The eruption of Vesuvius

The day he witnessed
In an unearthly awe
With the painters eye
In black heavens lost

He told the story
Of those in peril
From the humanity
To the leaves and their tendrils

I look at it today
The yellow hearts
Flying in the black sky
Tearing the world apart

I wonder if he stood
Paralysed in fear
Or reveled in the purity
Of a destruction so clear!

Did he wonder about death
Or celebrate a life lived
Did he think to himself
Wrath like this can be willed!


The Magpie


He painted a breeze
Then hoped for a sigh
From the frosted trees
In his heartland

They spoke sometimes
The colors of white
The sparkling snow
It prayed the winter night

His world, it bloomed with
the green of the grass
The gold of the hay
The dripping nectar of flowers

He lived in loss
Filled his eyes only with a color
To make do
Without life’s mystical blurs….

His Starry Night


His starry night
Floats in the sky
With colors sublime

I wondered when
He became a muse
In my sands of time

Did he hear them
Begging him to stop
Tearing himself apart

Or on happier days
Did he just sigh
At the night full of stars


Sometimes lost
In a woeful translation
Of beaming joy

At other times
With a paint that smiles
Like a bemused little boy

But at length
A shadow appears
A challenge to the battle weary

Turning his night
Into a dark abyss
Of colors so starry!

Maybe he lived for those of us
Who wish to live
In a colorful apparition

And not those
Who rant of life
Like an unlikely desperation…

And The Mona Lisa Smiles…


Perched on an unassuming wall

armed with her sinister smile

She awaits the times gone by

with trembling tenacity

She sits pretty

My Mona Lisa’s shadow


Housed in a land

undeserving of her ravenous beauty

I wonder what she thinks

of the vanity of this city

I wonder if she laughs

at their empty sorrows


Does she look up

at the mountain of martyrs

or at their Gods’

lost virtues

Does she pretend to be kind

to those who dwell in its grime?


Or is she mocking the hypocrisy

of the fake bourgeois nights

The city reeks of guilt

of its riches and grandeur

and yet she beams with pride

as the world’s wonder’s sparkles during dark times


Like everything around us

she is pretty only to her eyes

and those who fought and won

to protect that sensual smile

must often wonder if the lives lost

were worth her while


If beauty is only skin deep

hers is as thick as his canvas

she’s the world’s biggest mystery

and its greatest surrender

I wonder when he painted

was he in love with her smile


Did he dream of her home

so tainted and beautiful?

Or is it just time that has made

the Mona Lisa smile so wistful???