The Painter

This is for dVerse Poets Pub.

I put it up as a post last year under my "A poem for Thursday" slot and I thought it might resonate with some of the other poems this week.

The blue sky,

  

and a lazy gull,

                

and the shouting laughter

                   

 of young men playing football.

and high in the sky

the boys float and flutter

on warm thermals.

birch leaves whisper 

and turn themselves over

to show pure silver

-rising in price -

they say. 

.

Stelios gives me a fly past

on his way back from those triangular mountains.

and the wood pigeon

moans gently in the tall pine tree.

on the day

the painter died.

[The painter and the painting of course...Lucien Freud

and the boys are the screaming gang of swallows over the field].