With But a Brushstroke of Sound

Seurat filled in the swirling colors

 atoms all around, so round.

The field’s greens with muddy brown,

 perfect bluish shades that dance

together, making a subtle sky.

Suits of dabbled brown,

tweedy jackets and dotted dresses,

in ever blending  points of wonder

makes his world go round and round,

with but a brush stroke of sound.

A picnic by the lake

reminds us of better times

when colors became strings of red

as the clacking loom went up and down.

When the world is cold and still,

what might his painting do

when we feel a little low?

Seurat had a different view!

Something that he only knew,

and when his dots and dashes

created lines, they made a language

of earthly clay with blue and brown,

shale gathering its shallow hues

of blacks,  greens, and red that

smelled of wet, wet stones

and led us down a path.

The flying zest of waves tells us,

one day we will know

that we are but little drops

in an ocean of splashing turquoise.

He created a world of pointed wonder

in a land of umbrellas and towers.

A picnic view forever new,

we watch the shifting colors

that distort the eye with subtle hues.

We’re in his painting taking walks,

to a border we do not know.

When the seagulls tell us so,

we’ll know we must go,

away from his novel scene,

and escape within his dream.

Reference site on Georges Seurat.