Neil Creighton

Sun Dance

If only I could
throw words
onto the page
like Jackson Pollock
threw paint onto the canvas,
a kind of divine anarchy,
beautiful chaos
celebrating nothing
but itself,
iridescent,
dripping molten stalactites
in fluro red, orange and green
descending
over the primordial world
aeons before
the red blaze cooled
and life emerged,
slowly,
laboriously,
from the cobalt blue.

The Australian poet, Neil Creighton, is ever the optimist. He blogs at windofflowers.blogspot.com.au.