The Painting Pen

The Painting Pen: A Poem by Fabian G. Franklin


Dry yellow grasses rustle stiffly in the field
shifting nervous in late October wind
The sky; a shade lighter maybe than baby blue
whispers tunes of what will be and what has been
A chipmunk scurries with cheeks full of seeds
to an underground burrow in a tall clump of weeds
He saves what he can for winter days ahead
when snow falls and frosted grass is hoary overhead
Crow caws, mockingbird flits from tree to tree
Squirrel in his climb twitches his tail violently
He chitter chatters angrily the invasion of his privacy
Approaching calico cat slinks stealthily below
Squirrel knows, like mouse and rat, she is his mortal foe
Three does came yesterday leaping the vines and brush
They come to eat the apples fallen from my tree
Their tawny velvet bellies swollen thick and plush
raced by; black marble eyes staring wild at me
With charcoal and pastels I came to paint the field
Autumns colors were burning the sumac and maple
Just beyond the two-lane blacktop, power lines;
signs this place was encroached upon by my kind
I wish I could remove them if I were only able
Grasshopper flits on raspy wings, perches on a stalk
A lone tall weed still offering a hint of green
Above against the blue I see a circling red-tail hawk
Rabbit comes from the forest, bunny brown and soft
Stepping tentatively into the field until
The spiraling dark shadow scares him off
Now, I lay aside my pastels for my pen;
my charcoals for my poetry, and begin to paint again