Poem: Pablo

lines on whiteboard
Photo by Martin Péchy on Pexels.com

Black eyes of the deep south
simmer through cigarette smoke,
windows on the tortuous corridors
where the minotaur lurks.
There can be no control:
He is the crucible of all possibility;
the raging bull and the wild horse.
And the bearer of light.
His mesmeric stare fixes
on the stigmata of raised hands.
Goya-like, he senses life’s transitory
spell, this bridge of tragedy,
the lifeblood of creativity.
He paints in a trance, in full
knowledge that there is no
thread for Theseus to find.

copyright Francis Barker 2019

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