The Rooftop Artist
A self-styled you yell from hot tin roof top
Nobody lends ears but you don’t ever stop
You pronounce you’ll make a great name
As an artist, in loud voice you do proclaim.
You say there are colors in lens of your eye
We all know it's nothing but a flat white lie
So you think you carry the gene of an artist
The concealed laughter people can’t resist.
You surmise your brush has Monet touch
But your trees are cluster of plumb crutch
Something like water in river is ink opaque
You can’t even make the semblance of fake.
When you gloat you’ve got the Picasso flair
Crude art shapes daub the pallid paint layer
Formless faces are entangled in web of cubes
As a bizarre pile of squeezed out color tubes.
September 21, 2021
Contest : Fart-tastic
Sponsor : Chantelle Anne Cooke
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