Peter Chapman Poetry

Tub Calm Sutra

I took a bath the other day
instead of showering.
How are things the soap seemed to say,
washing them another way?

Not bad I said, to no one there.
I lay back and dreamed of growing hair
in the meadow, along the coast
not in places one wants hair most.

I got out the paints,
and working
with quick dabs and feints
put up a wall of colored will
around the non-erotic sill
beneath a melon of rosy seed

in the very light all artists need.