IN THE BEGINNING THERE WAS REEVES

(Please respect copyright and ask Gordon Banks for permission to reproduce - gordon.banks@lichfield.anglican.org

IN THE BEGINNING THERE WAS REEVES

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(Part one of a trilogy)

In the beginning 

The canvas was blank,

Void and without form.

On Sunday the artist came;

He painted light and dark

And separated them, one from the other.

On Monday the artist came;

He painted blue above,

He called the blue, sky blue.

On Tuesday the artist came;

He painted brown below,

Surrounded by blues and greens;

From the brown came up other colours,

Red, yellow, pink, all manner of things.

On Wednesday the artist came;

He painted a brilliant yellow and red ball,  

On the other side a silvery orb,

And lesser things dotted around.

On Thursday the artist came;

From the brown below came yet more colours,

Colours that seemed to move and dance,

Both in the blue above the brown,

And also through the blue below.

On Friday the artist came;

And still more colours to come from brown,

Colours that crept, ran and jumped.

Then the final part, the ultimate,

The artist signed the painting,

With an image of himself.

On Saturday the artist came;

He was pleased with his work,

So, he took the day off,

For a rest!

The artist came back the next day,

He found his work spoilt,

The brown was stained with crimson,

The colours seemed at enmity        

One against the other. 

Perhaps the artist should not have taken a rest?

REEVES GOES BANKRUPT

(Part two of a trilogy)

The artist came;

He covered the whole painting with blue,

Blotting out all the other colours,

Except for a remnant he allowed to remain,

A sign of hope!

The artist gradually drew back the blue,

Again, colours began to appear,

And to signify unity between the colours

The artist painted an arc with every colour included.

And so, for a while the painting was good.

The artist introduced a unique and favourite colour

And placed it in a unique and favourite place on the canvas.

But vandals were abroad and soon blue became red,

Black crawled over the painting,

Like an ugly disease,

Even contaminating the artist's favourite colour.

The artist tried all ways to keep his colour pure,

But to no avail,

He put his signature upon them,

But now the colours themselves rejected

And threw of this interference.

It was time for the 'master plan'.

REEVES INCARNATE

(Final part of a trilogy)

The artist came, looked and wept,

His beautiful painting now turned ugly,

Torn and slashed, bruised and broken.

The artist came,

He laid down his paints,

He laid down his brushes and palate knife,

He took of his painters’ smock,

And was found in his painting.

(c) Gordon Banks January 1983