A sunset

At zero hour clay pigeons cry

And coarse acrylic colours fly

Across the sky.

Age cannot wither them nor fade

Their crown-jewels hues of jet and jade

In gold arrayed.

Along meridians of fire

These eager arrows of desire

Course ever higher.

No commonly-occurring show –

Unlike a spammer’s daily flow

Of piss-stained snow;

Which seamy and small-minded shower

Drops in our inbox every hour

To make us glower.

In cosy corduroy dungarees

An actress has encased her knees;

Theatre shan’t freeze.

But now I see her drop her script –

Outside the evening sky is dripped

With colours. Whipped

Into a fury, self-assured

No longer, cosmically she’s stirred;

Aggro the word

Enacted by her thespian art.

She hates the heavenly colour chart,

She has no heart.

Kandinsky, cede your pride of place

To these phenomena that trace

Chroma in space.

And he who limned the glorious ceiling

Of Sixtus’ chapel, should be kneeling,

O’ercome with feeling.

Now, wary Wotan shakes his spear

At iridescence coming near

The stratosphere.

His one eye fastens on a brill-

-iant orange star that flies uphill

To Yggdrasil.

Refer to: Aug 2020 – Colour coded
Cross Words