Tuesday, October 13, 2015

This Is a PAINTING (of Some Sorts)


The sky is a soft, steely grey standing atop a bar of vivid pinks and oranges. There is a purple outline of land against the lightening sky. This marvelous cascade of colors highlights a deep, dark blue expanse of ocean. The ocean rushes to meet black, jagged crags and a dark blue behemoth is torn to fine mist and white froth against the sharp teeth of the rocks. Hidden rocks lay buried under the churning white waves. The broken water lazily meanders away, slowly eating away at the crags.

Oceans border the
Vivid hues of a new sky
Black crags break white waves

And then a man comes
And he's bored
So he decides to swim
On the floor
Made of sand
And a few crabs
He cuts his hands
But he doesn't care
The waves come
And wash over him
And he splutters
But doesn't move
Who knows what is
Going through his head
Interrupting his thoughts
Is another wave
He might drown
If he doesn't move
But he's having fun
'Cause he's no longer bored
So he keeps swimming
On the floor
Made of sand
And a couple crabs
With the sun
Coming up
Or going down
We can't really tell
No one really cares
Just like that one man
Who's swimming on the floor
Made of sand
And a few crabs
Oh no the crabs are gone
They had enough of him
He's had enough of him
He gets up
And leaps into the ocean
But the ocean says no
And throws him back onto
The beach made of
Sand, and a few crabs
Oh wait no crabs
And he cries
For no serious reason
He's a total moron
He sobs on the floor
And his tears
Increase the size of the ocean
No, not really
There is no possible way
To measure how much
If at all
His tears added to
The size of the ocean
It was so miniscule
And insignificant
That to attempt to
Measure the amount
Or the percentage
Would be a silly
Endeavor
And it's best to forget
All about it
Or you might be a moron
Just like the old man
Crying on the floor
Made of sand
And no crabs
Where he used to swim
When he was a bit younger
And wasn't crying
While the sun comes up
Or falls down
Over a blue ocean
Breaking on black crags
Making white foam
Along a sandy shore
With no crabs

2 comments:

  1. I like this:

    He's had enough of him
    He gets up
    And leaps into the ocean
    But the ocean says no
    And throws him back onto
    The beach made of
    Sand

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Good morning, Mrs. Fraser,
      I was quite proud of my little descriptive piece even if it could've flowed better and sounded nicer on the tongue. However, I finished writing it and found out I only had half the necessary words. And thus, the random poem about an old man was born.
      Have a lovely night,
      Zachary

      Delete