God or sod

A mind that sees, see all that's there

and still can ponder day by day

on this and that,

has riches more than any millionaire(ess)

she is right there and any whim

or gust of wind can raise her mind to stare and see

beauty in an object they despise

as in their eyes its rubbish, trash and junk.

The plastic left there lying on the sod

becomes a spectre of a maiden floating in the mud's

browns brain - a drain

yet she so white with folds like silk

is beautiful.

or in the town where hieroglyphs of taggers'

decorate the walls, that's what appals the people 

going by

but I see with what flair of human energy

what aesthetic verve the curves are made

and in that sign see 

art.

For what is art? A name made famous

fine?

But art is when we reach beyond the human drudge

and say something sublime

be it poetic

or in humour clothed

its all the same, it lifts the spirit, gives it wings

enthusiastic joys

whatever form that word called art employs.

So when you next wake up at dawn

look out and see the clouds form shapes

with some here, or there,

a sympathy that harmonises with our brains