There were painter’s clouds that day;
broiling, tumbling,
moving inner silence across an easel.
Beneath them
a concrete mind mixed and etched
one long brush-stroke:
the tarmac before us.
Excited engines carried us along
and carried by us
an air befriended...
with the convertible top thrown down
your hair streamed
olympic colour; a spectrum of extraordinary.
You threw back a sunrise laugh,
the wind and all else
belonged to exhilaration.
The horizon captured another sky,
a mist-green hail filled sea; a quiet litany.
A pallet knife scratched its lightening
and the danger of no potential
that kept us moving on.
Aug 13, 2011
Aug 13, 2011 at 9:14 PM UTC
There were painter’s clouds that day;
broiling, tumbling,
moving inner silence across an easel.
Beneath them
a concrete mind mixed and etched
one long brush-stroke:
the tarmac before us.
Excited engines carried us along
and carried by us
an air befriended...
with the convertible top thrown down
your hair streamed
olympic colour; a spectrum of extraordinary.
You threw back a sunrise laugh,
the wind and all else
belonged to exhilaration.
The horizon captured another sky,
a mist-green hail filled sea; a quiet litany.
A pallet knife scratched its lightening
and the danger of no potential
that kept us moving on.
Martin Challis © 2011
www.martinchallis.com
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