No Straving Artist's Here -A POEM


Art splotch

By art splotch

Ink blotch

Unveils

An artist’s idle mind

Her hands dipped in rainbows & storm clouds

& interwoven dew-dropped spider silk besides

She knows no repose

Other than how her flowers grow

In neatly tended rows-

Order given to the world

Chaos hold no place for this girl with the art splotched face,

Only ironies & cliff notes.

I would say that I am she

But that would be a lie

And a liar am not I, not now, this time

I envy her simplicity

Painting as she feels

But each feeling accounted for

Her life a canvas

Her heart a door

But without the surprises I jump for-

I tire of jumping-

In a mess

Out of trouble-

Here and there as others command

Or as they lay shame

Should I know better now than as then?

With age, where has my wisdom gone?

But she, ever young, and not as me

Is the artist I had hoped to be-

Pictures converge making sense

Other lay thick high praise for this

The moon would bend to kiss her good night

To close her eyes is to turn off the lights!

My goodness, all this envy!

Paint me green!

I am disorder

I am a walk of shame

For my unruly tongue speaks, just speaks

Rhyme and anger and beauty and blame

No center

No peace

Just fierce divergence

Forces fight here within

It has always been this way

And I will be again,

Just me, the lowly, lonely writer

Without plan or clue

Looking up from my soiled parchments

Barely seen, looking up from these shadows of you-

The artist.

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