The Dreamer



I lie with my love while she sleeps,
Her book of poems discarded. 
Even though I do not sleep, I dream.
I dream of another life for me,
Where I can paint all day.
I dream of escaping this city,
With its rows and rows of identical houses,
All crammed in, oppressive and menacing. 
They suffocate me while I sleep,
So I stay awake and daydream.

In my daydreams I see myself in the country. 

A cockerel crows to wake me up
And I rise immediately,
Energised by a plan that I made the night before. 
Yesterday my wife picked a huge bouquet of
Wild flowers from the meadow
And arranged them beautifully in a glass vase. 
Their blooms filled the house with a sweet aroma
And transformed every corner of our humble cottage
Into a place of tranquillity.
I knew then that I had to paint them,
But the light was already fading,
So I resolved to do so in the morning.

I do not stop to use the washstand or change my clothes.
I do not take a drink or prepare breakfast.
I simply rise and begin.
I push the paint out of its metal tube and savour the sight

And sounds of it escaping its confines.

It oozes out in a thick curly worm, onto my palette.

I inhale the smell of the oils

And a million memories dance in my mind.

Sitting at the knee of my grandfather
As he mixed his paints on this very palette.
My first tentative attempts to put paint to canvas,
With his hand next to mine,
Poised to assist.

This poem was inspired by ‘Couple on a red background’
by Marc Chagall (1983)
http://www.abcgallery.com/C/chagall/chagall106.html