Stick men on canvas
in the foreground is Jesus
and Lowry is shaking his head.
Winter hit the mountainside with a clenched fist,
snow covered trees bowed and prayed.
The gallery wall held it all
saw it all
bared it all to
its breast.
we had danced to the magic of movement
on the oilskin of paint in the pool.
The love affair imbroglio of my youth.
No truth to be told except the truth of being old and sometimes the truth is a lie,
if I cry as I fall it is because I saw the wonder of it all
if I die it is as
a happy man.
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 2:07 PM UTC
Stick men on canvas
in the foreground is Jesus
and Lowry is shaking his head.
Winter hit the mountainside with a clenched fist,
snow covered trees bowed and prayed.
The gallery wall held it all
saw it all
bared it all to
its breast.
we had danced to the magic of movement
on the oilskin of paint in the pool.
The love affair imbroglio of my youth.
No truth to be told except the truth of being old and sometimes the truth is a lie,
if I cry as I fall it is because I saw the wonder of it all
if I die it is as
a happy man.
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