Flat Earth Theory (Poetry)
15th July 2012
In the beginning...
the artist grouped randomly upon his spacious palette
the five basic elements needed for creation —
red fire blue water green wood yellow metal
and mellow brown earth pigments dobbed like some
scattered archipelago.
He took a perfect new canvas and airbrushed sky
with his own breath puffed the clouds
into the faces of mountains and misted
great green forests — let the sweated rivers run.
He mixed and matched a million reds to flame
and painted sun too bright to look at —
all this on the first morning of the week
before lunch — when he took a break to consider how
he should balance his composition.
The critics would — he knew — expect a certain amount
of symbolism — for this was Fine Art and such a creation had to set
a certain standard for all those who would follow
so it needed to be awesome — a true original.
He paced himself — studied sketches drawn on stars
translating scale and fixing lines to show
a narrative unfolding — pooling rainbow spills —
each gush of inspiration rolled forth a fiercer flood.
Colours mated — found their natural form and shape.
He worked the details — sharpened halo rims — contrasted
a stream of opposites and played with combinations — slanted
light to pick through shadows — find the hidden face.
Seven days and seven fitful nights to conjure everything
from nothing
bring vision into life — the first experiment with raw ingredients
that kept on changing as he watched — the concept altering
the more he added...
It all took on new meaning — gradually undermined his theory.
He wrestled long and hard to bring back some control —
the fire raged undefeated torrents of water roared
metal wood and earth evolved their own plans for mutation —
their textures rough and wet he let the picture spread — expand
its borders from wall to wall to wall...
The project soon outgrew him — his shrivelled brush impotent
as the surface heaved and boiled
proved primitive in its demand for immediate expression —
sheer agony announced in towering waves — far out
on the horizon
Night dragged deeper shadows — and Death slow-circled Earth’s
unsure and foggy edge.
the artist grouped randomly upon his spacious palette
the five basic elements needed for creation —
red fire blue water green wood yellow metal
and mellow brown earth pigments dobbed like some
scattered archipelago.
He took a perfect new canvas and airbrushed sky
with his own breath puffed the clouds
into the faces of mountains and misted
great green forests — let the sweated rivers run.
He mixed and matched a million reds to flame
and painted sun too bright to look at —
all this on the first morning of the week
before lunch — when he took a break to consider how
he should balance his composition.
The critics would — he knew — expect a certain amount
of symbolism — for this was Fine Art and such a creation had to set
a certain standard for all those who would follow
so it needed to be awesome — a true original.
He paced himself — studied sketches drawn on stars
translating scale and fixing lines to show
a narrative unfolding — pooling rainbow spills —
each gush of inspiration rolled forth a fiercer flood.
Colours mated — found their natural form and shape.
He worked the details — sharpened halo rims — contrasted
a stream of opposites and played with combinations — slanted
light to pick through shadows — find the hidden face.
Seven days and seven fitful nights to conjure everything
from nothing
bring vision into life — the first experiment with raw ingredients
that kept on changing as he watched — the concept altering
the more he added...
It all took on new meaning — gradually undermined his theory.
He wrestled long and hard to bring back some control —
the fire raged undefeated torrents of water roared
metal wood and earth evolved their own plans for mutation —
their textures rough and wet he let the picture spread — expand
its borders from wall to wall to wall...
The project soon outgrew him — his shrivelled brush impotent
as the surface heaved and boiled
proved primitive in its demand for immediate expression —
sheer agony announced in towering waves — far out
on the horizon
Night dragged deeper shadows — and Death slow-circled Earth’s
unsure and foggy edge.