There was a time, when all I could paint was black and white stripes,
Brushed, vertical wipes of downward colour.
The pinched thin stripe,
The fat full stripe and those in-between stripes.
There was a time when all I could paint was black and white polka dots,
The tiny, full stop dot,
The big fat rain-drop dot and those in-between dots.
Then, one day, black and white just got up and left,
Not a dicky-bird, not even a postcard,
No black, no white.
Then later and far off I hear ‘blue’ singing its head off
And the sound of colour walks by and waves.