An Unproductive Afternoon

An Unproductive Afternoon

Crossing the grey stone bridge

I spied the fushion of foliage, river, earth and sky:

The casual wizardry of Mother nature

Tinged with the brush of Merlin

Shutterfulls of irridescent tones attacked my eyes

Although they refused to gel on the retina

And my mind was unable to focus on the dark/light, vertical/horizontal myriad

of intoxicating bubbles of colour.

Although time stood still, all images jingled.

Light-headed, I shuffled my bare feet on pounded earth and felt the goats thrump by,

Reflections and broken mirror images paved the sharded afternoon

And I was high with 'being'

My senses buzzed, too many to identify or separate

They could only bounce off my body, leaving it deliciously languid.

The charm breaks when a piercing call summons the fishermen for lunch

Their women, Fellini-esque, dressed in ebony skirts and polychromatic blouses

dance, and sing over the grey stone bridge and into memory.

(This poem was written after a very unproductive afternoon in the Dordogne on a painting holiday. The goats appeared from nowhere and nearly ran us over as they scampered along the river bank. The river bank was overhung with large trees and

the fishermaen just added a final touch to wonderful setting for a painting. Perhaps I should re-invent a painting some day).