Unfinished poem, unfinished painting

On this fine day I was a little restless. Tracy was still in India while I was trying to figure out what to do with my new found status. I changed the Facebook status too many times, too soon. Crystal, my admin assistant at my last place of employment, suggested that I should go out and paint. But of course, in the state of restlessness I was in no mood to paint. Instead, I wrote down these few lines that I called unfinished poem, unfinished painting. Enjoy


The world is my canvas
and nature my pallette -
All I need is a paint brush
and I'm ready to create.
What painting shall I make?
What mastery shall I fake?

I got time and instruction,
and wide a color range -
From periwinkle to crimson,
from moss to sunset orange.
But what image shall I create?
Which memory to recreate?

I remember places I have been
I recollect faces I have seen.
Yet sitting out in the park
Watching, waiting till the dark!
Whose beauty shall I capture?
At what will my brush rapture?

Color convention I often violate
and traditions I do forego.
But, here, I brush a stroke of violet
and add a delicate hint of indigo.Next to blue I drop a green shade
and the moon lends a bright yellow.
Besides the orange I put the red -
and finish an abstract rainbow.

The last few days

A walk in the park
The last rays of the setting sun
vanishes in the wings
of the home-bound flock.

Across from the lake
the trees frame the rising moon –
yellowish white and full.

Another Spring day comes to an end
Rain keeps falling unendingly
droplets on windshield blur my view
as a barge lazes down Mississippi.

The trees quiver in gusty wind.
In saturated twilight
their shapes appear ghostly

Rain pours into the eve
forcing a nip in the air
as another spring day ends.