The patterns in this one look like what might be seen
in ancient scrolls found from some lost civilization!
Green in her mem’ry
Short in a rev’rie
Keen as a seagull’s cry ...
Too soon to waken
Too late to stake in
Ardour of springtime’s lie ...
There is a sudden flicker in the eye of light
That brings to life a plethora of colour
Despite autumnal despondentia in sight
Our blessing’s vision swiftly may recover
What it has lost; the hopes by wingéd wind
Recur anon, resuscitate and fade:
Though wills of might the law must needs rescind
It shall the gatherings implacably pervade —
The gatherings of thought on her autumnal brow:
Severe and yet of mercy’s chosen books —
Where do you go, pray tell me, now?
What is it now that no delay, if little, brooks?
“I am going for Erde — for Earth —
Dar Eorphe esith kaleden
It is ever my wont to begirth
That undone, those unruled, ever then.”
Lakes in her vision
Fought with decision
Folding along the clash ...
Mirrors of starlings
Bright as a cosmic flash ...
In golden lines the dawn embroidered high
In pools of red some scatterings of cloud
In mantle of the saddest brown bedight
Her dexter arm set forth, she quoth aloud:
Rally to me, she said, the scions here beset
With thousand wheels your chariots endowed
By wingéd wind the season’s hopes be let
Unto your children, futurely becrowned
There is a quiet tremor in the stillest night
That will evoke the suddenness of autumn
The shimmering of droplets in their flight
From cobwebs swiftly stirred unthoughten ...
“I am glad of the fields that were green
Even though by my hand they are brown
Not in deathness may they be serene
But retaining the summer’s renown.”
Many have seen it
Less than a minute
Sheer as a highland’s fall ...
Storm and fair weather
— Light as a feather —
Are interleaved in all ...
Not that there are too many who will ask
With no pretence of their own destiny:
What is the measure of my greatest task?
Have I discovered truly what I need?
But at the moment of our inmost cry
The succoured pity to the ones we loved
Shall rampantly well up the channels dry
And, bending to and fro, pulsingly lined
Shall mark the peaks in points of marble white
Shall bring to life a plethora of colour
By wingéd wind it shall in hopes appear bedight
Albeit never was divested of their cover ...
“Come embrace me, my seasonal friend
In our parting we heartily met
You your shelter release as you lend
I my power forego as I let ...”
Keep up the great work!
The questions I raised are the same ones I asked my self, and would ask myself again, if I were going to produce abstract art that is largely computer rendered. Those questions are out there, and it's not personal at all to chip away at them.