Silent Poetry

I think of every artist as a poet…I’m not being fanciful or quaint… their poetry is on their canvas…their verses overlapped in paint. Their capacity to see the poetry in a moment…and their ability to lift… and capture the beauty in the silence of that moment…this is the artist’s gift. Every moment of every day and night the Earth is painting across her skies producing an ever-changing masterpiece….right before our eyes. The Earth paints frenetically…attempting to fill the vastness of her space But…since her painting is never completed… it’s up to our hearts, our souls and our eyes to keep up with her pace. We try committing a moment to memory….we try unequivocally. But, since the mural is changing so rapidly, it’s difficult to hold on to any one moment that we see. Enter the artist with brushes in hand and colors to be blended… who chooses a moment…while the Earth is painting as quickly as she spins… and the very moment that moment ends…is the moment the artist begins. When the paint on the artist’s canvas has dried We see not only that captured moment in time but how beautifully the colors mingle… how they harmonize…. how like poetry…they rhyme And we feel lucky the artist and our paths have crossed. the road ahead of us now abundantly clear… for though the artist has captured a moment in time our hearts and our minds must take it from here It is the moment when our heart and our mind meet up with our eyes… we are finally able to see… the beauty of that moment in time the beauty of an artist’s silent poetry.