Dim marks of color, pencil or ink
Tilted and stilted, flying, they sink
Scribbles and scratches, mere space and lines
Onto a surface these scrawlings confined

Yet simple cipherings passions do hide
Narrow creations inflate a world wide
Grief and remorse, tragedy, joy
Hatred and yearning these symbols deploy

All of our wisdom, our visions, our truth
Ponderings precious in marks black or blue
Joyful achievement and painstaking finds
Reason objective and mystical minds

Words that gave freedom and words that enslaved
Lawyers and scientists long dust in graves
Abstract potential to vivid concrete
Hazy horizon and solid ground meet

Who would have guessed it, the simple man-beast?
When sitting by fire and eating his feast
That curlicues, planes wrought by stick in the dirt
They could contain the explosion of earth?


May 21st, 2017


Photo Credit:
Tiger in Houston