Hokusai’s Great Wave
The great wave hangs endlessly near Tokyo.
At seventy-five, Hokusai had learned the patterns of nature,
so he painted the marvelous wave that does not touch the shore
but shows its white cap as it threatens to roll onward
dwarfing Mount Fuji, centered in the vastness of water,
reminding us it, too, will one day do much more.
His wave does not leave ugly sludge filled with bodies
of people vital and smiling,
alive the moment before.
There are no desperate, wounded children nearby.
The great wave hangs in beauty
in faultless harmony;
destruction and loss forever an act undone.
© 2011 C. Harter Amos
Blue Haze
Do not contaminate the blue haze
of mountains that stretch across the miles
with thoughts of morality
or protests of who should own what part.
It seems a sin to carve such grandeur into squares
to satisfy whims and greeds of men.
Rather to imagine, like Lennon,
there would be no need for greed or hunger here,
no breath of air not pure and free.
Never question the harmony
of life lived with clouds
not dedicated to God but given without thought,
and not beyond gentle, gracious simplicity.
A placid silence filled with whispering pines
this place the dream of angels devine,
no less than the essence of souls.
A breed of people, made here, apart
bound by boundless blood and timeless time.
Small against endless shades of blue
that blend water with earth and both with sky;
humbled by the knowledge that this is what surrounds us all.
© 2009 C. Harter Amos
Not Even Jesus
© 2009 C. Harter Amos
Claude Monet
Three boats were dragged onto an ecru shore,
sitting side by side,
half lit in sunset, half black in shadow,
with a streak of yellow along each keel.
Spring had come to Giverny,
The gardens were extravagantly simple:
the lilies alive in shades of purple pastels , the trees in lustrous evening oils.
( Camille in heaven cried
Long before Monet died
Knowing his sight,his gift of light,
would fade away
Before the last breath,before his last day.)
Strokes of radiance with unbounded control
made of colors innocent but bold.
Intimate lessons learned through life’s infinite array easily captured in the paintings
of Claude Monet.
Before the painting dried,
the boats were gone;mere marks on the horizon,
and empty water slapped the harbor
with shadows that through myopic eyes
became perfection in his art.
© 2009 C. Harter Amos
Simple Stone
© 2009 C. Harter Amos
Tumbling into Oblivion (for Gayle)
© 2009 C. Harter Amos
My Blood Reaches
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Self Inventory
© 2009 C. Harter Amos
Shades of Blue
In Burton blue moonlight,
I fall,
Sullen and wounded
Beneath your weight,
And weep inside silently,
Interested not at all in your soul
or mine.
A picture forms behind my eyes,
Pulled from tedious rusted mind full of memories.
Vanilla candles burn
dripping white rivulets
onto cold, mauve veined marble.
The sky flies by our white gauze curtains
in gentle shades of blue,
And I smile at the memory of you.
Today the sky is gray.
In the stunted sunlight
You are a wild and wonderful beast
Standing beneath the storm
In a pool of lust too strong to curb or deny.
You are a silhouette of power
With shimmering lion’s aura,
Encircling blonde mane
All disheveled,
Male and proud.
Your Martin filled with shades of blue.
Warmth in Winter
Lay a blanket down and settle against the hill
To take in the blueness of the sky
Open a bottle of wine to celebrate
The fresh scent of pine on the air
Cool and soothing against the cheek
Like the memory of a kiss.
The whisper of a pleasant breeze in the trees is interrupted…
In the distance that lonely freight train from nowhere
passes slowly on its way to anywhere else.
Mournfully calling out, it exists inside a Johnny Cash song,
And knows full well you won’t follow along this time.
Anywhere else is a dream of swirling snow
Where overstuffed coats are pulled tight against near-frozen bodies.
Nowhere is a place you’ve been with tears in your eyes
Tears you shouldn’t be willing to shed
When they turn to droplets of cruel ice on tender skin.
You should smile at the warmth instead
Put your faith in the here and now
Throw rocks in the stream
Touch the warm golden light from the evening sun
And dance with the pleasure of life.
How lush life can be,
How calm it is
Where the green grass beckons
And flowers bloom against the odds
in mid-winter.