Under the wave

You can see it everywhere, it broke off Kanagawa

in museums, shops and galleries

on the curtain for your shower

on your phone-case or your wallpaper

in LA , Tokyo and London

a hand carved print of wet brush strokes

we drown in it's abundance

below white foam the Prussian blue

the contrast is effective

for this sea-based Mount Fuji View

pre-selected, fixed perspective

commissioned by the VOC

Katsushika painted scenes

Japan suffered for their sanity

oh how he tried to set them free

years later Van Gogh painted night

in an asylum filled with fear

'these waves are claws, the boat is caught'

it seems you had his ear

though it is clearly now ubiquitous

a never ending fountain

like a perfect curve for Sisyphus

to rick roll his rock back up the mountain

but what's remarkable, extraordinary

and really quite astonishing

for all the high brow curt dismissal

and the art critics admonishing

is the fact that is exists at all

yes,the sea can be quite frightening

not just struck with inspiration

at 50, Hokusai was struck by lightening

brushed with a stroke when in his sixties,

just like the waves that move the sand

he had to learn to paint again

the sleeve erasing was not planned

a striking image that sticks out, for a four Island nation

he painted it at 70, 18 years before his expiration

none braver, than the fisherman

his hair dried out, his skin, rope burned

he rides the wind, stares down the sun,

a lesson in resilience learned

just persevere, cast out the fear,

live now, embrace the motion

live each moment at a time

through life's turbulent deep ocean

life flows like sand, between our fingers

yet hands still grasp, right to the end

grief like the taste of salt, it lingers

a seasoned end for a dear friend

the unthinkable that stumps the thinkers

the carver first removes the wood

here's to the the artists , poets, drinkers

the printer inks the block like blood

the patterns made repeat themselves

woodblock made prints, the artists hand

like spines of books upon a shelf

sacred landscape, the working man

like lives arising from the sea, returning to humanity

that arc, that crest, our worst and best

under the wave is Mount Fuji

for though like fishermen and Sisyphus

our lives may seem absurd

our search for meaning is futile

our prayers are never heard

an ever changing great wave caught

as it comes crashing down

the struggle itself is enough

the mountain never drowns