
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.
Healing and growth through intuitive art

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.

Alive
Here
And now
Appears
And
Disappears.

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.

Boo!!!
I frightened you
Now
The trembling waves
Are sinking
In the white
And what about
The texture
Of the white, you ask?
It is the source
Of stories
Wait for them
The light
Will stream
Unblinking
Can you take it
With your heart?
And you?

She talked harshly to the children
There was only love among them
They were too nervous to learn
She was too nervous to teach
It stayed like this for many years
In the end of which it was
The habitual way to feel good
Togeher.

Is it a mountain
Or the roof of a barn?
Is this a cloud
Or a smoking chimney?
And this,
Is this a man
With a bird in his hand?
What does he think about?
Do his thoughts
Dive in the sky?
And the drop of green
That fell on the face of the paper,
Why did it fall?
Can this drop be another world
With other people and birds?
Why don't they come closer
To shake hands with us
To have tea
And talk about our lives?
And can the children
Go out and play together
In the backyards
Of the universe?