I once went to a van Gogh exhibit at the Met in New York City. I can't remember if "Vase with Irises" was one of the paintings hanging on the wall. I like to think it was, and that's the reason I'm drawn to it.
Saint Marty is thinking of flowers and sun and spring after a week of Antarctica.
Vase with Irises, 1890
by: Martin Achatz
The blossoms, a swarm
of wrecked hummingbirds, blue,
crumpled, try to escape
the gold fist of the vase.
The static of wings beats
the saffron sunlight to a froth.
Needle beaks stab and stab
the fronds curving away like green fire.
How long did this arrangement last?
How long did the universe spin
above this hungry star? Imagine
van Gogh trying to contain
this unruly host, already rebelling,
questioning the power of brush and pain.
Imagine his white hot mind
holding the scene together,
flinging these blue angels, one-by-one,
into the eternity of his canvas.
Vote for Marty Achatz for 2019/2020 Poet Laureate of the U. P.
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