'd have another one
True blindness is within us
It's not just in what you see
It's also in the way you think
It helped this blind man be free
He painted pictures in his head
For him and him alone
Now, he shared his muddled painting
With a family known as Stone.
.
"next time, I'll wear a hat"
He kept on painting, not deterred
And to him..well, that was that.
As the weather worsened and rain moved in
He packed up and moved on
By the time the storm had taken hold
And the rains came, he'd be gone
He headed home on up the road
Past the little village shoppes
He counted, silent, to himself
Of every time he'd stopped
He knew each curb and crossing
From the river on his route
It was 5 blocks, 1/2 mile
Just time for one cheroot.
He'd smoked them now for 60 years
But now, he just smoked one
It relaxed him as he walked on home
He knew his day was done
He painted by the river
On an easel, nice and light
He would go there in the morning
And would stay there until night
He painted what he saw each time
The pictures he created
Were images from in his head
Some were finished, some belated
He didn't always get them done
So, he'd put them to the side
And he'd finish them another time
For now, these he would hide
As others looked upon his works
As they passed by him by the shore
A few would ask him what they were
And they didn't say much more
The paintings that John Joseph
Were for him, and him alone
He didn't care if others
Stood and stared, and sometimes groaned
He lost his sight a lifetime back
He'd splashed some acid in his face
He may have lost his eyesight
But his blindness taught him grace
For people looked upon his art
Seeing only paint and lines
Until he told them of the images
He was painting from his mind
He'd been around the world a bit
And the things that he had seen
Were all captured in his memories
And he would now paint every scene
One day he'd paint the Taj Mahal
As only he did know
But to someone passing by that day
It may look as only snow
The Eiffel Tower, black and tall
With the blue sky there behind
Made people wonder endlessly
What went on in John J's mind
His canvases were covered in
His palettes tints and hues
But, the shapes folks saw upon the board
Were not crisp, they were askew
But John Joseph saw his artwork
As a postcard of his life
He'd mix paint with his brushes
And sometimes use his knife
He'd change his strokes to fit his mood
Some short and sometimes long
But, because he couldn't see them
Nothing ever would be wrong
His grass was blue and sometimes black
The water might be red
But John Joseph never cared at all
His art was in his head
No one ever saw the thngs
that Old John Joseph did
They would always look, politely
And then farewell to him they'd bid
But one day while describing things
In a painting that he'd done
To a family here from out of town
Two parents and their son
The father said, "I'd like to see"
"More places from your mind"
"Can you bring some down tomorrow"
"If you would please, be so kind"
John Joseph said, he'd bring some down
But he laughed, and said "You'll see"
"that the pictures aren't what you'd expect"
"I just painted them for me"
The next day when they met again
They had brought their son called Paul
He just stood off in the background
While John Joseph told them all
Of what was on each canvas
Of the paintings in his mind
He said "no one else sees them"
"To me, most folks are blind"
But the father told John Jospeh
You have opened up the world
For as you describe each picture
Your images unfurled
A world of unkown wonder
That can't be measured by a mile
But, Paul you see can see them
We can see it in his smile
Paul is blind as well you see
Lost his sight a few years back
But, your descriptions of your painting
In his mind, you've brought it back
Paul then asked John Joseph
To paint more pictures, from the start
And this young lad and his parents
Had touched John Joseph's heart
John Joseph gave his painting
To the people and their son
And he said when they returned again
He'd have another one
True blindness is within us
It's not just in what you see
It's also in the way you think
It helped this blind man be free
He painted pictures in his head
For him and him alone
Now, he shared his muddled painting
With a family known as Stone.
.
