|Photo © par /by Louis-Dominique Genest 2002
My World of Paints
My world of paints I splatter, like a child,
the blue, in patterns big and bold:
The colours run, they're seen as running wild,
And here we're lost when things are
Great globs of green now fall upon the trees;
Upon the seas, the colours now run blue;
flung, that bring me my knees,
The likes mere gold could never ever do!
There's blacks and whites and colours in-between,
browns and reds and mixtures not so clear,
Arrayed in rows the likes they've never seen,
And yet each one the child
in me holds dear!
My world of paints I fling across the sky;
Ask children, all, they'll know the reasons why!
|Photo © par /by Richard Vallance 2002
Of Colours All
The bluest blue's the blueness of the sky;
greenest green is granted to the grass;
The whitest white is in your loving eye,
The pupil there, to see it come to
The reddest red is in the sun above;
The pinkest pink is in your rosy cheek;
The grayest gray is also in your
Which leaves me weak, unable, then, to speak.
I say to you of colours, far and wide,
Each one's in place, pursuant
to a prod,
And none is best, and none's to cast aside,
But that you'd stop and take it up with God.
Of colours, all,
no better and no worse,
And here they are, as things we can't reverse.
The Coming of Age
Our friends are like the flowers in the fields,
people, all, are marvels that amaze:
In gardens green tomorrows will be sealed,
With rain, as well, to set those all
The sun aboves some splendid sort of ball,
It shines, alike, upon both friend, and foe:
We've need for love,
and that applies to all,
As dolphins are so surely apt to show.
Giraffes will stick their necks up, good and high,
now and then to feel the stinging vine:
The sun may be a menace to the eye,
But river's run it also will define.
the world, each person comes of age,
With not one name omitted from that page.
Beyond the Niche of Night
Tomorrow takes its treasures from today -
winds of time across the great divide -:
In sunny climes the farmer's making hay,
Held in reserve what, then, is set
Tomorrow knows what yesterday has known;
It's just the way the verities unfold:
We're made aware for things
that have been shown,
With all things new yet hinging on the old.
Tomorrow lives the lessons that we've learned,
moved ahead in incremental mode:
Erect again those bridges that we've burned,
Enabling now the rovers down the road.
moved beyond the niche of night,
For what this day has brought into the light
Were You Not Real
you not real, I would have made you up --
To think such thoughts creating yet a world!
love has flowed, to overfill my cup,
And there you are my future now unfurled!
A man knows grace, before him such a
Advanced the age, with gods themselves at play!
The poet's eyes are taking in the sight,
If lost for words
at things he'd like to say!
What dream is this, that I should be so blest?
What blessing, this, denoted in the dream!
altar set for you, above the rest,
While doves descend, abounding with the Beam!
Were you not real, I'd surely cease
For, deep inside, you are the life of me!
© by Richard Doiron 2004