The rain stops hinting
and takes it outside
to make good on its threats
and the slick streets shout out again
swinging light around like drunk fists
____________________________
Hey, look at that! I’m late posting polls again. What a surprise! You know us artist-types. Just so unreliable… 😉
After-rain clouds puff
bright white over blue
hills like smoke signals
shouting “yay!”
Temperate breezes whistle
through smoldering scrap piles
tickling baby orchards
as they yawn and stretch
Blaring, tearing down the line
dinging, pinging red light signs
screaming warnings, sounding horns
blasting, clacking tracks through morn
It’s the color that sticks with me
keeping space in my heart
stained like pavement
under paper flowers in the rain
God is a sculptor
and his master works are free
no admission, on display
for us permanently
Stewards of the sandy earth
dare fragility
bearing sun, wind, snow and us
guarding eternity
Five blondes with starter waddles illuminated
by the pale blue of smartphones
eating nachos they will pay someone
to vacuum off their thighs later
don’t tip the native
with the silkvelvet voice
and complicated guitar lilts in the corner
who doesn’t make in a year
what they’ve collectively spent on shoes
in that same span of time
Yet everyone acts as if this is normal
and it is
There are still places full of craftspeople
untainted by efficiency
unconcerned with perfection
uninterested in regularity
painting windows into murals of vignettes
just for the joy of it
Marianne Bland's Art Blog 