On watching my child try painting.

Oh God, of this insolvable princess made so by sunstroke

and school busing. Making the slight,

gradual mountain tops with the same anxiety

as a sniper who hides in tall grass. I suspect 

that art, the making of such intarsia,

yeah everything with color coded-ness

and permanence that washes away like

grain or topsoil.. My heart won't

dare tell you that the horse is upside

down or that his mane is reciprocal

or that the force he might give away is free

like purpose; free like saturation. Or that

the white,  windowless house is unknowingly

where your Grandma lived when slavery

had curved by her soul, too young to toss

herself down the well of external reference.

so if you read this before you find a cute boy

to love you or before you

find a cute boy that buys you pizza, i wish that

for you since watercolor overcomes it all. And I

am unwilling to endure the intus

within. Color does that to a Black man.

He thinks that all substances are organs

and attitudes that grow outside the body.

So he lives without permission

just believing in the beige vision,

however smooth, that the distance

from the red shore is involute,

unwittingly

to the blue trees.

Reviews

[redzone]

whoa!! so much woven with the colors of the minds eye... the eye of a child, the history of slavery and oppression, the wonderment of human beings and how they see upside down horses... I think your metaphors and images are wonderfully written in this amazing poem... and it seems that your daughter paints as well as her mother collects and lays down words... I can only add that I am envious of you both...

redzone

[h d e rushin]

thank you dearest love redzone for your interest and your kind remarks......dana

[emmajoy]

Your words curl toes and mind, sharing your own feelings with deft recognition to truth and tale. You touch history and ethics, you weave sadness with absolute joy. Sight is your mantra, the texture of colour ever aware.. and you made me feel 'longside you, wanting to cheer the courage that put these words on display.

[h d e rushin]

thank you my dearest emmajoy....i've been away for a while, getting my thoughts together.....Love and miss you....dana

[M. Shepherd]

Such love expressed by such acute observation of the child, her anxiety, her carefulness. This is certainly prose straight from the blooming rapture of a mother's heart as she witnesses her child experiencing existence. And with memory, continually witnessing every piece of history that paints what the child sees and how she is seen, illustrates part of who she will become and what strengths and weaknesses she'll develop. And within all that, what love she'll find, what love will find her.

[h d e rushin]

thanks so much M. Shepherd for stopping in to visit me...and glad to see your still writing and reading....dana

[Beccy]

Last summer, my son Charlie was writing birthday party invitations to his classmates. 'Whose that?" I asked him, not recognising one particular child's name.

"Oh, she's new in my class," he said, "she's really pretty," (Blushes all round!.)

I asked him to describe the girl for me, and all he could think to say was that she laughed a lot and had nice hair. On the day of the party I was introduced; and my heart melted when I saw that the little girl was not only a recent addition to the school, but she and her parents had only just come to the UK from Ghana.

Such is the beautiful innocence of children.

Beccy.

[h d e rushin]

yes..Beccy..."such is the beautiful innocence of children". thanks again for stopping by my friend....dana

[Great Aunt Astri]

You write very cleverly with a brilliant use of words, putting across your points in no uncertain way Thank you for sharing This poem

[h d e rushin]

thank you great aunt astri.....for those kind comments....dana

[Lyn Anderson]

To see the world, to feel it, through the art of a child - how quickly we lose that sense - and appreciation for blue trees and upside down livestock.

[h d e rushin]

thank you KL for your kindness my friend...dana

[jacob erin-cilberto]

damn this is good...a journey back to that stage of coloring...within the lines maybe...but often outside of them...because make believe allows us so many more places to go...and this poem reminds us to do that when we can...because we are all slaves to life and its expectations for what we are or may be.
unwittingly or not...we go too often, where we are supposed to go.
every poem you write is so fresh, so different, so engaging.
j.

[h d e rushin]

thank you dear jacob for your continued support my friend. My only wish for the new year is that I could a poets heart like you.....to have a poem ready to write each and every day......dana

[Ken Simm.]

To take your heart and place it on view as this takes supreme courage.
I am reminded of Picasso who said first of all children are the true creatives. And The artist is a receptacle for emotions that come from all over the place: from the sky, from the earth, from a scrap of paper, from a passing shape...
Paul Klee wished to paint like a child. What you have said here will haunt me. You have opened the box on love, on memories , on a childs creativity, on pain and ultimately on the joy of seeing something so precious if only briefly. On wishes. On if only. On being beautiful even when all else bleeds.

[h d e rushin]

thank you my dearest Ken for those kind remarks...Your painters heart knows best the wish of color and form to remind us of that art is the highest social quest of a modern society. Hence a child's attempt at art then is societies most intimate sacrament..dana

[Coyote Poetry]

I enjoyed the journey and thoughts in your words dear friend.
"My heart won't
dare tell you that the horse is upside
down or that his mane is reciprocal"
To view true and innocence perfection. Better to hold silence and be thankful. Thank you for sharing the excellent poetry.
Coyote

[h d e rushin]

thank you dearest Coyote.....She's gone on to glory now since Jan..2014 but the images still live inside of me...grander now than ever..Thank you for those kind remarks....dana

[Coyote Poetry]

You are welcome dear Dana.