Before I am Famous

Image used by permission.
Copyright R. Olbinski, www.patinae.com
You may not use this image for any purpose with out
written permission from Patinae, Inc

Empty-
winter’s breath
shudders against silver phalanges
kitten gray bark cracks
for another year.

Enough-
too many winters
too many losses
deciding no more
Cold-
a dream be warm and green
Enough
of shrinking space

force below
eruption
from the molten belly
Sending the grove uprooted
into the sky threatening of snow.

To a warmer place
where leaves never fall

A place better than here.

Just a little note: I found this while stumbling one night and I just looked at it for awhile. There was something about t that struck a cord with me. All night I thought about the painting and the following day, I wrote a poem based on it. One of the differences are my trees are bare while his are lush. I think it was the grove soaring into the air to a better place. I hope you enjoy the painting and find it as inspiring as I did to view more of his work visit this page http://www.tendreams.org/olbinski.htm

Green juxtaposed with gray
unbefitting for July
olive dreams carry sunsweet raspberries to the shadow

cowering in sun dusk
melted steel
lacing through
corridors.

Images slow to recover
from haze sent by reprimands

Damned is the day
that doesn’t hold its end of the
bargain of pleasantness
and

Damned is the day
that is today.

Did you ever notice when a storm is coming the sky has long fingers that slowly encroach a sunny sky? A storm that moves so slow that thunder is rumbled but nature’s fireworks haven’t come by yet? Or maybe when the leaves upturn with their light green bellies to the sky? They knew, the crickets know because their song cuts short and an eerie silence save for the thunder falls. You can smell the change on a breeze that begins he rush of pounding Pegasuses. One part of you wants to run under the covers and wait until there is nothing but a distant lonely roar and dashes of rain. And the other part of you wants to say outside, close to the power, tempting fate walking with danger at your back. Waiting patiently for the clouds to sludge across the horizon. Who needs a pink sunset when something is percolating in the firmament. Some might call it God’s fury and rush for prayer some might call their job, this is what they live for. A snap or two of lightening and quick release of the faucets a mighty growl and then…

faster than it came

all the buildup,all the excitement

gone

Where were you when the sun went black
the world asunder
dreams of fortune await the one
with gold in the aura slippers
of silk covering
hands bold and wrinkled ageless wonders
of night eclipsing the hunter
brackish foliage weep
burning days and night encased
in ice. The time has come.

Blue. Eyes glazed
falling commas upon happenstance of forevers
unanswered so you say but
this is the way
to dripping grass and cold lava
eruption from the belly wandering
gnomes smile in the tress
blind by heat searching for
radiance
you are not deserving.

To you
when August rushes in with
the thoughts of flying caterpillars
in dusty trails
roses of winter
withering sadness. Moving sand
swift like comets reaches the fore front
of the id. Suffocating is reality

So it is then
the leather is wrapped
balloons and coal left
crimson crap swims free in the dirt
clouds pucker for a kiss
that will never be shared.
Heed the warning from inside
You are not ready.

A tree
tall- sweeping cotton bud clouds away
full-branches exploding with leaves

Then
one by one laden branches
tumble to sod and grab
sun rays no more.

One winter day, fresh snow surrounds
peeling bark and saw blades come
just as the shivering sun
stretches its legs.

No chainsaws or horrendous hack-hacking from axes
only gentle rhythmic slicing

And seasons change…

Here we are splintered
and

I am in the middle.

When the sun rises lighting the sky to match the ocean. High tide is passing the white sea foam is the reflection of clouds on an almost cloudless day. Still churning from the nights high tide the ocean is gray and dreary. Even though it is gray there is a beauty about it one can’t describe in words. The sun rises and the tide receded dark brown sand begins to fall back into a pale yellow and the Atlantic falls sleepy and a deep blue rises to the surface. Calm and dreamy this is the ocean stories are written about, where Atlantis could be hidden and where mermaids play with dolphins. As the day progresses, the tide awakens slow and the white sea foam rises once again but only slightly as tickles eternal children in the surf. The growing rage darkens the water into a blue gray. The color of eyes of a woman who once had blue as bright as day now fade into the old age darkness. Soon the fingers of the ocean swell further up the sand releasing clams to the surface and the Atlantic ages again and grays with fury.

The day starts as it ends the prior, like honey seeps through the atmosphere. A little time where the water beings in the moutains, shading the precious pool with evergreens and oaks should alleviate the goo from the brains and skins grown listless in the oven. The drive into the apex is warm but a finger touches of slightly cooler air run across my skin. The road is paved in obsidian.

Trees extend their welcoming branches across the road forming a green canopy suitable of a bride to come through. At the lake, splashes and more splashes conincide with freindlty screams and laughter of children. A moving mirror it sits, the water looks cool. One toe in and it is cool but the refreshing kind of cool like pink lemonade on a triple h day. Slowly moving forward then sumerge and rise again and for a moment the world is at peace.

Though it was day, the sky loomed with weaves of varying shades of gray. Shortly after the sun rose high enlightening the gray the rain came first slow with small, meaningless drops barely wetting the pavement on which they fell. The day progressed the gray deepened and the silver tears from clouds grew heavier weighted down by their own depression saturating the world around them with out a care in the world. The pine that stood through all the rain and snow drenched with late spring rain their scent of freshness radiated through the moist air.

The grass pleasantly drank in the water feeding their green bodies with nourishment with every drink one could almost see the green darken with each drop making it a rich and comforting color. A green of promises and sunny days are ahead. A green that invites the soul of someone in between to lie and feel the raindrops on their face and breath in ecstasy. To feel like that shard of grass, freshly mowed to feel the rain and be glad. Truly a happy thought.

Wanna hear a tale
about a bus for sale
it’s as big as a whale
and it isn’t frail.

Shiny and long
much like a grill tong
motor sings a song
you can’t go wrong

Oh the places it wants to see
and I how I want to be
traveling with it from sea to sea
if only fuel were free.

In my dreams
we’ll cream
the highways together with sun beams
after I am famous, I’ll get a bus that gleams.

restless nights, when will it end?

Deep aged azure falls asunder
as young periwinkle moves in
with polk dots as full as wishing flowers.

restless nights, when will it end?

Sun light crashes through windows
carrying song birds, happy to see the light

restless nights, when will it end?

Eyes flutter against glaring rays
poking and proding
Dust dances free on Apollo’s breath
Reality begins.

restless nights, when will it end?

Rise and fall.
The light shines but no matter
the strength or purity it will
never
enlighten the black
kept secrets, dying promises
excitement of danger in the dark
Where dreams are alive.

restless nights, when will it end?