Notes About The Poem
This is a painting I created yesterday up in the old beaten shearing shed, during the rain and wind.
Love: Painting a Woman
The half broken, half fallen rusted tin shed,
Is the place where creation is made,
Where I pick up ideas with a small wooden brush,
Where the dance with the canvas is waged,
And the four tall iron walls, along with the roof,
Sway with the gusts and the rain,
Forming a symphonic choir of hypnotic noise,
Singing beauty I cannot explain,
Still, me and this brush paint as a team,
First her neck, then her hair, then her eyes,
Forming a flamboyant fringe woman in black,
In a painting with surreal lines,
Then, by the end, she hangs on the tin,
Safe from the wind that has blown,
She hangs with pride in the sound of the rain,
On the cold iron door all alone.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
