The painter
Crawling out the salty sea
A shape’s salty memory
Carried by blood
To flood and flood
Each and all the earthly lands
To paint the whole with the red of man’s.
Turner and Constable rivalry
Paints out at the Royal Academy.
Each adds another shape
To his salt water landscape
With intent to reach perfection
And unassailable affection.
Turner’s blood red buoy to the center,
Marking the boundary of do not enter.
Turner has fired a gun,
A ready or not here I come.
Knaves and fools come on the run
Speak of deeds done by the undone.
Rosencrantz and Gildenstern
Sycophants to reach their turn.
Card players holding fawning hands.
What a piece of work is man.
Their ploy brings them to the dead
Oh so many shades of red
Waterfalls after the behead
Each prettier then the other
Rejoice!— they fight, they fight to smother.
Knaves and fools speak of Lady Macbeth
On and on of her unrest.
Of her jealousy of Pontius Pilate
Whose washing bowl exceeds a toilet
Time travelled to vanish future red
That the Christ was soon to shed.
Out out you damned spot,
I’ve cried and tried and dyed a lot.
Oh this blood will not away
It taunts hand washing and stays to stay.
My hands I’ve washed with every perfume
That floods the whole of my room.
But still the stench that makes me wrench
It all avails me not, oh forsake me you damn spot.
The painter knows these stupid fools
Can’t see red as precious jewels.
Can’t see blood as precious tools
That he learned in life’s schools.
Sometimes to wear, long and straight,
Sometimes to color an enemy’s gate.
A primary color, the primaries win,
A red shade for the right spin.
A piece of this an’ all of that.
War is peace for an autocrat.
Forsake me not, never cease
As I paint my masterpiece.
Whitewash?, Oh no, oh no,
The color red is the way to go.
All day long I’ll make hard way tens.
With red pip dice and I’ll say when.
The red amongst us is our done?
Something wicked this way comes.