That lets the rain come in

That lets the rain come in 

Unconvinced, she said,  It’s Emperor’s new clothes

not art 

just a square capturing the sky 

a frame,  and today, large clouds passing 

but equally a hole that lets the rain come in

a con trick of the light

so Tracy Emin’s bed unmade, or house bricks in a line

elephant dung, or paint flung and flicked 

Pollock and Rothko- colour mad

visionary or insane? 

And if I write a poem no rhyme nor rhythm 

theme, just words in a jumble 

punctuation-free

or scrape on paint with palette knife and spray 

then watch the colours pool and sometimes zing

 by chance, happenstance 

then turn the canvas sideways so a friend discerns a beach, waves crashing 

though I never meant it so. 

Now is the Emperor clothed or naked? Is he beautiful? 

Who’s to say? 

Displayed with Frink and Hepworth, monumental Henry Moore

here’s a cloudscape in a picture frame 

has lodged inside my brain. 

1st June 2021, Hounoux