Details |
Clair Eloise Poem
She is whipping winds.
Salt,
washing over my hair, eyes, skin.
Numbingly cold waters,
as if just unfrozen,
spilling into, refreshing
the Bay.
She hosts,
An eroded map
Of webbed and pebbled paths.
Barnacle scattered
grit.
Rolling fields of green low tides.
A fisherman’s daydream.
A meeting
Of core and sun.
She is
an awakening,
a renewal,
a provocation of adventure.
Copyright © Clair Eloise | Year Posted 2019
|
Details |
Clair Eloise Poem
It took me some practice
to understand art
Everyone sees
but not all compart
Step one
know the subject
Step two
then to reflect
What is it you see?
what’s its importance?
This may depend on the being
their particular first glance
But history is history
repetition be bound
The word significance
is no doubt to be found
Maybe it’s striking
right under your nose
Otherwise hidden
only time will expose
Riches for wealth
magnitude for prestige
The more art you meet
the sharper an expertise
This I find true
About art, music, humans
The more conscious the study
the more meaning illumines
So this also fitting
that in this art world
My mere 23 years
will have revealed
The best merits are shared
by the greatest of greats
Which is why inside you
I find old beloved traits
We laugh like my favorites
and love like them too
When I’m 80 and dancing
I’ll be dancing with you
Copyright © Clair Eloise | Year Posted 2019
|