Cluttered crowd of colours comingling
from all directions blues yellows
from each corner reds greens
splashing spilling squirting from every angle
cardinal virtues and the seven deadly sins
a chorus of crashing textures and hues
black white love hate good versus evil
a discordant chorus of disparate dissonance
like the infinite chaos of the early universe
the entire astral spectrum captured, contained
within one carnivorous canvas
appearing to the uninitiated eye
as if anyone with sticks and brushes
cans of old paint and a few drinks
could create a splatter similar to this –
but just try it.
Michael Estabrook is a recently retired baby boomer child-of-the-sixties poet freed finally after working 40 years for “The Man” and sometimes “The Woman.” No more useless meetings under florescent lights in stuffy windowless rooms. Now he’s able to devote serious time to making better poems when he’s not, of course, trying to satisfy his wife’s legendary Honey-Do List.
The Ekphrastic Review
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