On Painting Blue Fusion by Charles Clifford Brooks III

On Painting Blue Fusion by Charles Clifford Brooks III

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Charles Clifford Brooks III is a freelance writer from Jasper, Georgia USA. He contributes monthly articles in the Pickens County Progress concerning theological-social issues as well as a column totally devoted to humorous commentaries on current events. Charles was inducted into the National Creative Society his senior year at Shorter

College, which sealed his fate as a man of letters. He graduated from Shorter in 1999, with a Bachelor's of Science in History and a minor in English Literature.

His poetry has been published in AEGIS, Awen, Eclectica Magazine, Poetry Motel, Foliate Oak, Confused in a Deeper Way, resume, Wet Ink (Winner of Wet Ink’s 2005 Poetry Contest), The Chimes, Pulsar Magazine, and GreenInk. His prose has won the Sassafrass Literary Exchange’s writing competition in Fiction and Nonfiction two years

running. Samples of his short fiction can be found in Ha! Magazine, Sein und Werden Magazine, and The Chimes.

Today, he is employed by Georgia’s Department of Juvenile Justice where he works with the at-risk children and their families. Charles can be found on www.eliteskills.com under his pseudonym DanShilton

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Saturday and Sunday afternoon, sleepy,

leading me out to the pines with paints

looking out ocean-wishing eyes.

Sky is needed, and sand,

-and a glass of lemonade.

Brushes and shadows take shape

as I imagine how to whip up

windows without a view that suits me.

Blue.

It all needs blue, white,

my special kind of liquid dynamite,

to clear back the black

where words only smear.

Ancient books` cannot help here,

but Saint Luke is always looking over my shoulder.

I don’t waste my day

on summer houses in respectful disrepair.

The future of this canvass

carries not the cherubs and curls of Heaven.

The world doesn’t need another Warhol can of soup,

a thoughtful Rockwell doctor,

or Parish clowns with lanterns.

No, I design emotion:

all the passionate kisses, heartbreak, and laughter

the masses have missed.

These productions are unhinged empathy

and confessions of a rugged ride to the present .

The white, my childhood,

the grey, of my middle years.

-And the blue?

What color better to see through,

than blue?

- I use blue to mimic the ocean in my mind.

These acrylic infants, still wet against the wall,

are Picasso’s inspired grandchildren.

His babies cradled in a frame,

to coo at the world,

children undulating by my umbilical,

feeding through my fingers.