Artist On Roof Top

You a fake yell from hot tin roof top Nobody listens but you don’t stop You pronounce you will make a great name In high pitch voice you pine to proclaim. You say there are colors in your eye We all know it's nothing but a white lie So you think you are a born artist Such a strange creature doesn't exist. You surmise your brush has Monet touch But your trees are cluster of plumb crutch Water of the grimy pond is ink opaque You can’t even make semblance of fake. When you gloat you’ve got Picasso flair Abstract art drips on palllid paint layer I see formless faces in warped cubes As a pile of squeezed out color tubes. April 16, 2020 Contest : Write A Rhyming Poem For Fun Sponsor : Caren Krutsinger