“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Friday, June 17, 2016
Medium fits all
As the novelist is tempted to try
synopsizing and to nimbly stitch
a concise buttoned-up poem,
The poet reaches for the artists brush,
hoping his blended colors
will all come out in one broad stroke
as envisioned,
So does the artist become moved
by music in strokes of the latest
color combinations,
he paints a score to settle harmony
that escapes the canvas as a song,
And all are collaborations
of hand-eye articulation
expression in action,
As the photographer
captures realism completely
out of context,
The actor is able to enunciate
eloquently since he has had the script
beforehand,
interacting with his set he mimes
his role, the actor assumes his costume
as liar and professor,
adapting for his audience
The play,
what to think.
All artists play in living color, mixing
dead words and sterile symbology
waiting to be revived,
imbibed and misinterpreted
as original(s).
Image of painting By Etienne François-Eugène Lecoindre, 1882 (Sotheby's) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Gravitas
For every poem I put here, there are four more never shared, around six never written and twenty-seven partially thought out. For every word...

-
1. Of my Soul a street is: Preternatural Pic- abian tricktrickclickflidk-er garner of starfish Picasso...
-
Someone said, the full moon looks larger in the city because of skyscrapers- which said nothing about people feeling smaller, more co...
-
Water Today, warm raindrops glass blurs, the blurry glassy, sharp sparkles sugar. Behind Evening, it was good. Leaves all turned into shadow...
No comments:
Post a Comment