WISH YOU WERE HERE

vangogh cafe terrace at night

When I think of you

I am on the cobbled terrace

Painted by Van Gogh

It is a starry night

And I sip the richest espresso

&&&

No matter that I am really

Sitting in Subway

Sipping diet cola

Cramming veggies and cheese

Back inside my dry-as-a-Painted Desert

White flour bun

&&&

Unable to finish

I throw it away

Walk outside

Find myself whispering to

The trash-picking crows

“Bring him to me!”

Might as well send out the

Flying Monkeys

For all the response

From the gathering of

The black-winged murders

&&&

Ah, Vincent

(If I may call you by your first name)

Here you were, on the Camargue

In Arles

Surrounded by beauty

That you faithfully interpreted

For generations of art appreciators

Yet your life was lonely, too

And no crows or fairy godmothers

Could bring your love to you

&&&

Painters and poets and players of instruments

Why isn’t nature’s beauty and

Relatively good physical health

Ever enough?

© 2015 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

2 comments

  1. Without love, even the best sandwich is dry. Those crows may not be the best bet, as they’re more accustomed to gathering flotsam and jetsam. Winged monkeys be more discerning, and yet I wonder what creatures will do this important task well.
    I’ve been told to wake up and smell the coffee, and first go within to awaken love. I took it to heart and have been amazed how it’s changed the flavor of things.

    Like

    1. Such good advice, ViewPacific! I tend to forget about going within, at times. Perhaps in the cooler weather I will walk among my swamp denizens and observe myself instead of them, for a change. Thank you!

      Liked by 1 person

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