Dreams Unknotted

“For my part I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream.”
–Vincent van Gogh to his brother Theo, 1888

In wavy lines and shimmering spots,
his knotted thoughts, unspooled

the counted crows, a postman, impasto
flowers’ golden glow–

but most of all the stars, not stilled,
the night a colored motion sea–

ripples of what he saw–and dreams of what might be

A quadrille for dVerse, where Mish asked us to use the word “knot.” I read this article today about how after van Gogh’s death, the sale of his paintings—then valuable—paid for his sister Willemien’s care in a mental asylum. I suppose it helped her, but I also felt it was so tragic that she spent decades—almost forty years–there.

The Enigma: NaPoWriMo

He always had a smile,

stopped to chat a bit, awhile

with friends he met out in the street

 

Magazine covers featured his face,

seen here and there and every place

he was in demand to meet-and-greet

 

Men admired his style,

women loved his smile,

sighed and wondered if his lips were sweet

 

He was considered hale and hearty

invited to every important party

(without him the guest list was incomplete)

 

But on one inconsequential night

shortly before dawn rose bright

he placed a gun against his head

shocked, he was an enigma, everybody said.

 

This is for  NaPoWriMo-Day 4. The prompt was an enigma or riddle.