(19 October 1833 – 24 June 1870 / Azores)

Kinda Blue

for Ben Schonzeit, painter

You offer me slices of your days
in gaunt calligraphy, black and red,
wives, sons, taxes, debts, wishes.
Each word is in training for the next
image, the next still life; imagination
slides into memory and we swing dance
through your studio guarded by layered
narratives in orange, purple and gray, out
into the street past bold words written
about technique, color and form, past
people who nod knowingly, people who
have never heard your ache to be alone, to remain
in your dark cave, throwing taxes, even wishes
to the winds, ordering all finished paintings removed
immediately, letting the only world you inhabit
be etched, without intrusion,
onto a single black canvas.

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Other poems of DENNISON SAKELLARIOU (2)

Comments (3)

Are you dreaming still....? The dream that life has outlasted For the great things of life are small things, The longest life is a span, And there is an end to all things, A season to every man, Whose glory is dust and ashes, Whose spirit is but a spark, That out from the darkness flashes, And flickers out in the dark. The dream I would fain forgo... Compelling meditation, very Ecclesiastes-like: Vanity, vanity, all is vanity Live your life under the toilsome sun, enjoy the simple pleasures of living, and rest from toil as all who have gone before. So much stress and anxiety interwoven into plans and dreams, and yet the truth of life is far more simple. Nicely, though extensively, executed.
All things toiled hard have to be forgotten as bad dreams as none there is to relieve or soothe one's bad luck in life, Nice title to a poem full of uncongenials things one witnesses whether there is benefit or none!
So a dream is a hint of death.