Colin F. Jones



The great artist paints a thought and weeps;
He mixes many replies in his tray
Then links images while he lies and sleeps,
Extending the thought the following day.
Magenta runs into cyan and yellow
Green meadows the foreground with joy,
Red anger softens becoming quite mellow,
Running into the background absently coy.
So many thoughts he disencumbered,
So many emotions drawn from the tray,
Where stark are the unmixed colours,
Where the brush hovers briefly to pray.
But the artist prays not for himself but for others,
Thus his finished work has something to say.


He who speaks the truth comes into the light,
Into the light where all his defects are seen,
Like a figure who at noon and at night,
Sheds no shadow to hide where he’s been.
But the truthful man will suffer exposure,
As surely would one naked freeze in the snow,
For the pain of truth never leaves the enclosure,
Where for a lifetime truth is always on show.
Thus the softness of the portrait is hardened,
The saturated hues come starkly to life,
Postulation and opinion is unpardoned,
In that inflexible truth leads eventually to strife.
Yet the truth is the truth is the truth,
And is never a double edged knife.


Don’t pluck a flower, try taking its picture,
It will remain beautiful forever then,
For to dismemberer it for a fond restructure,
is only a temporary moment for that sweet stem.
And for those who appreciate its gracefulness,
While it paddles water in its watery bier,
Bringing them peace and cheerfulness,
Though it was more happy when it was drier.
Don’t deface what is truly beautiful,
For only deeds have ignominious content,


Contradiction of a fact is foolish,
And is the way of the insecure,
Who seek to be the centre of attention,
Often ridiculing what they were before,
They rose to a position of prominence,
Through the schemes of other men,
But then use cruel words against them,
Scribbling with an oft false and poison pen.
Some like to be seen as they see themselves,
Thus dwell in the flattery of the flatterer;
Thus follow this road that compels
Them to become the self-centred chatterer.


Some accuse others of turning to run,
When they turn away from constant abuse,
Rather than supply more bullets for the gun,
Knowing such idiocy is never much use.
That’s because they need to be seen as right,
Or the truth has ruffled their feathers,
Thus they seek a reason to be impolite,
To convince the audience that always gathers.
Then come the knights on cantering steeds,
To the edge of the already dispersed affray,
With words quoted from authoritarian creeds,
To become the heroes of the unremarkable day.
For tis the umpire who always succeeds,
Though his inaccurate words have nothing to say


“I have been cursed, reviled, lied about, and maligned,
Both publicly and privately through no fault of my own”
Are the words of a poor soul ill designed,
To be the recipient of his own irresponsible drone.
For to be faultless in one’s own eyes is a sham,
To accuse another of his own contemptible role,
Is the argument of an insecure, irresponsible man,
Who would steal your words and even your soul.
Some are not big enough to admit when they are wrong,
Excusing themselves by accusing the other,
Turning up the volume that we all hear the song,
That the truth becomes too complex to discover.
But the truth is never destroyed by a wrong,
For it lies always beneath a transparent cover.


Never think that I am defeated
While I live that just cannot be,
The fool will think that I have retreated,
Because it is not far that he can see.
The fool knows not when to be quiet,
He always takes one more step than he should,
Finds his adversary is more defiant,
For his reasons were misunderstood.
People have no need to brag or skite,
No need to keep convincing themselves.
He who is what he is really like,
Into promoting himself never delves.
Words expressed to demerit another,
The goodwill of the critic expels.


You cannot be the friend of a conceited man,
For as a rival you will always be seen,
That he will always be doing what he can,
To overcome you, and intervene.
Friendship he will not understand,
Nor why you would stand up for another man,
Who is not part of his own little band,
Of his own perceptions and that of his clan.
Such folk will always be seeking to rule,
To be seen prominently on top of the heap,
Considering one who offers friendship a fool,
For the love of himself is so impossibly deep.
Your best friend is never really yourself,
And the conceited practice only deceit.


A woman you can talk to and receive,
Understanding of the things you perceive,
But men will challenge every word of your view,
For you are seen as a threat it is true.
Men will forever seek the very last word,
Though their argument is mostly absurd
For they must be seen to be the top of the heap,
Where they hide from the world as they weep.
Tis a primitive link with the nature of things,
Shared by animals and insects with stings,
Where the old Bull thinks he still has a place,
Among the herd he can no longer chase.
Thus he will resort to all manner of ways,
To restore the past to slow deteriorating days.