winter lake maria kitano

There is no color in this winter sunrise
I am waiting for the soft pinking in the sky
to bring into focus the poems waiting for form
for creation from my head
to capture the texture and heat
but there is no color
I watch confused as it drains away
leaving bits of black and white behind like a crushed crisp
fallen leaf
the window glass frames a silent movie
a monochrome landscape
Is it only my eyes that can’t see red, emerald, purple
can’t see blue sky?
I swivel my head in desperation from east to west
east again
all is faded to dirty linen
cool and colorless as tears
I reach out with disbelief and pleading mind
just one drop
one scarlet
one warm yellow
the words in my head are hot with flowering
yet the pen scratches only black and white
and the winter sunrise stays grey

*artwork by maria kitano*


About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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