The Sunday Poem: The Genius Explains Painting
(Visited 6191 times) The Sunday Poem
Feb 112007
“Everyone has an art,” he said.
He dipped his paintbrush into the oils
And dabbed red onto the soft bristles.
“The thing is, not everyone has a canvas,”
and he dabbed some red onto me.
“But they really aren’t hard to find.”
And I didn’t dare move for fear of smearing.
He was a whirlwind, and his strokes
licked my face and slapped my arms,
until there I stood, a statue of paints,
caked and crusted. Then he took my hand,
saying, “This is painting, and this is art,”
and I stepped out of the shell of dried paint.
After some hours flaked it to nothing,
I was nothing but the space where I had stood.
5 Responses to “The Sunday Poem: The Genius Explains Painting”
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Fame is fleeting, eh?
It also reminds me of what an old guy once told me, after I screwed something up at my first job. “In a hundred years no one will care”.
Loved it.
I liked the image of hollow casting a mold.
Very pretty. Sort of sad:(
I really quite like that. Thank you.
I like the poem. Thanks for sharing it.