On the border of the obscure wastelands,
In the depths of shadows and torments,
Far beyond the land of Never Was, Never Will
Is a place where I hold you, strong and silent…
As the shards of your sensitive sadness prevail,
Sifting the awaiting coals below,
I shall reflect slivers of your light upon the darkest woe!
I fight with the broken alliance within the dimmest coves,
I mean to pull you into Death’s demise
Where the pained poets prevail and the suns of justice arise
So that e’en the coldest of coals reach warmth!
Generating power so strong, that the gods step aside
As these diamonds-to-be burst into the light of day
Revealing your words of Always Was… and Always Will
The Black Diamond, once captive…finally free…though coal black still!
For Shadow Hamilton's Contest: Fighting Depression(poems for PD)
Lou Reed , Mistral of his time
so you walked this road on the wild side
unique in music , never selling out
believing in Art instead of commercialize
Lou Reed the musician never compromised ~
Sweet Jane not enough for our crowd of eccentric rockers
still will live forever with the many that left before you
one can imagine from John Lennon to Johnny Ramone
a party in Heaven of the finest rock bestowed
no text , no MTV when they pursued a dream
New York, hotel Chelsea an age of Renaissance
ragged jeans and leather jackets ,Art on stage
No, your Rock not ever fade away , it will stay sweet Jane forever ~
For the fine Man with words , ode to Lou Reed .
I woke up from the cradles of slumber
My morning eyes opened slowly
My mind frolicked and sang with peace
Remembering your words
So kind, so memorable were they!
So sweet, so genuine are you!
The mere thought of you takes away the assertive blue
It is a wonder I have come across your mind
It is a blessing like no other—a true, treasurable find!
And there are no words that can truly give you the honor you deserve
But take these, please!
And know there is so much more. . .
So much more that I wish to offer you
Your never-ending thoughtfulness and attention
Has filled me with unremitting appreciation
You really are a beautiful light to my world
Cheering my melancholy with joy
I have never found someone quite like you
And that is the beauty of it all
Finding the gold
The sunlight smiling for your marvelous shine
There is just no other like you!
I would never turn my eyes away
There is just no possible way
That is a blessing I count close to the heart
Finding you, such a rare piece!
Finding you in a churning world of excitement and chaos
Finding you with such delight and gratitude
Thank you so much, Duke!
Thank you for being you!
-Dedicated to a very fine poet named Duke Beaufort-
If I had to paint a picture of me loving God what would I see?
would I see a portrait of a person who walks in truth and honesty?
In order to paint a picture of me loving God
I would have to access all the experiences that to me life did impart
did I have a good relationship with my mom and my dad?
was it loving and supportive or distant and sad?
did I get along with my siblings? did we look out for each other?
did we play and love each other like true sisters and brothers?
were my needs being meet? did I ever learn to trust and believe?
am I balanced enough to cope according to the lessons in life I've received?
Multi-generational, familial or systemic social receptions
all of this has played a part in my life perceptions
we all have distortions in every aspect of our living
we now must deal with the reality at this time we've been given
was my life exactly as I remember? or are there things that I've repressed?
are there issues that are buried inside me that now make me depressed?
deep-seated anxiety, personal pain and high expectations
feelings of inadequacy, destructive criticism and bouts of frustration
we all have issues that we now need to bring out and discuss
in order to have authentic relationships we need to have real trust
we all have some brokenness that needs to be healed
so that our full love for the Lord God can one day be revealed
God is not distant like a CEO in the corporate tower
God is not pressuring us with His omnipotent power
God does not keep score He just watches over our souls
God is fair and just and doesn't set for us high goals
God is all embracing He nurtures, instructs and forgives
He's kind, patient and loving in this life to us He did give
So if I had to paint a picture of what it looks like for me to love God
it would be a colorful canvas of emotions, perceptions and reflections from my heart
Hyacinth and juniper
adorned in midmorning dew
alight the fields and meadow fair
as the dawn shimmers from you
Nature weeps with boundless joy
as the sun greets you with its morn
for you are as beautiful as the morning sky
from God's good grace you had to be born
No twinkling star up in heaven cries
as much for you as do I
to be near you would be such bliss
that angels would shudder and sigh
O' of all the gifts that are thrust upon this world
none so pure and delicate can be
as such pure and delicate as she
for you are my light and my world
I cling to the tangibility of paper
its connection to earth,
the feel of the grain
on the skin.
Words do not exist
thanks to the mashing
of keys and buttons, but by providence
of the paper.
The forgotten paper
is still alive. Soft
yellowed with age.
never erased. Never
I do not bleed red
cells but globules
of words, coagulated
phrases and lines.
The pen is a prosthesis,
where soft flesh leaves prints-
other swirled lines an whirls.
lightly brushes her lips
ever the timid lover.
Even when erased
the word is
forever imprinted, its curvatures
embedded in the soft
fiber of the page.
is an evil thing; coveting
its symbols and codes.
away your words,
behind an electric moon.
When the screen dies
so do your musings.
It is such great unity
That appears amongst the beauty
Of the bright light display?
Such colour, such energy within celebration,
Such a vivid canvas of man-made creation
That sparks with flair and passion;
To fall into the fog
Like all dying illusions.
Yet it is what it does for us:
Where we are drawn from our furnishings
That we clean in intervals,
Closing outside to a regular schedule,
Remaining well lit and sheltered
Resting our minds so dimly upon the
Soft and empty cushions
And hugging at the blind comfort
We are drawn from this facade
By another in itself.
Which brings us out like a beacon
Part Devil, half Eden
To then fade away
Like all illusions,
Leaving us quiet,
Revealing deepened images.
Exposed to chill
Peace climbs through our bones.
Let us stand together,
The great power that connects us;
The great unity
Amongst such beauty.
Till we once more return home…
DARKNESS ONLY PREVAILS FOR A WHILE
BUT LIGHT EVENTUALLY PREVAILS FOREVER
THE REVENGE OF AN EMBITTERED WOMAN
IS MORE THAN THE FURY OF A THOUSAND ARMY
THERE ARE WOMEN OF SUBSTANCE
AND THERE ARE WOMEN OF SUPERLATIVE SUBSTANCE
IN SIZE WE GROW
IN WISDOM WE SURPASS
HE WHO CAN FLY
NEEDS NOT FLYING WHISKERS
FOR A SHORT WHILE ALONE
DOES INIQUITY REIGN
I AM MY HUSBANDS PILLAR
A SHELTER FOR MY CHILDREN
AN ENVY OF ALL NATION
A SYMBOL OF CREATION
AN ENDURER OF PAIN
THE PATIENT DOG IN HUMAN FORM
A MORTAL AMONG IMMORTALS
A VISION BEYOND THE PRESENT
I AM A VIRTUOUS WOMAN
A GREAT INSTRUMENT
A COMPLETION OF CREATIONS
MIGHTY IN MY OWN WAY.
Everyone had a unique reason for playing the Game
as we find different means for surviving Life
until the proper seconds of Death come stomping by with insistence,
some want intellectual respect shown with agitation in the opponent's eyes,
others crave the anxiety of prognostication
like gladiators uncertain of how to strike,
people commence the battle because they have something to prove
as Bobby boldly reproved the Soviets
on their asinine assumptions of superiority,
regardless, all who touch the Board want desperately
to understand the Game,
it's rituals, it's spirits,
the possibilities alive & haunting the 64 squares,
to honestly provide a homage of mind to History and to invention,
as if the nature of Chess is a dream of God's,
a subconscious engineering of grappling wants & needs,
of fears & hopes, of bravado & caution,
32 weapons arranged handsomely for the express channeling
of the Divine creative compulsion of Providence itself,
geometry made grand & gallant,
a homicide of honor performed in the pressure of an hour,
all skilled players realise at some point
that quality brinksmanship ascends over the voice of victory
and can be reduced to the amazing beauty
of integrating logical processes with artistic allure,
misdirection a linchpin of the Master's ancient algebra,
momentum the indispensible monarch of strategy,
without it one is dictated,
mating nets, positional play, tactical moves,
a temple devoted to timeing -
Learnt by the pang of fear
Oh Trojan horse thou art fair
So fearful and hard to near
Your presence!A dread even to air
Leading to an ancient unknown fence
Creating anguish in the ambience
Like a mad dog thou locate
Your way to doom or heaven's gate
Vigour in you aint got an end
For strong art thou till the end
Of world and world beyond thy tend
Like a thunder bolt
The words exploded in her head
She was confused in the noon
History deserted into noun and verbs
The sun came calling on her
The air screamed on her
The oceans wept bitterly
Our generations was at stake on her
Flaming down the guts she moved
Moon and grasses filed up in the street
Up up they journeyed in the black side
Abandoning the green side of the land
Mother Nigeria is fading away
In the hands of George Orwell pig
Shall the caused of animal kingdom be ours?
Still... still I but aspire to serve your sight,
The measures of dark, streaming mystery,
With eyes deep as night and alive with light,
Your Beauty's as any through history,
An unspent spirit proved by your posture,
Your certain figure made sure, made slender,
Vision of you is like rough emery,
Straining, straining to capture your stature,
As ev'ry artist would hope to render
Such Beauty kept committed to memory.
You're owed no less than a sprawling estate,
To be adorned with pearls, diamonds, and gold,
Yet, as always, I'm impoverished of late,
Affording such precious little, all told;
I just might point out places where wood rots,
And I may, perhaps, soak you in spilled milk,
Since with my savings, best I can do's fall,
As there'd be no most luxurious spots,
I'd offer no furs, no cashmere, no silk,
Not much for the woman who has it all.
'Pon my soul you remain as coarse etches,
A brilliant scar, a shadowy tainting,
The endless subject of endless sketches,
A future masterpiece in oil painting,
The fearsomely delicate carved sculpture;
Of you I make my own melodic code,
As I do this, I do so in your name,
For you are a truly rare-formed rupture,
Bleeding slow, my own melancholic ode,
Writ share 'mongst these words of undying fame.
To see or not to see, past the illusion.
Of truth secretly whispered back and forth,
Shakespeare publicly fought between life and death
for pure amusement.
Within my thoughts, hope's not lost but found,
don't fight with fear use it.
Time is endlessly precious when our soul starts to lose grip.
Loose lips, wondering eyes, curious minds
in search of the light.
Collide in a beautiful place
where I am nothing
connected to everything
real matter cannot be erased.
The Lord is there he's by our side.
Just trust in him he'll be our guide.
He'll test our faith from time to time.
And being scared is not a crime.
Just know he's there and take his hand.
He'll lead us to that promised land.
Where fear and sadness are no more.
And soon we'll know what it's all for.
So take the good times with the bad.
We'll understand this life we've had.
By testing our faith he keeps us strong.
For that's God's purpose all along.
We'll search for answers we can't find.
But we'll know soon what's on his mind.
For we will see God in thee end.
We'll find that God's our greatest friend.
So keep that faith and we'll be fine.
We'll see God's purpose in good time.
The sun descends
Every single day
The reds and oranges
Blend to purple,
Exploding out of a bright
Center, circle that closes
More and more every
Until everything evaporates suddenly
Into the night.
If you're lucky,
It's just an introduction to
The glittering ceiling
Sphere of stars.
Feel free to applaud.
It drips down mountainsides
While painting the endless blue expanse
With vibrant watercolors.
I stand on a hill,
Trails loop away from me and
Splatters the sky.
I walk homeward.
A sunset is an ending
And this faithful goodbye
Is a brilliant finale that
Will always wash away
And warm showers of light.
This is a performance
And although the stage is
Never completely empty,
I don't always have to watch.
I think that sometimes it might be better
If the sun never set
And I could permanently hold
Every moment at once
In my hands and never let them
Touch the ground or
I wouldn't dare to ruin great things
But I'll be a witness to them
I'll point and shout
Look at that
This is beautiful!
I didn't create it
But I can appreciate it
And my art can be my
Smile as the sun
Stains the sky
Pink and orange.
I'll watch until it dissolves.
The sky will always move forward
From the burning scenes
And I'll race it home.
Nothing I do will make it stop but
I'll enjoy it while it still exhibits
The inspiration as fervent as a fire
I sit around with
Friends in New Mexican mountains,
Or on a dew-soaked lawn
Laughing until our faces
Are no longer visible,
Sitting on a deep black trampoline
The moment before it mirrors the night.
I'm still smiling.
Homeward is where I'll always walk;
But I can stop to watch the setting sun.
An Ode To William
He when Painted,
Printed or Wrote,
His face always wore
a grave grin.
THAT Soft in heart
The sculptor, stones
had ever seen;
Sitting by the lonely-
For me his shop
would have been,
For Pope, Dryden’s
Loved who little-
boys, herders and
And praised country
and for lambs prayed.
An artist lived there
Unnoticed, ahead of
Salute to the ode of old
Be wary of the ghosts it leaves
The remnant and seeds of its wake
Salute to the whore of kings
Its corpse and stench reeks still
The wise and deep court still
Salute to the living dead
Frail but rears its head
With words than never bend
Salute, I say, Ode
For yonder when I die
In spite of the odium I hold
You’d still be lying there
Ode To ‘Mother’ Creator ©
Not only is it a marvelous happen chance in being able to have ‘shares’ in Mother Nature’s flora creations 'first hand'---
But, we are then granted to sit before her, these ‘set tables’….
She, as our ‘hostess’ serves ‘up’ an endless canvasing ‘kaleidoscope’ set for our eyes only!
She tempts us again and again, into a fevered ‘hunger-fest’ to (pig-out) by and they are very much ‘ready’ with such ‘food for thought’!
She has intuitively displayed her indulgent ‘realm’ to overrun our 'minds' eye….
We are prearranged to touch, taste/smell and become a convert---
It is; as true, loyal, ‘voyeurs’ we now give our undivided attendance, when we are all invited to her 'seasoning’ assemblies….
Their wholeness is made perfect, even into their ‘finally’ timed performances!
Her uses and gifts work miraculously to brightening 'up' her shadings and tonalities towards her abundant-folding true colours and her 'achievements' are (forever) complemented upon---
Whether, it is in her fauna show of velvety, satin and silky petal-flowers spending titillating fragrances
Or, by use of her seasonally ‘varying’ cycles, in 'all' her weather modes; she always will spend, all her wonderment and excitement--- towards her spectacular works!
Her numerous ‘paint-box’ colours with their different scents and shaded consepts are definitely.... crafted, in alluring us feverishly, into inventive crazed acts---
Just like the moments, when a (newly) box of crayons, first opens up and invitingly nudges the painter and writer forward.binging 'us’, to recreate one's own bountiful displays with worded colour and paints….
Thus, with our 'first hand' wonder/mental experience, “Mother’ has never 'giifted', (a questionable) blank canvas to work upon!
We are a growing world-wide nature loving group, enamoured to (dabble) our time away, 'within’ her 'ecospheres'---
We have also ‘gifted’; as well, to oiur 'public', family an friends many of our exhibited works….
Our own ‘piece-meals’ are proudly admired and profitably ‘feasted’ upon!
Many wonderful invites are sent 'out', for all to come and attend our (tabled smorgasbords) ---
‘Mother’, must be as proud and pleased when taking note, of all the vast, interpretative and varied (personal) worked styles we have made, in her likeness….
she has ‘qualified’us her pupils, in her stead, to such ‘artistry’ freedoms!
We have been ‘branded’ her slaves; as only a true slave driver can do---
We are meant to go through with our own ‘humbling’ efforts willingly.
Our need and desire to please and honour her great gifts, by these, our gifts are surmountable!
Our enthusiasms, to share our ‘Mother Nurtured’ talents among one and all to salivate and savour, is indeed a two-fold 'forever'gift and made much more---
We can only hold her responsible for our inspirational madness every day, days in and days out throughout time….
Mother Nature, we thank you for the power you have given us again, and again and again to learn, create and live in your world.
We are indeed, our own 'self-appointed time keepers and guardians to your ‘star studded 'forevermore''garden!
My writer’s mind speaks ‘never’ enough words to paint your magnificence---
There are not enough means, to ever do you justice….
Our word/plays and colourful paintings are but a ‘stitch’ to your ‘dressed’ canvases!
A true lover of Mother Nature’s works.
Artist and poet writing with ink and paint!
Ode To My Solitaire
Oh lovely burst of fire, your tongues aflame
With splashing brilliance from your fiery glow,
You dance with whirling sense of movement that
Entraps the mind into hypnotic trance.
Or is it Sun that comes into my mind
With golden halo of your fiery ring.
Your center, molten hot, makes solar flares
Erupt to shoot and fly into the night.
On closer look, I clearly see you now,
Oh beauty of the fields, you gem of Earth,
A gift of God’s creation that inspires
Artistic view of you as fire and Sun.
© Sandra M. Haight
All Rights Reserved
Contest: Ekphrasis 12 Line Max
Sponsor: Rick Parise
My Muse: Oil Painting: Solitaire, 30”x30”
by Sandra M. Haight
On Grandma’s bedroom wall hung pencil sketches
To inspire me and draw me in, never fail
The hands in prayer our daily blessing fetches
The cuffs rolled back, work ready, in the detail
The fingerprint motif of light on hands
To give us notice we are unique – and His
Strong thumb accentuating Holy Bands
Steeple elongated fingers, preaching Bliss
On The Tree, He died for our earthly sins
(The cross marked in the veins of the left hand)
He wished to spare us the suffering since
Love and compassion, for which we should stand
Only in Truth can we realise beauty
The Hands setting the example of: “Thank Ye!
[Poetry form used: Sonnet]
If we do not live in Truth, a God given opportunity which we must embrace, then the beauty of all that we perceive will pass us by. ~ Su Crous
Inspired by: ‘Hands of an Apostle’ by Albrecht Durer: http://uploads4.wikipaintings.org/images/albrecht-durer/hands-of-an-apostle.jpg
DEPICTED IN THE ABOUT SECTION
Sponsor: Heather Ober
Contest Name: Famous Art |
A timeless face set in smooth, hard skin gazes
Out across a sea of framed majesty created by human hands.
Dreams, which have been carefully formed to
Enter into the realm of reality and take
It’s viewer’s breath away. The statue
Looks at art and is art and addresses art,
Art, you are everything and can be made with
So many things previously thought of as nothing.
Possibilities stretch up and down the rabbit
Hole of imagination. Having tea in mid air doesn’t
Seem so rare anymore. Or sky in the middle of the ocean
And someone lounging on a couch on the ceiling, hair floating upward.
I can draw a picture of spring with you,
Blend warmth and a light breeze on the page
In black and white with my charcoal finger.
Or tear apart an image only to put it back together in
A new unimaginable way, or create a new world
An enchanted forest, a thousand hands as trees reaching toward the sun…
The possibilities are endless
From a three-sided angle
Astrological purpose is unmangled
Triangle on top
Square on the bottom
Bright halo around God
Our tears fill His bottle
A Pyramid is a monument to death
A Tabernacle of wealth
Which comes into effect
When there's no longer breath
Is it mourning or celebration in stealth
The place where Kings and Queens lay
Buried on a sun-disk
Dedicated to Day
The final form to decay
Hands form this shape
When they're positioned to pray.
Vividly there is a purpose
With honor we haul and stand uncertain
Then later crept into a fortified lodge
The essence is most times ourselves
A re-make of those footsteps we follow
There’s always a twitch, but never a booth
Was it for love that you base your endurance?
Or maybe it’s just as such, a compelling norm
A splendid theory speaks a curious tale
But where ever we stop,
a tombstone marks the feet
Countless eras explains the change we pursue
The partners we engage may divert the aim we leap
At least there is logic for one to be submissive
A cause to be bold pushed and detained
Still to what do we owe our reason for the flag we mount
As for me, I console to Poetry!
Once in a while it is good if we think highly of ourselves. As for me, I always do that, especially knowing fully well what the holy scriptures says "As a Man thinketh in his Heart, so is he"... I am a champion, a king, an influential being and someone the world cannot do without and this is exactly who I am (not just in my heart). Here is a poem which elaborates these thoughts of mine.
Talking about a Giant and his kingdom
beauty and greatness found in any form
He's exactly what a society needs;
which is a very relaible intercom.
Empowering the weak to freedom
even when it seems they are stuck in a dorm
Praises from citizens of his empire
should never be considered as Idioms
Cos his helping hand
makes life easy as a sitcom
and his contagious virtues
make every night seem as prom.
The unsuccessful and underachievers sit and talk
but his presence to them brings immediate boredom.
In his race to success,
stumbling is seldom.
Always winning Gold is his symptom
but acquiring Silver, is considered as hitting rock bottom.
His constant achievements
leaves you no choice than to get accustomed
and no wonder he's an exaggeration to his peers.
His magic and Aura,
difficult to phantom.
His foot prints and trademark,
already becoming random.
A charming and very influential leader,
ready to pass through dark holes
in protection of his own, like a condom
which makes his flock long for his bossom.
God bless his mom
for giving us such a phenom.
Commanding respect, to him is a norm.
Try intimidation, he has the anti-venom.
Defined as smart, sharp, intelligent and handsome.
Not even forgeting his envious Wisdom
which makes him explode like a radioactive atom.
Who else is it; if not the one and only FUNOM!
Yak is everywhere
Not cursing or rude in the ends
Yak is a street artist
Yak:first of all you have excellence and simplicity in Logo
You make me smile
Your work is constant and consistent
You frenetically protests against
agreeing or not
those three letters always make me glad
Closed to You certainly are pal artists
But the genius in Yak her/his/'s simplicity
is not bout agreeing
Yak might be a scream demanding me/we are artists of Democracy if hired the worked will be paid in the amount of Talent
An enormous label name
Imagine: Yak clothes, Street, Casual, non-casual, jewels, watches
Yak unlimited supply
Yak boundaries are all crossed
the next step
We Deserve Yak
I was thinking about making a T-shirt with,
But that's not fare some are my fights but the label is not mine
Yak deserve recognition beyond
I wonder sometimes about the identity of Yak or Yak's
I see ex-students on Yak
I see colleagues on Yak
I show Yak around
Some like some dislike
People that are to consensual are not generally in my favourites list
And that's a reason for Democracy major virtues and severe imperfections
And in dictatorship even the camouflaged kind Yak is needed
Yak is probably not Bunksy
Yak for me create a trend
The sign of Thor's hammer *
Simple 1Y 2a 3k
The sympathetic logo makes people smile
At least for a single time You,
and also You and You
You all have smiled about the word,
You in some way are protest signatories
But look at the Logo
Gud signi teg
* Etymology 2 Old Norse signa a) Wiktyonary
somewhere in my late teens
i heard a voice they'd call a queen
loud and clear this voice seemed
a brand new thing a disco scene
it was to be the sound of my time
the seventies and the eighties
disco's and rhymes
and donna summers was that queen
the icon of the disco scene
she came along just in time
giving me my music, mine
from then we knew the flavor
and it hasn't changed much since
a steady beat, a disco ball
and times we won't forget
Those that feel it’s their chore
To toilet paper my creative door
With their opinions that lack color
I’d rather hear a walrus snore
If not for self expression what’s poetry for
By Robb A. Kopp
All Rights Reserved © MMX
When eyes delight upon a work of Michelangelo—gut wrenching art--
Creation by a mere man, from his enchanted hands
explode results of David –perhaps a heavenly message to impart
To the earthbound, scattered world flung far in lands
mountain wrapped, plain dirt plains or seabound rocky shores.
Vagabonds, they come to marvel by foot or cart. In awe they stand
before the stone made man. Walking through the door,
drawn to David’s splendid daunting beauty—his far gaze
imparts to the viewer-- in that instant, in this life there is nothing more
of beauty needed to be seen. Years pass, nights will follow days
yet thoughts of this wondrous creature never waiver, never fade
but haunt delightedly. What manner is there to praise
the artist for a gift so long lasting? Repeated thoughts played
reflecting David's beauty --and played again—durable throughout the years,
Clarified and Magnified in time, not diminished--when mind is disarrayed
suddenly a glimpse will flash—through grief’s unbidden tears
David will stand in mind’s eye, unchanged , ever manly strong--
beauty possible by stone conscience unblemished by dreadful acts or craven fears.
Thus it is --creation of a man who does no wrong.
Perhaps it is the reason Heavens blessed the world with Art
which reaches all-- both rich and poor--announces to the throngs--
Look to men of stone to find the rare and pure of heart.
Victoria Anderson-Throop ©
ODE TO THE PLEIN AIR PAINTER
Starting New Year, what are your goals,
as an artist who paints "En Plein Air"?
To increase you skills, pay all your bills,
and become an "Art Millionare"?
By January first, become fully immersed,
in what inspires us to create.
Prepare for all weather, travel "light as a feather",
and remember.....not all will be "great"!
Throughout the year, it becomes clear,
as the secrets to "art" are revealed.
Not a moment to rest , you're on a quest-
and eyes , continuously "peeled"....
For that outdoor scene, we attempt to glean
a " likeness", a "spirit", a "feel"...
a struggle, a fight, a sudden changed light-
...damn, now where's that colour wheel?
Then suddenly one morning, it comes without warning-
like a gambler whose dealt a "royal flush".
The "zone" you have entered, and finally "centered",
create effortlessly, "at one with the brush"!
So in Art don't despair - we never "get there"
as our goal is a life-long quest-
We create and perspire, bewilder, admire-
and, will always be seeking our best!!
...a darling dear of time is when the tick-tock, of the clock stops, during a dancing wind chimes rendition of just how invisible things move me, to write, darling dear a rhyme,
the peak of a mountain top experiencing,
O' darling dear
a love letter,
just one of those things that
of the everlasting.