The Unwritten Bible for the Modestly Valiant
after Susan Ariel Rainbow Kennedy
“Remember to delight yourself first, then others can be truly delighted." -SARK
Comfort the tiny voice. Kiss-kiss
its paper-cut hands. Inspiration has no other
choice; it must breathe its meddlesome, trying blooms.
All creation belongs. Celebrate: the unfinished
rainbow; the clover, quartered; the tigress,
an insatiable albino. Nature never
readdresses the flawlessness of rarities.
Go forth, populate this distraught
world with paint, words, unrestricted movement,
slow-whittled wood and broken guitar strings.
Art is everything. Un-school
each unsure, gun-shy, withheld offering:
give them free range to relight their own suns,
until nights are no longer lonely. Befriend demons
and lavish desserts with rowdy abandonment.
Wet your brush so often it balds. Scribble, dribble,
unfurl your queue , lay your hues, boldly. Connect
to the roots in canvas. Add relish-green and
mustard to seed a dance floor for the like-minded.
They are out there, somewhere, waiting for your touch
of madness— welcome this eve of new atoms.
Let your elder-child play; her midnight ringlets
will spring as yellow balls bounce those blues
clear out of the sky.
This poem was written as part of November's 20 Poem Challenge.
Cyndi MacMillan poetry has recently appeared in Grain Magazine and the Fieldstone Review. Her verse, short fiction and novel-in-progress resentfully compete for her attention. She lives in New Hamburg, Ontario, home to North America’s largest working water wheel. Coffee and family allow ideas to percolate.
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