Sun Dance If only I could throw words onto the page like Jackson Pollock threw paint onto the canvas, a kind of divine anarchy, beautiful chaos celebrating nothing but itself, iridescent, dripping molten stalactites in flouro red, orange and green descending over the primordial world aeons before the red blaze cooled and life emerged, slowly, laboriously, from the cobalt blue. Neil Creighton This poem was originally published at One Sentence Poems. Neil Creighton is an Australian poet with a passion for social justice and a love of the natural world. Recent publications include Poetry Quarterly, Silver Birch Press, Praxis Online, South Florida Poetry Journal, and Verse-Virtual, where he is a contributing editor. His poetry blog is windofflowers.blogspot.com.au
3 Comments
11/3/2017 06:08:28 pm
I love this poem. It made me think at first of Keats' line, "Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain", which captured in such a different way the urgency poets feel to do what we are here to do. But the stance toward creativity here is different, so life affirming, glorious, epic. Gorgeous!
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Neil Creighton
11/4/2017 05:49:25 am
Hey, Elizabeth, so cool. Thanks!
Reply
Elizabeth Burnside
11/4/2017 06:37:21 pm
Not to mention far better insight into Jackson Pollack than I gleaned in that long ago art history class... Your comment will be posted after it is approved.
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