
Cried
More brown could
Ground this painting
But there is not enough of it
And the colors feel like air
A pale sad column
Stands up in the middle
And is being echoed
At one side
I looked at pictures
Of some loved ones
Who have died
And cried.
Healing and growth through intuitive art

Cried
More brown could
Ground this painting
But there is not enough of it
And the colors feel like air
A pale sad column
Stands up in the middle
And is being echoed
At one side
I looked at pictures
Of some loved ones
Who have died
And cried.
Subscribe to get access to the rest of this post and other subscriber-only content.

At first he looked to his right
Then he changed his mind
Now he is facing us
With interest
This has cleared his mind
From the magnetic fields
Of thinking
Enough
For an idea
To appear.

From within the moving lines
And out of grey fog
Come the hot
And burning
The radiant
And the heavily opaque
Strong, stronger and even more than that
And steam comes out of the encounter
Dusty and dark at times
All appearing in the white
And from the white
That lets them all be.

Like Soutine
Never fit in
Approximate
Roll colors
On your tongue
Eat the fields
Swim behind your ribs
Adjust your heart
To pleasant warm
Know that grass
Will yellow in the summer
Find the blue
Lie flat on your back
And follow the stars.

So familiar
And yet
I do not
Know them
Each is busy
With his things
But they talk
With not a word between them
there is big sky
And roads to walk
The two are walking
With not a person there.

Still bent
But starting to straighten out
Still struggling
But Starting to radiate
Walking on the earth
With the sun in his heart.

When the storm
Is passing
When the thunder
Is still heard
And the horseback riders
Of distraction
Are still
Chasing them
Look through.
See the trees and meadows
See how much
The sky is deep
And laugh.
You are deeper than them.
Think of
Other things
You want
To make
Out of yourself
And play.

No.
He grew up differently
From how it was expected.
The entanglements of his mind
Kept scaffoldings going
All around him,
While within,
And it was not caught
By outside eyes,
a plant emerged
In his inside world,
The light of which
Is felt
Far, far away.

The big wind came
And swept away
The little house,
The trees
And the ripples in the water
And so it worked
Till there was nothing left, but
The little house,
The trees
And the ripples in the water.