For a Poem – Pt 2

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I want to write a poetry book with simple verses
Sleep in the open air, like the old wanderers
up near the river
I’d hear upon the morning air
With my chin in my two hands, I want to sit and stare
the weathervane, the chimneys, and the wild flowers
That rise like spars above my city, straight and tall,
And the mysterious fluffy clouds over all.

I want to catch the blue mist of night in my hand
watch my room’s window illuminated by starlight
kiss the moonlight dreams
standing in the doorway
I shall see the springs, and the autumns slowly pass;
And when old Winter puts her blank face to the glass,
I shall close all my shutters, pull the curtains tight,
far I’ll dream,
alone, in rationed light

I shall walk the blue Gardens
that are a stairway into azure skies,
Drink from the Fountains
that weeps out of alabaster,
birds that sing All day —
of bloom, gloom and doom.
And riots in the streets below
Will never lure me from my task, I shall be so
Lost in this quiet ecstasy, the keenest still,
that I’ll paint this whole landscape
fierce and hot – through my burning quill

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For a Poem