The Starry Night

16/02/2021 – Poem a Day Compilation



I stare at the swirls of the night sky

Lost in the starlight

Bathed in the glow of the moon

Captivated by the shadows

Of trees and mountains

And a town, not so distant,

But far from mind

As I stare, still, at those strokes



Its just a print I bought at the gallery,

The real thing far beyond my meagre salary

But the love I have for its curves and lines

Is no mere reproduction

But fills my heart and mind

And my eyes well with tears

Over a thing of such beauty

But deemed a failure by its creator



Drawn, perhaps, to the tortured soul

I wonder what if would be like

To allow the master to see through the eyes

Of a humble admirer

Oft in awe of the power of their creation

To evoke a soothing calm

And a howling terror

Yet remain a thing of beauty



The fluid mix of reality and the abstract,

The seen and the remembered,

The dark and the light

Bearing the weight of the world

Down upon the viewer

And lifting them up,

Exalting them

Beyond anything they’ve ever known



I cannot imagine life without its magnificence

Its dark tendrils reaching out for me

Dragging me in for one more viewing

Always, just one more

But never just one more

As I embrace its hold on me,

At one with the looming cypress

And the forever breaking dawn

Still Life

03/02/2021 – Poem a Day Compilation



I sat on the bench,

It’s soft cushions such comfort

After a long trek

Through the years gone by

From Bellini to Bronzino –

The portraits standing tall,

The landscapes sweeping.



Parents trying to show their children

The masters of art new and old,

As their sprogs cast bored eyes

Over pieces worth a pretty penny

But which don’t do anything

And cannot hold the attention

Of the young film generation.



Old couples contemplate modern works

Turning their heads quizzically,

Trying to understand the abstract forms

Of random shapes and lines

With colours clashing and jarring

Discussing the subtle meaning

Of indiscriminate images.



But here I sit, still and unmoving,

Lost in thought

As the hues wash over me,

Transporting me

And capturing me

With nothing more than a chair

Or a vase with fifteen sunflowers.