Sunday, July 17, 2011

A Touch of Yellow

                                             In memory of  Gerald Gee

A day of storm, of lowering clouds,
Of scudding winds and passing showers.
And yet the sun can pierce the gloom,
Such are its powers.

The hills reveal themselves, then hide.
The colours change from dun to brass.
Strange shapes appear and then re-form
Along the grass.

And, suddenly, a trumpet sounds;
A brilliance spreads itself around.
The sun has found its voice once more
And what a sound!

The yellow, gold, canary tones
Are dazzling to the grey-filled eye!
We greet the fitful sun once more.........
Then say goodbye.

                                Margaret Gosden


Is it a sandstorm that buffets?
Is it an ocean that must be crossed?
Is it icy rain sheeting the view?
Is it the speeding traffic
In some huge strange city?
Something streams by them.
Is it the wind behind their backs
Pushing them on?
Or the wind in front
Pushing them back
To the home of their hearts?
They cannot bear to look straight ahead;
For there they would see nothingness.
They cannot bear to look back;
For there they would see everything.
So they move like crabs,
Looking sideways,
Sheltering their faces from
They stream.
Millions of them.
Streaming across continents and oceans.
Human-beings streaming
Like wind,
Like sand,
Like rain,
Like the sea.


eileeninmd said...

Lovely poem and the painting is beautiful. I love the rolling hills. Happy MYM and have a great week!

Ann, Chen Jie Xue 陈洁雪 said...

abstract art? I like your poem.